ACROSS THE CITY – A SATISFIED OBSERVER
Lucas watched from his PI's tablet, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
Chloe and her AP had no idea what was happening to them.
No idea that every sexy piece of clothing Chloe had packed had been doused in rash powder and chili oil.
No idea that her new lingerie, her fancy dinner dress, even the expensive clothes she'd bought for her lover—all of it—had been carefully laced with pure, unrelenting agony.
The PI, sitting beside him, finally let out a low whistle. "Gotta say, I've seen a lot of revenge moves, but this? This is new."
Lucas exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against his knee.
"This," he said, voice calm, "is just the beginning."
Lucas leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head.
"How long you think they'll last before they start losing their minds?" the PI asked, amusement lacing his voice.
Lucas glanced at the screen. Chloe was still in the shower, scrubbing furiously, her lips curled in frustration, her face contorted in pain. Her AP was sitting on the wet tiles, his head in his hands, looking completely defeated.
Lucas chuckled, cold and calculated.
"Give it a few hours," he murmured. "They'll be begging for mercy."
Chloe thought the cold water would soothe the relentless burning it did for a little while, but the moment she stepped out, a fresh wave of unbearable agony spread across her skin.
At first, it was just a sharp tingle—like a mild sunburn cooling under water. Then, it escalated.
The itch turned vicious.
The burning intensified.
Her thighs, her chest, her stomach—everywhere the water had touched now felt like it was being eaten alive.
Chloe screamed, her nails digging into her skin as she tried to claw the sensation away.
Her AP yelped beside her, his hands flying to his arms. "What the fuck?! It's getting worse!"
He twisted under the spray, trying to escape the water, but it was too late.
The rash powder had activated in a much more visious form.
Chloe gasped, choking on her own breath. Her legs trembled violently, her hands clutching her abdomen as the burning spread even deeper.
"What's happening to me?!" she shrieked, panic lacing her voice.
Her AP staggered out of the shower, dripping wet and panting, his body shaking from the sheer intensity of the itch. "S-Stop scratching! It's just making it worse!"
But she couldn't stop.
It was as if her skin was crawling with fire ants.
Her AP, eyes wide with fear, grabbed a towel and started drying himself frantically—only for the agony to skyrocket.
The more they rubbed, the worse it became.
His towel hit the floor as he let out a strangled groan, his knees buckling.
Chloe barely noticed. She was too busy scraping at her arms, her ribs, her inner thighs,her privates anything to stop the unbearable sensation that only seemed to grow stronger.
She stumbled to the sink, desperately trying to splash cold water on her face. The moment the water touched her cheeks, the burning flared even hotter, sending her reeling backward with a horrified gasp.
Her chest heaved, her mind racing.
This wasn't a normal allergic reaction.
This was deliberate.
But how?
She ran through the past 24 hours in her head—what she ate, what she touched—what she packed.
Her clothes.
Her lingerie.
Her brand-new, expensive, sexy lingerie.
Her stomach dropped.
Chloe turned to her AP, who was now hunched over the bed, his hands buried in his damp hair, his skin red and inflamed.
"Something's not right," she whispered.
He looked up at her with glassy, pained eyes.
"No shit," he rasped.
Chloe's mind raced as she stared at her AP, who was now panting heavily, his fingers twitching as he resisted the uncontrollable urge to scratch himself raw.
She bit down on her lip, trying to ignore the way her own skin felt like it was on fire, burning and itching in the worst possible places.
Her gaze darted to the pile of discarded lingerie on the bathroom floor.
Could it be the fabric?
No—that didn't make sense. She had worn plenty of fancy, delicate underwear before without an issue. But this wasn't just any lingerie.
This was new.
Her breath hitched.
Her mind reeled back to when she had packed her bag, carefully folding her most revealing, seductive pieces—the ones she had bought just for AP.
Had she washed them first?
She froze.
She hadn't.
The realization hit her like a brick to the chest.
Her head snapped toward her AP, whose face twisted in agony as he peeled off his designer shirt, revealing red, irritated welts across his chest and shoulders.
"F-Fuck," he groaned, his voice raw. "I can't—What the hell is happening?!"
Chloe staggered backward, gripping the edge of the sink for support as a horrible thought curled in the pit of her stomach.
What if…
What if someone did this on purpose?
She had been careful.
She had hidden everything.
Lucas couldn't have known.
Could he?
A cold sweat broke out across her forehead, mixing with the burning sensation that was now wreaking havoc on her nerves.
No. No, it wasn't possible.
She hadn't made a mistake.
Had she?
Before she could think any further, another wave of unbearable itching tore through her body, making her whimper.
She needed relief. Now.
"Shower didn't work," her AP gritted out, his voice ragged. "We need—fuck—I need a doctor or something!"
Chloe snapped her head up.
No. No doctors. That would blow everything up.
She forced herself to steady her breathing, even as the fire under her skin screamed for attention.
