Chapter 4

Ethan made his way toward me, one unsteady step at a time.

He walked right through the wall of hostility Nathan was radiating, as if it weren't there at all.

He came and stood beside me, then carefully cradled my injured hand in both of his, examining it closely.

The knuckles had already swollen up. Dark bruising was rising under the skin --- deep purple-red --- and in one spot the surface had broken, a thin line of blood showing through.

Ethan's brow furrowed deeply. He looked up at Nathan.

His voice was cold.

"Is this how you love your wife, Mr. Harrison?"

One question from an outsider landed harder than a thousand tears or accusations from me ever could.

Nathan's expression darkened instantly.

Fury, the shame of being exposed, the humiliation of being called out by Ethan --- it all collided on his face at once, twisting it ugly.

He wanted to lash out. But his eyes swept over my bleeding fingers, and the words died in his throat.

The living room went still. Three people. Three very different places.

Then the housekeeper came rushing down from upstairs, her voice pitched high and tight with panic.

"Sir --- it's bad! Miss Chloe says her chest hurts. She can barely breathe!"

Those words were the last straw.

Nathan's whole body locked up. Every flicker of guilt or remorse --- gone, in an instant.

He looked at my hand. The blood on my fingers.

Then he looked up toward the stairs.

One second of hesitation. Just one.

Then he dropped words on me like stones.

"Stop being dramatic. A little scratch won't kill you."

That sentence hit like a blade that had been kept in ice.

No. My heart was already dead.

It just landed in flesh that had long since stopped bleeding.

He didn't look at me again. He took the stairs at a run, straight to Chloe and her chest pain.

I stood there, staring at my own hand.

Then I lifted my eyes and watched the shadow of him disappear around the bend of the staircase.

Whatever had still been flickering in my eyes went dark.

I was done wondering. Done waiting for something different.

He wasn't confused. He wasn't misunderstanding anything. He simply didn't care.

In his world, nothing I suffered could ever matter as much as the softest sound of pain from Chloe.

Gently, one finger at a time, I drew my hand back from the warmth of Ethan's.

When I spoke, my voice was so calm it was almost frightening.

"Come on, Ethan. Let's go clean up that hand."

I paused.

"No point standing here being invisible."

It was the first time I had ever used that word --- invisible --- to describe what I was in this house.

Back in the guest room, Ethan quietly opened the first aid kit and cleaned my wounds with a cotton swab dipped in antiseptic, slowly and carefully.

His hands were steady and gentle.

I looked out the window at the black night beyond, and said softly:

"Ethan. I'm done with this house."

The words had barely settled when my phone buzzed.

The name on the screen read: Nathan's Assistant.

I answered and put it on speaker.

The assistant's voice came through tense and urgent, carrying just a trace of a tone that expected compliance.

"Mrs. Harrison, Mr. Harrison asked me to reach you. Miss Chloe needs to be transferred to another hospital --- it's urgent. The VIP admission channel requires an authorized family signature, and that has to come from you. Mr. Harrison is very upset right now, so you'll need to come in immediately..."