Chapter 2

Anna's POV

The second Arthur's Audi vanished down the street, I moved.

I threw on a plain black coat, shoved dark sunglasses over my face, and ordered a cab to St. Jude Medical Center.

Boston's autumn wind was freezing, but my palms were dripping with sweat. I knew this hospital way too well. As Dr. Arthur Vance's wife, I had been here for countless charity dinners and staff parties. The nurses knew my face. It was a massive risk, but it was also my only advantage. I knew the layout.

I ignored the button for the 12th floor, where his surgical department was. Instead, I hit the button for the 2nd floor: VIP Intensive Care.

That was where Lillian had recovered from her transplant. It was also where she had her exclusive follow-up appointments.

The elevator doors slid open. The VIP wing was so quiet it felt dead. The air smelled heavily of bleach and money. I ducked my head, letting my hair fall around the sunglasses, and walked fast toward Room 201.

According to the schedule I had secretly checked on Arthur's iPad before he woke up, he was supposed to be in a four-hour bypass surgery right now. But Lillian had a check-up at 10:00 AM. A sick, twisting feeling in my gut told me he wouldn't miss it.

Room 201 was at the end of the hall. The heavy door was cracked open just an inch.

I pressed my back against the cold wall. I held my breath so hard my lungs burned, leaning my ear toward the gap.

The voices coming from inside made my blood run ice-cold.

"Arthur… what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be scrubbing in?" It was Lillian. Her voice was soft, breathy, and disgustingly sweet.

"I let my resident do the grunt work. I wanted to see you first." It was Arthur. The husband who kissed me goodbye this morning. But his tone… he sounded completely different. His voice was dripping with a raw, obsessive devotion he had never, ever used with me.

My stomach rolled. I clamped my hand over my mouth, biting down hard on my own finger to keep from making a sound.

"It's fluttering again," Lillian whispered. "My heart."

"Shh. Don't worry. I'm right here," Arthur promised. "It's a perfect, healthy heart. I told you I would give you the absolute best, didn't I? I made sure of it. It's going to beat for you for a long, long time."

I made sure of it.

The words hit me like a physical blow to the head.

"But… what about Anna?" Lillian asked.

"Don't bring her up." Arthur's voice flipped instantly. It went from warm and loving to a flat, ice-cold sneer that I barely recognized. "If it wouldn't ruin my reputation, I would have dumped that naive idiot months ago. She still firmly believes her sister died from crash complications. She buys every word I say. As long as she's in the dark, we're safe."

Boom.

My legs gave out. I slid down the wall, my knees hitting the floor hard.

He knew. He did this on purpose.

This wasn't a medical mistake. This wasn't a tragic failure to save my sister. This was premeditated murder. To save his dying first love, my husband stood over Emily—my bleeding, bruised, perfectly matching 22-year-old sister—and decided she was just spare parts.

"You're too good to me, Arthur," Lillian giggled.

Then came the wet, sickening sound of them kissing.

I started shaking violently. Hot tears spilled out from under my sunglasses. Pure, blinding rage mixed with a sickness so deep I thought I was going to throw up right there in the hallway. I wanted to kick the door open. I wanted to grab a scalpel and tear his perfect face apart.

Suddenly, the frantic squeak of rubber shoes echoed from the far end of the hallway.

"Is Dr. Vance in there?" a panicked nurse yelled.

"Yeah, he's checking on Ms. Thorne!" another voice shouted back.

The footsteps were sprinting toward us.

Fear shocked my system, snapping me out of my rage. If Arthur walked out and caught me hiding outside the door, I was dead. A man who could casually slaughter his sister-in-law on an operating table wouldn't hesitate to permanently shut up his snooping wife.

I scrambled to my feet. The door to the next room—Room 199—was slightly open with a cleaning sign on the handle. I lunged inside the dark room, dragging the door shut just as the nurse banged on 201.

I plastered myself against the wall in the dark, my heart hammering so violently it hurt.

"Dr. Vance! Emergency in OR 3! Patient is bleeding out. They need you now."

"Understood. I'm right behind you."

It was terrifying. In a fraction of a second, Arthur went from a cheating, murdering lover back to the icy, commanding surgical god.

Seconds later, I heard his leather shoes click down the hallway, perfectly calm and steady, fading toward the elevators.

Alone in the dark room, I sank to the floor. The cold sweat was sticking my shirt to my back. I squeezed my eyes shut, and Emily's bright, laughing face flashed in the darkness.

“Anna! Just wait till I graduate. I'm making your wedding dress, I swear! You're going to be the most beautiful bride!”

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Emily. My loud, funny, beautiful sister. Who trusted my husband to save her.

When I finally opened my eyes, I dragged my sleeve across my wet face. The suffocating weight in my chest froze over. It hardened into something incredibly sharp, and incredibly dangerous.

Crying was useless. Screaming at Lillian would only get me killed. Arthur was a psychopath who had spent the last year burning his tracks. He owned the hospital staff. He owned the logs.

If I wanted him to burn, I needed proof. Hard, indisputable evidence that would strip away his god-like status, put him in a cage, and ruin his life forever.

I pushed myself off the floor, fixed my coat, and walked back out into the bright hallway.

I gave one last look at the closed door of Room 201.

You like playing games, Arthur? I thought, my chest tight with a cold, hollow fury. Fine. I'll play the naive little wife for as long as it takes. Let's see who's still breathing at the end of this.