"We just need—lotion, maybe," she gasped, trying to keep control.
She stumbled to her suitcase, digging through the neatly packed clothes, gritting her teeth against the searing pain.
Everything in her suitcase was new.
She hesitated.
Was it just the lingerie and the dress? Or was it all of it?
Her stomach twisted.
She couldn't take the chance.
Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the first dress she saw and shoved another at her AP, who was rubbing at his arms violently.
"Put this on," she said, her voice sharper than intended. "We're going out. We'll find something for the itch on the way."
He stared at her, bewildered. "Go out? Are you insane? I can barely stand this—"
She shot him a glare. "What else do you suggest?"
He groaned but didn't argue, yanking the dress shirt on.
Chloe did the same, choosing a sleek, body-hugging dress.
She hissed the moment the fabric touched her skin, but she ignored it, forcing herself to breathe through the discomfort.
It's just a reaction. It'll pass.
At least, that's what she told herself.
They left for dinner, both shifting uncomfortably in their seats during the car ride, their skin still tingling—but it wasn't unbearable yet.
THE BREAKING POINT
It took exactly fifteen minutes minutes for the nightmare to to come back in full vengeance.
Seated at an upscale restaurant, Chloe sipped her wine, trying to ignore the heat building in her thighs.
AP was fidgeting too, tugging at his collar and shifting in his chair.
But then—
It got worse.
Like a switch had flipped, the itch came back double force, searing through their bodies like wildfire.
Chloe's grip on her glass tightened, her nails digging into the stem as her breath hitched.
Across from her, AP's face contorted, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.
The waiter approached with their entrées, but Chloe barely noticed—
Because her entire body was screaming.
The fabric against her skin felt like a thousand needles stabbing her all at once.
Her AP made a strangled noise and abruptly shot up from his chair.
"Bathroom," he rasped, already moving.
Chloe was right behind him, nearly knocking over the wine bottle as she pushed herself up.
They stumbled out of the restaurant, their composure shattering with every agonizing second.
By the time they reached their hotel room, they were practically tearing at their clothes, clawing at their own skin again.
Chloe let out a pained cry as she ripped off her dress, not even caring that AP was doing the same beside her.
The relief was instant—but not enough.
Her hands trembled as she stared at the reddened, inflamed patches across her thighs and stomach.
"F-Fucking hell," AP groaned beside her, collapsing onto the bed, his chest heaving.
Chloe's breath came in short, ragged bursts.
Her skin throbbed.
Her mind spun.
And then, like a delayed bomb, realization hit her.
This wasn't just bad luck.
This wasn't an allergic reaction.
This was planned.
And there was only one person who could have done it.
Her stomach dropped.
Lucas knew.
Chloe sat on the edge of the bed, her body still tingling, the burn ebbing slightly now that the offending clothes were gone—but the realization crashing down on her was far worse than any physical pain.
She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to ignore the raw, inflamed patches of skin as she reached for her phone.
Her hands shook.
She scrolled through her recent messages, her heart pounding.
The last texts she had sent to AP were still there—the ones from last night, where she had assured him that Lucas was clueless.
Her blood ran cold.
He had to know.
He had to.
But how?
AP groaned beside her, sitting up and rubbing his forearms. "This isn't normal, Chloe," he gritted out. "We need a doctor—"
"No."
She snapped her head toward him, her voice sharp, her mind racing.
Going to a doctor meant explaining everything. The rashes, the burning, the fact that they both had it, concentrated in certain areas.
No. That would lead to too many questions.
AP shot her a glare. "Then what the fuck do you suggest?"
She took a deep breath, trying to think.
Lucas wasn't the kind of man to play games. If he knew, he wouldn't just sit back and do nothing.
This was only the beginning.
She needed to call home. Now.
Lucas WATCHES THE SHOW
Lucas sat in his car across the street from the hotel, sipping his coffee, perfectly calm.
He had seen everything.
From the way Chloe had shifted uncomfortably during there second attempt at dinner, to the moment she and AP practically ran out of the restaurant, their hands clawing at their own skin.
The PI had followed them back, watching as they stumbled inside like two people possessed.
And now?
He knew exactly what was happening in that room.
Lucas checked his watch.
They'd lasted about an hour before the full wrath of his little parting gift set in.
The rash powder had done its job—but the real kicker was the chili extract.
That would keep them itching and burning for hours.
He almost felt bad.
Almost.
The vibration of his burner phone pulled his attention away.
He flipped it open, seeing the encrypted message waiting for him.
PHASE ONE COMPLETE. PHASE TWO READY UPON ORDER.
Lucas smirked.
Perfect.
He typed a single response.
Proceed.
Then, as if on cue, his personal phone rang.
Lucas saw the name flashing on the screen. Chloe.
He let it ring once.
Twice.
Then he answered, keeping his voice even.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Chloe's DESPERATION
The moment Lucas answered, Chloe gripped her phone tightly, her pulse thundering in her ears.
