Chapter 5 - THE FACE OF A LIEThe elevator doors opened with a soft ding, opening directly into a private foyer with polished hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the illuminated skyline of Lake Michigan.
The apartment smelled of expensive jasmine incense and designer perfume. Soft jazz played from concealed ceiling speakers.
I walked quietly across the silk rug toward the open-concept living room.
And there she was.
She was standing by a quartz kitchen island, pouring a glass of red wine. She was wearing a silk bathrobe, her hair freshly dyed platinum blonde, styled in a chic, short bob. But the sharp line of her jaw, the slight curve of her nose, and the small birthmark near her collarbone were unmistakable.
It was Emily.
She looked radiant. Healthy. Wealthy. Alive.
"You always did prefer Pinot Noir," I said, my voice echoing coldly across the high-ceilinged room.
Emily froze. The wine glass slipped from her manicured hand, crashing onto the marble island and shattering into a hundred glittering shards. Dark red liquid splashed across her white robe like fresh blood.
She turned around slowly, her face going pale as chalk. Her eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing terror.
"R-Ryan?" she gasped, backing up until her spine hit the kitchen counter. "How... how did you find me?"
"Five years, Emily," I stepped closer, my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, my heart beating so hard I thought my ribs would snap. "Five years I spent mourning you. I visited an empty plot of dirt every single month. I kept your clothes in our closet. I almost ended my own life twice because I couldn't bear the guilt of surviving the crash you were supposed to be in!"
"Ryan, please—let me explain!" she stammered, holding up her trembling hands. "It wasn't what you think!"
"You made your mother forge dental records!" I roared, the rage exploding out of my chest like a volcanic eruption. "You filled a casket with sandbags! And then you bled me dry! Three hundred dollars a month! Why?! Why the three hundred dollars, Emily?! You're living in a five-million-dollar penthouse! Why steal three hundred dollars from your grieving husband?!"
Emily let out a shaky breath, stepping around the broken glass. The terror in her eyes slowly began to fade, replaced by something cold, calculating, and frighteningly unfamiliar.
She pulled a linen napkin from the counter and casually wiped the wine off her robe.
"Because as long as you were paying that money, Ryan," she said softly, her voice devoid of any warmth, "I knew you were still trapped. I knew you weren't looking for another woman. I knew you weren't asking questions about the business. It was my insurance policy to keep you obedient and stagnant in Ohio."
I stared at her, feeling a sick nausea rise in my throat. "Who are you?"
"I'm the woman who realized that marrying a middle-management accountant in Columbus was a death sentence for my ambitions," she said calmly, taking a step toward me. "Five years ago, I didn't just want out of our marriage, Ryan. I needed to disappear completely."
"Why?"
A heavy footsteps sounded from the hallway behind me.
"Because she didn't leave alone, Mr. Vance," a deep, gravelly voice announced.
I turned around to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a bespoke tuxedo walk into the living room. He had silver hair, a cruel, authoritative posture, and a glass of scotch in his hand.
May you like
I recognized him instantly from the news.
Victor Vance. My wealthy, estranged uncle—the real estate tycoon who had built a multi-billion-dollar empire across the Midwest.
