---- Chapter 5 Alyssa POV: Brad disappeared back into the lounge, leaving me alone in the sterile, white corridor. The click of the closing door was a sound of finality. It was a door closing on seven years of my life. | stood there for a long moment, frozen. The last thread of my resolve had been his accusation, his blatant defense of Jaime over me. That, and the casual cruelty of him discarding my gift, had severed the final, stubborn anchor holding me to this life. My body felt disconnected from my mind, as if | were watching a movie of someone else's life falling apart. Then, through the heavy door, | heard it again. Laughter. This time it was Brad' s deep, rumbling laugh, mingling with Jaime' s light, musical giggle, and Joshua' s high-pitched, childish glee. "We did it, Daddy!" Joshua' s voice rang out, clear and triumphant. "She left! Now you and Aunt Jaime can stay with me tonight!" The words were a physical blow. A fist of ice closing around ---- my heart and squeezing until | couldn' t breathe. He wasn' t sad that | was gone. He wasn' t confused or hurt. He was celebrating. He had played his part in the charade, driving me away so he could have the family he really wanted. My six-year-old son was an active participant in my destruction. An unbearable pain ripped through my chest. It wasn't a sharp stab, but a deep, tearing agony, like my soul was being ripped in two. My knees buckled, and | collapsed against the cool wall, sliding down to the floor. | wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold my broken pieces together. A choked, silent sob escaped my lips. Tears | didn' t know | had left began to pour down my cheeks, dripping onto the clean, polished linoleum. Each drop was a testament to a love that had been a lie, a sacrifice that had been a joke. Seven years of my life. Wasted. Thrown away. My youth, my body, my spirit-| had given it all to them. | had knelt in the filth of other people' s tragedies, breathing in the stench of death, all so | could give my son a life he didn' t even want with me. All to prove my worth to a man who saw me as an experiment. The laughter inside faded, replaced by the murmur of soft voices. They were probably tucking Joshua in, reading him a story. A perfect family, now that the inconvenient, smelly mother was out of the picture. ---- Anew feeling began to bubble up through the grief. It was hot and sharp, a stark contrast to the cold despair that had consumed me. It was anger. A pure, white-hot rage that burned away the tears. How dare they? How dare they take my love and twist it into a tool for their amusement? How dare they take my son and turn him against me? How dare they sit in their comfortable, clean room and pass judgment on me, on my work, on my worth? | wasn't just a victim. | was a fool. And | would not be a fool for one second longer. | pushed myself up from the floor, my movements stiff. | wiped my face with the back of my hand, smearing tears and grime. | looked at my reflection in the darkened glass of a framed picture on the wall. The woman staring back was a stranger-haggard, broken, pathetic. | was done with her. | pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling with fury. | scrolled through contacts | hadn' t looked at in years, past the names of work associates and acquaintances from a life | had left behind. | stopped at a name that made my heart ache with a different kind of pain-one of regret and longing. Alexis. My brother. | didn't call. | couldn't trust my voice. Instead, | typed a short, ---- simple message. 'I'm coming home." | stared at the words for a second, then hit send. My finger then moved to another number, a friend from my old life, a man who owed my family a favor. A man who was very, very good at finding information. "| need a background check. Urgently. Brad Smith. Lives at 125 Willow Creek Lane. Claims to be a mid-level project manager at a construction firm." My phone buzzed almost instantly. A reply from my brother. "When?" Before | could answer him, my phone began to ring. It was my friend, the investigator. "Alyssa?" his voice was gruff. "Are you serious?" "Deadly serious, Mark." "Okay. Give me five minutes." He hung up. Another message from Alexis. 'Alyssa, talk to me. Are you okay?" | ignored it. | needed the truth first. All of it. My phone rang again. It was Mark. "There's no Brad Smith at that address, Alyssa. In fact, there ---- is no Brad Smith with the social security number you gave me. The number is fake. The man doesn't exist." The world tilted. It was one thing to hear them say it. It was another to have it confirmed by the cold, hard reality of a database search. He didn' t just lie about his wealth. He lied about his entire existence. "He's a ghost?" | whispered, my voice cracking. "Worse," Mark said. "He's not a ghost. He's just wearing a costume. And you need to tell me right now why Alyssa Dyer is asking me to investigate a man who calls himself Brad Smith." My breath hitched. He had used my real name. The name | hadn't used in seven years. The name that connected me to a world of power and influence | had run away from. The name of the Dalton family.