"H-Hey," she forced out, her throat dry. "I just—wanted to check on you and Emily."
Lucas's voice remained calm. Too calm.
"We're doing great," he said smoothly. "Emily had a good day at school. We made burgers and ice cream for lunch. You know how much she loves ice cream. We will be having dinner soon"
Chloe's stomach twisted.
He was acting normal.
Too normal.
Her skin prickled.
Something was very, very wrong.
She took a shaky breath. "That's—That's great. I just—" she hesitated, glancing at AP, who was rubbing at his arms like a madman. "I think I might be coming down with something."
Lucas hummed. "Oh?"
"Yeah, just—" she swallowed hard. "Some kind of skin reaction, I think. Weird, right?"
Lucas chuckled. "Huh. That is weird."
Chloe's breath hitched.
His tone.
It was off.
It was too smooth.
Lucas knew.
She felt a wave of nausea.
"I should go," she muttered quickly. "I just wanted to check in."
Lucas's voice was gentle. "Of course. You enjoy your trip, honey."
The call ended.
Chloe stared at her phone, her fingers trembling.
Her worst fear was confirmed.
Lucas knew.
And he was already playing the game.
She just didn't know how far ahead of her he was.
Chloe's breath caught in her throat.
The itch had intensified—her skin felt like it was on fire, the rash powder reacting aggressively with the moisture from the shower. AP was no better, pacing the room shirtless, his torso red and irritated, scratching like a rabid animal.
And then—
Ding-dong.
The doorbell.
Chloe froze.
A second passed.
Then—
Knock.
Once.
Twice.
Again. Harder this time.
A pit of dread opened in her stomach.
AP turned to her, his face pale despite the red patches on his skin. "You expecting someone?"
Chloe shook her head, unable to speak.
The knocking continued, more insistent.
She swallowed, trying to suppress the growing panic.
Whoever it was, they weren't leaving.
She forced herself toward the door, her legs weak. With a deep breath, she looked through the peephole.
Her stomach dropped.
Two men in suits stood outside.
One had sunglasses on, even though it was nighttime.
The other was holding a folder.
The emblem on the front sent ice through her veins.
It was from the IRS.
Chloe stumbled back, her mind racing.
AP frowned. "Who is it?"
She barely registered his words.
Because this wasn't just about the money.
Lucas had set something in motion.
And she was running out of time.
The knocking stopped—only to be replaced by a calm but firm voice.
"Mrs. Chloe Hunt, please open the door. This is Agent Daniels from the IRS, and with me is Agent Holloway from the Financial Crimes Division."
Chloe's heart slammed against her ribs.
AP looked at her, wide-eyed, still scratching at his inflamed skin. "The IRS?" he hissed. "What the hell do they want?"
Chloe couldn't answer.
She was frozen.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Louder this time.
"Mrs. Hunt, we have official business with you. Please open the door."
Her mind was racing.
The offshore accounts.
The embezzled money.
The condo.
She suddenly felt suffocated. This couldn't be happening. Not now.
AP grabbed his shirt, quickly throwing it over his head. "You need to open it, Chloe. If we don't, they'll break it down."
Still half naked Chloe took a shaky breath and reached for the doorknob.
Her hand trembled.
With a slow turn, she unlocked it and pulled it open.
The two men stepped in without hesitation.
Agent Daniels, the one with sunglasses despite the dim hallway, pulled out a badge and a document. "Mrs. Hunt, we have a warrant to discuss your financial activities, including multiple offshore accounts under your name."
Her blood ran cold.
AP shifted beside her. "Whoa, whoa, wait a second. What the hell is this?"
Agent Holloway didn't even glance at him. "And you must be Andrew Preston. We'll have questions for you as well."
Chloe's legs nearly gave out.
This was real.
This was happening.
And there was only one person who could have orchestrated it.
Lucas.
She had underestimated him.
And now, it was too late.
Just as Chloe was grappling with the weight of the situation, another figure stepped through the doorway.
Unlike the IRS agents, he wasn't wearing a suit. He was dressed casually—a leather jacket over a dark shirt, confidence in every step. He carried a thick envelope in one hand.
His eyes scanned the room, taking in the disheveled bed, the discarded clothes, and the unmistakable red patches on Chloe and Andrew's skin.
He barely concealed his smirk.
"Chloe Hunt?" His voice was calm, almost amused.
Chloe's stomach twisted, but she nodded.
He turned to Andrew. "Andrew Preston?"
Andrew swallowed hard, his fists clenched. "Yeah."
The man held out his hand. "IDs, please."
They hesitated but knew better than to argue. Chloe's fingers trembled as she reached for her wallet, handing over her ID. Andrew did the same.
The man took a long look at both cards, then gave them a slow, knowing nod.
He smirked. "Perfect."
Then, with an almost ceremonial movement, he pulled the envelope from under his arm, slapped it into Chloe's chest, and took a step back. Doing the same for Andrew
"You've been served."
