Her face was pale. “He was going to ruin you completely, wasn’t he?”

“He already ruined my family’s name,” I said, staring at the ceiling. “He just wanted to finish the job.”

My hands throbbed, the bandages feeling tighter as the swelling continued.

I closed my eyes, trying to picture Ethan.

I pictured him in his expensive Italian suits, smiling at charity galas while he systematically emptied my deceased parents’ trust.

He had looked so perfect on paper.

He had been the grieving widow’s savior, the handsome lawyer who promised to protect me after my parents died.

It had all been a lie.

The room grew darker as the twilight faded into a pitch-black night.

Rachel stood up and switched on the small lamp in the corner, casting a warm, yellow glow over the bed.

“Do you want me to get you some tea?” she asked softly.

“Yes, please,” I said. “My throat feels like sand.”

She squeezed my shoulder gently, careful to avoid my burned wrist, and slipped out of the room.

The silence returned, heavy and thick.

I looked at the black screen of my phone.