Chloe flinched as if she had been slapped.
Andrew's breath hitched.
Before either could react, the man turned on his heel and walked out, not bothering to say another word.
Silence.
The two IRS agents, who had been silent spectators, exchanged glances.
But their eyes returned to Chloe and Andrew—watching them, studying the absolute terror painted across their faces.
Chloe felt her legs go weak.
This was no longer just an affair.
No longer just stolen money.
Lucas had moved faster than she ever could have expected.
And now—
She was trapped.
Before Chloe could even process the divorce papers burning in her hands, another knock came from the still-open door.
A woman stepped inside this time—mid-40s, short brown hair, sharp eyes behind rectangular glasses. Unlike the IRS agents, her expression wasn't stern—it was amused.
Chloe immediately felt sick.
The woman pulled out her badge.
"Mrs. Hunt, my name is Diane Holt. I'm with Child Protective Services."
Chloe's stomach dropped.
Diane took a slow step forward, clearly holding back laughter as she took in the scene—the half-naked, clawing-at-their-skin lovers, the terror in their faces, the IRS agents standing by like judges at an execution.
She cleared her throat and pulled out another document.
"This is an official notice informing you that, due to the ongoing criminal investigations regarding financial fraud, tax evasion, and possible child endangerment, you will not be allowed to see your daughter, Emily Hunt, for the foreseeable future."
Chloe's breath caught.
"Wait—"
Diane didn't stop.
"Custody has been temporarily awarded to Mr. Lucas Hunt, the child's father effective immediately, pending the results of both the IRS investigation and the fraud commission's findings."
Chloe's entire body turned cold.
She couldn't speak.
She couldn't even breathe.
Her baby.
Her perfect little girl.
Gone.
"Should you wish to contest this," Diane added, barely keeping a straight face, "you may file an appeal—though I strongly advise against it, considering the severity of the charges you're currently facing."
She closed the folder and gave Chloe a sympathetic look—though the glint in her eyes suggested she didn't feel sorry at all.
"Have a wonderful day, Mrs. Hunt."
And just like that—
She turned and walked out.
The door clicked shut.
Chloe stared at the floor.
AP stared at Chloe.
The IRS agents exchanged another glance.
A thick, suffocating silence filled the room.
For the first time in her life—
Chloe had lost.
Before Chloe could even fully absorb the nightmare unraveling around her, the IRS agents stepped forward, flipping open a leather folder.
"Mrs. Hunt, Mr. Preston," the agent said, his voice clipped and professional. "We have a few questions for you."
Neither Chloe nor Andrew could form a coherent response. They were too busy writhing in discomfort, their skin burning, itching, practically on fire.
Chloe felt it in places she never even knew could itch—a deep, maddening sensation that only intensified with every passing second.
She twisted in her seat, her breath coming out in short gasps, her nails digging into her arms, trying—failing—to find relief.
Andrew was no better. He was already shirtless, his tie discarded, his hands scratching at his torso like a rabid dog.
But the agents didn't care.
Not even a little.
"Mrs. Hunt," the first agent continued, flipping through a series of financial documents, "can you explain the origin of the $600,000 that was transferred into three offshore accounts under your name over the past three years?"
Chloe's eyes widened.
The second agent spoke before she could even attempt a lie.
"We also have documents for a condo purchased entirely in your name—funded by Mr. Hunt's earnings."
Flip. Another document.
"Not to mention the credit card statements showing thousands of dollars spent on luxury items, including trips to spas, lingerie, and gifts—none of which ever seem to have been used in your household."
Flip. Another.
"And, of course, the hotel receipts—which, interestingly, coincide with your 'business trips.'"
Chloe's mouth opened and closed.
The burning in her skin was nothing compared to the flames licking at her insides.
This was impossible.
How did they—
How could Lucas have—
"Would you like to comment, Mrs. Hunt?"
Chloe could barely think. She wanted to scream, to cry, to claw at herself until the burning stopped, but more than anything—
She wanted out.
Out of this room.
Out of this situation.
Out of this hellish nightmare that had somehow become her reality.
But there was no escape.
There was only this room, these agents, these accusations, this unbearable itch, and the terrifying realization that everything she had built—
Had crumbled.
The interrogation stretched for hours—three, to be exact. Three long, agonizing, merciless hours of questions, evidence, and absolute humiliation.
Chloe and Andrew sat across from the IRS agents in the small, stuffy hotel room, their bodies twitching, burning, suffering—but that pain was nothing compared to the walls closing in around them.
Every question came with a piece of undeniable proof. Every lie they tried to mutter was immediately shut down with bank records, emails, receipts, and surveillance photos.
There was no escape.
For Chloe, the realization hit like a sledgehammer to the gut—she wasn't just looking at a messy divorce.
She was looking at 15 to 20 years in federal prison.
Fraud. Tax evasion. Money laundering. Identity theft. The list of charges was long enough to bury her.
And Andrew?
As her willing accomplice, his role in the offshore accounts, hidden transactions, and fraudulent business expenses had locked him in for 7 to 12 years behind bars.
They weren't just caught.
They were finished.
At some point, Andrew snapped, pushing himself off the chair, hands in his hair.
"This—this is insane!" he shouted, pacing frantically. "I didn't even—This wasn't—Chloe, what the hell did you get me into?!"
Chloe, drenched in cold sweat, her skin red and raw from scratching, could only stare at the floor.
Because there was nothing left to say.
She had lost everything.
And worst of all—
Lucas had planned every second of it.
Just as the officers gathered their files and prepared to leave, there was another knock at the door.
Chloe froze.
Her body was shaking, skin burning, nails digging into the chair as she slowly turned toward the door of hell—toward whatever new nightmare awaited her.
Standing in the doorway was a man she had only ever seen in photos with Lucas.
Tall. Imposing. Eyes as sharp as a blade.
He nodded at the agents, who wordlessly exited the room.
Then, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"My name is James," he said coolly, taking a seat across from them. "Lucas's attorney."
A shiver ran down Chloe's spine.
James set a folder on the table, tapping it once before locking eyes with Andrew first.
"Let's get to the point," he said, his voice calm, yet final. "Due to your actions, your fate has already been decided. You have two choices, Andrew."
Andrew swallowed hard, shifting in his seat.
"Option One," James continued. "You immediately agree to the divorce from your wife. You agree to every demand she makes, without question. In return, Lucas will withdraw his complaint against you. You will not face jail time."
A pause.
Andrew clenched his jaw.
"And if I don't?" he muttered.
James leaned forward slightly.
"Then Lucas will pursue an alienation of affection lawsuit. Your wife will take everything. And we will ensure you serve no less than twenty years in prison."
Silence.
The blood drained from Andrew's face.
His entire world was caving in.
And then James turned to Chloe.
She stiffened.
"For you," James said, his voice like a death sentence, "there is only one choice."
Her throat tightened.
"You are never to show your face in this country again."
The words slammed into her like a wrecking ball.
"W-What?" she choked out.
"If you wish to remain free, you will leave immediately. Your name is already viral, spreading like wildfire. Every detail of your fraud, your affair, your theft—it's everywhere."
"No," Chloe shook her head violently, her breath shallow. "That—That can't be true—"
She lunged for her phone, her fingers shaking as she scrambled to unlock it.
A storm of notifications exploded across her screen.
Hundreds of messages.
Countless missed calls.
She didn't even get a chance to process them before her phone lit up with an incoming call.
Her mother.
Instinctively, her trembling fingers answered.
The moment the call connected, a voice roared through the speaker.
"YOU—DISGRACEFUL, WORTHLESS FAILURE—"
Chloe's ears rang from the sheer force of her mother's rage.
"You have shamed this family! You have ruined yourself! Do you have any idea what you've done?! We are finished because of you!"
Tears spilled down Chloe's face as her mother's furious voice lashed her like a whip.
From the storm of screaming, Chloe managed to piece together the bitter truth—
Her family had disowned her.
Her entire life was over.
Chloe's breath came in ragged gasps, her vision blurring with panic and disbelief.
"No… No, no, no, this isn't happening," she whispered, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Mom, please—"
But her mother had already hung up.
A cold, empty silence rang in her ears.
James simply watched her—calm, unreadable, letting the weight of reality sink into her bones.
Her body shook violently, her skin still burning from the rash powder, but now a different kind of fire raged inside her—a deep, clawing desperation.
This wasn't real.
This couldn't be real.
She turned toward Andrew, eyes wide, pleading.
But Andrew wasn't looking at her.
He was staring at the wall, jaw tight, fists clenched, a man calculating his own survival first.
James leaned back in his chair, checking his watch.
"Well," he said, matter-of-factly. "I believe that settles everything."
Chloe snapped her head toward him.
"No!" she nearly screamed. "It's not over! This isn't fair! Lucas—he—he can't just do this to me! I was his wife!"
James tilted his head, his expression blank.
"You were," he agreed. "And now you're nothing."
The words hit harder than a slap.
Tears streamed down her face, but James remained unmoved.
He stood, gathering his folder, adjusting his cufflinks as he prepared to leave.
"Oh, and one more thing," he added casually. "Lucas is filing for full custody of Emily. Given the evidence of your embezzlement, adultery, and fraud, the courts will have zero issue granting him sole custody."
Chloe froze.
Her breath hitched.
A single word escaped her lips, a trembling, shattered whisper—
"Emily…?"
James nodded.
"You'll never see her again."
A choked sob ripped from her throat.
Her entire body collapsed into itself, her fingers tangling in her hair as she rocked back and forth, her mind spiraling in terror.
"Please…" she begged, voice breaking. "Not my baby. Not my daughter."
But James was already at the door.
He turned, taking one last glance at the wreck of a woman before him.
Then he smirked.
"You should've thought about that before you burned your own life to the ground."
And with that, he left.
Leaving Chloe to drown in the ruin of her own making.
Lucas sat in his car, parked a block away from the hotel, sipping his coffee with calm precision. The sun had started to set, casting long shadows across the city streets, but inside him, there was no warmth—only the cold satisfaction of watching justice unfold.
His phone buzzed. A message from James.
"All done. She's finished."
Lucas exhaled, letting his head rest against the seat, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
This should have felt like victory.
But it didn't.
Not until he had Emily in his arms, far away from the wreckage of the woman he had once called his wife.
He unlocked his phone and opened the photos—the ones that had started it all. Followed by
The PI reports. The forensic analysis. The offshore accounts. The hotel surveillance footage.
Every lie. Every betrayal. Every stolen dollar.
A part of him still struggled to reconcile the truth. He had loved Chloe. Given her everything. Trusted her.
But she had never loved him back.
Not him.
Just his money.
Lucas closed his eyes.
He had been so blind.
So damn blind.
The signs had always been there—her lack of warmth, her disinterest in his life, the way she always seemed more invested in her phone than their marriage.
He had ignored it all. Made excuses.
Because he had wanted to believe in the fairy tale.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
What a fool he had been.
He glanced at the hotel entrance, knowing that behind those doors, Chloe's world was crumbling.
And yet, he felt nothing.
No joy. No rage.
Just a cold indifference and a calculating clarity.
She had tried to ruin him, steal from him, and use him.
But in the end?
He had been smarter.
His phone buzzed again.
Another message. This time from his parents.
Emily's with us. She's safe. She's happy. See you soon.
Lucas inhaled deeply. That was all that mattered now.
He put the car in drive, leaving behind the ashes of his past, heading toward the one person who still made life worth living.
Emily.
The next morning, Chloe arrived at their house—no, Lucas's house—to find it completely empty.
The curtains were drawn, the driveway was vacant, and not a single light flickered inside. She knocked once, then again.
Nothing.
She tried her key, only to feel her stomach drop when the lock didn't turn. The house was sealed off from her completely.
Panic set in. She ran to the garage door, and thankfully, it opened with her old key code.
Inside, she found her belongings packed neatly into cardboard boxes.
Her clothes. Her shoes. Her jewelry.
But not everything.
The expensive handbags? Gone. The luxury gifts Lucas had bought her over the years? Nowhere to be seen.
She dug through the boxes in desperation, realizing that all the expensive things—the valuable things—were missing.
A cold dread spread through her.
He had taken everything that mattered.
Her heart pounded as she grabbed her phone, scrolling through her contacts. She called Lucas. Straight to voicemail.
She texted him. No response.
Chloe: We need to talk.
Chloe: Lucas, where are you?
Chloe: You can't do this to me.
Nothing.
She called her coworkers, her friends. No one picked up.
Her social media was a nightmare—her inbox was flooded with messages, and her name was trending for all the wrong reasons.
News articles, posts, comments—she was being ripped apart online.
Her reputation? Destroyed.
Her job? Gone.
She had been fired this morning—a single email informing her that her position was terminated due to a breach of company policy.
Her hands trembled as she realized… she had nothing.
Lucas had cut her off completely.
She had nowhere to go.
Her lover, Andrew? His wife had kicked him out and froze all of their accounts. He had nothing to offer her.
She tried calling him, only to hear the sharp, dead tone of a blocked number.
A lump formed in her throat as she sat on the garage floor, staring at the cold, hard truth.
Lucas had played the game, and he had won.
Tears burned her eyes as she realized she was homeless.
DAY 1 – NOWHERE TO GO
Chloe sat in the garage for hours, her back pressed against a stack of boxes, numb and exhausted. This couldn't be real.
Her life—the comfortable, luxurious existence she had built—was gone in less than a day.
With a deep breath, she grabbed what little cash she had left and stuffed some clothes into a duffel bag. Then, with no other choice, she booked a cheap motel for the night.
The room smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. The bed was stiff, the walls thin, and every sound from the rooms around her made her skin crawl.
She had never lived like this before.
She never thought she would.
And yet, here she was.
She spent the night trying to think of solutions—any way to fix this.
Lucas wasn't answering her calls.
Her so-called friends weren't responding.
Andrew had abandoned her.
Her family had disowned her.
Her money? Frozen. Her reputation? Destroyed.
She was completely, utterly alone.
DAY 2 – DESPERATION
The next morning, Chloe stood outside Lucas's office building, wrapped in a coat she had found in the boxes. She needed to talk to him.
To explain.
To beg.
She waited for an hour, pacing near the entrance. But when Lucas finally arrived, he didn't even glance at her.
He walked straight inside, ignoring her like she was nothing.
She followed, trying to get through security, but the receptionist blocked her immediately.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Mr. Hunt has explicitly requested that you not be allowed inside."
"Please, I just need to talk to him!" Chloe begged, but the woman's expression didn't change.
"You need to leave. Or we'll call security."
The humiliation burned as she turned away, defeated.
Lucas was done with her.
DAY 3 – THE FINAL BLOW
With nowhere else to go, she used what little money she had left for food and searched for places to stay.
By midday, she checked her bank account—it was completely drained.
The offshore accounts? Locked down.
Her credit cards? Maxed out and frozen.
The condo? Seized by authorities.
She tried calling lawyers, only to be met with cold responses. No one would take her case.
By nightfall, she was sleeping in her car.
And that's when it finally hit her.
She had lost everything.
DAY 4 – WAITING IN VAIN
Chloe sat in her car outside Lucas's office, her legs cramped, her stomach growling. She had been waiting for hours.
She was sure he'd come out eventually. Maybe if she just saw him, if she could talk to him face-to-face, she could convince him to give her something.
But he never came out.
Not at lunch.
Not in the evening.
Not even when the building lights dimmed and most employees had left.
Where was he?
DAY 5 – NO SIGHT OF HIM
The next day, she was back, parked across the street from the office, watching.
Still no sign of him.
She tried calling him again—straight to voicemail.
Tried emailing him—no response.
Even when she saw some of his coworkers leaving, she swallowed her pride and approached one of them.
"Excuse me," she forced a polite smile, ignoring the disgusted look the woman gave her. "Do you know if Lucas is in today?"
The woman scoffed. "Lucas? Oh, honey, you really don't know, do you?"
Chloe's heart pounded. "What do you mean?"
The woman laughed under her breath. "Lucas is on an extended leave. He hasn't been in since day before yesterday."
Chloe froze. Leave?
"Wait—where did he go?" she blurted.
But the woman was already walking away. "Not your business."
Chloe clenched her fists. He had disappeared on purpose.
He was avoiding her.
DAY 6 – NOWHERE LEFT TO TURN
By the third day of waiting, her car was out of gas.
She barely had money for food, and sleeping in her car was becoming unbearable.
She was dirty.
Tired.
And furious.
Lucas had planned this.
He had cut her off so completely that she couldn't even find him.
No money. No home. No reputation. Nothing.
And it was only getting worse.
DAY 7 – A LAST DESPERATE ATTEMPT
Chloe parked a few houses away from Lucas's parents' home. She needed to see Emily.
She needed to talk to Lucas.
Her entire life was falling apart, and no one was answering her calls.
His parents' cars were in the driveway. Peeking through the large living room window, she spotted Emily's toys scattered across the floor.
But the house itself?
Silent.
No TV sounds. No movement. Nothing.
Chloe hesitated, then marched up to the door and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked harder. Still nothing.
Her stomach twisted. Were they ignoring her?
She pounded on the door this time. "Lucas! I know you're in there! Just talk to me!"
Nothing.
"Emily! Baby, it's Mommy! Can you hear me?" she called, pressing her ear against the wood.
Silence.
A deep chill settled into her bones.
She turned, stepping off the porch, and looked around the yard. Lucas's parents' cars were here. Emily's toys were here.
So where was everyone?
She checked her phone—no new messages, no emails. Not a damn thing.
Chloe gritted her teeth. They were shutting her out.
And for the first time in her life, she had nowhere left to go.
DAY 8 – NOWHERE LEFT TO TURN
Chloe sat in her car, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. She had spent the night in the vehicle, parked outside Lucas's office, waiting for him to show up.
He never did.
She had waited outside his parents' house. He didn't show up there either
She was out of money, out of options, and out of people to manipulate.
But she still had one place left—her mother's house.
Her mother had been furious when they last spoke, screaming about disgrace and failure. But she was still family—and family had to take you in, right?
Right?
She swallowed and turned the key, the engine groaning to life as she drove through the city, making her way to the one place she swore she'd never return to.
An hour later, Chloe stood at her mother's doorstep, exhaustion dragging at her limbs.
The house looked the same. White picket fence, pristine lawn, expensive front door.
It looked… safe.
She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
No answer.
She rang again.
And again.
Finally, she heard movement inside. Footsteps. The door swung open.
Her mother stood there, arms crossed, face cold as ice.
"What are you doing here?"
Chloe forced a smile, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. "Mom, I… I just need a place to stay for a while. Just until—"
"No."
The word hit her like a slap.
Chloe's breath hitched. "Mom, please. I have nowhere else to go. I just—"
Her mother's nostrils flared. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" Her voice was calm—too calm. "You humiliated this family. You stole, you cheated, and you got caught."
"But I'm your daughter!" Chloe choked out.
"Not anymore."
The door slammed shut in her face.
Chloe stood there, staring at the wood, the last shred of hope crumbling inside her.
Her own mother had disowned her.
She backed away, heart pounding, stomach twisting.
She had nothing.
She had no one.
And for the first time in her life, Chloe Hunt was well and truly alone.
Desperation overrode common sense. Chloe's hands balled into fists, and before she could stop herself, she shoved against the door, forcing her way inside.
Her mother stumbled back, eyes widening in shock.
"I'm not leaving!" Chloe snapped, her voice shrill, unhinged. "I have nowhere else to go! I am your daughter, and you're going to help me!"
Before another word could leave her mouth—SLAP.
The sound echoed through the foyer like a gunshot.
Chloe's head snapped to the side, her cheek stinging from the impact.
She blinked, stunned. Stumbling back outside
Her mother, Evelyn Carter, had never hit her before.
Evelyn lowered her hand, expression carved from stone.
"Get. Out." Her voice was calm, dangerous. "Before I call the police."
Chloe staggered back, pressing a hand to her burning cheek. "You wouldn't—"
"Try me." Evelyn's gaze was unforgiving raising her hand again. "You're a disgrace. You stole from your husband, you humiliated this family's name, and now you think you can just waltz back here and be taken care of? Grow up, Chloe. You're not welcome here. Not today. Not ever."
Tears welled in Chloe's eyes. "Mom, please—"
Evelyn turned her back and walked away.
A moment later, a loud click echoed through the house.
She had locked the door.
Chloe stood there, breath ragged, body trembling.
And then… she laughed.
A bitter, broken laugh that sounded nothing like her.
She had no money. No home. No family.
She had lost everything.
And worst of all… she had done it to herself.
Chloe's laughter echoed through the empty street—wild, broken, manic.
Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled backward, her body wracked with uncontrollable fits of laughter that weren't joyful at all.
She clutched her stomach, the hysteria shaking her frame. The world around her blurred, tilting at odd angles. Her mind refused to process what had just happened.
She had nothing.
No home. No husband. No child. No mother.
Nothing.
The laughter turned into gasping sobs, her breath hitching, but she kept laughing—she couldn't stop.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold pavement.
Her vision darkened at the edges, her lungs burned from the lack of air, and her body gave out.
With one final, strangled gasp—Chloe Hunt fell unconscious.
Chloe's eyelids felt like lead as she slowly came back to consciousness. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils, and the soft beeping of medical equipment rang in her ears.
Her head throbbed, her body ached, but it was the sound of his voice that made her heart nearly stop.
Lucas.
She forced her eyes open, the blinding white of the hospital ceiling greeting her. She turned her head slightly and saw him—standing by the doorway, his back partially turned to her. His voice was low, calm, but distant.
He wasn't speaking to her.
She blinked, trying to focus.
"Yeah… No, she'll be fine physically," Lucas said into his phone, his tone devoid of warmth. "Dehydration, exhaustion… probably hasn't eaten properly in days." A pause. Then, his voice grew even colder. "It doesn't change anything."
Chloe's breath hitched.
Lucas… didn't care.
Not about her being here. Not about what had happened to her.
Her fingers clenched the thin hospital sheet. She had to say something—anything.
"L-Lucas…" Her voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
He froze.
For a moment, he didn't move, didn't turn around. Then, slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers.
There was no anger. No warmth. No relief.
Just indifference.
Lucas stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow exhale, he ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket.
Chloe swallowed, her throat dry. "L-Lucas… you—"
"You're awake." His voice was neutral, almost clinical.
She winced at the lack of emotion. "Where am I?"
"Hospital," he answered simply. "You collapsed outside your mother's house."
Her heart pounded. "You—You brought me here?"
Lucas let out a short, humorless chuckle. "No. Your mother did.I was still listed as your emergency contact so here I am"
Chloe flinched.
Of course. Her mother, who had slapped her across the face before she blacked out. Who had disowned her. Who, despite everything, had still called for help.
Lucas took a step forward, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sharp. "What do you want, Chloe?"
The bluntness of the question hit her like a slap. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Lucas tilted his head slightly. "Are you looking for sympathy? Forgiveness?" His lips curved into a mockery of a smile. "A second chance?"
Chloe's throat tightened. Yes. She wanted all of that.
Tears welled in her eyes. "Lucas, please… I—"
He cut her off. "You what? You're sorry?" His voice hardened, a razor-sharp edge creeping in. "Sorry that you stole from me? That you cheated? That you spent my money on another man?" He leaned down slightly, his cold eyes locking onto hers. "Or are you just sorry that you got caught?"
Chloe trembled. She wanted to say something, anything that would make him understand, make him see her as his wife again, not a mistake.
But she had nothing.
"I…" Her voice cracked. "I didn't—"
"Don't." Lucas straightened, shaking his head. "Don't lie to me again, Chloe. You lost that privilege."
A painful silence filled the room.
Finally, Lucas sighed and glanced toward the door. "The doctor says you can leave tomorrow. I already paid for everything."
Her eyes widened. "You—"
"Consider it the last thing I ever give you," he said coolly.
Her breath hitched. "Lucas… please, I—"
He turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Just before stepping out, he paused. Without looking back, he said, "Don't come looking for me again, Chloe. We're done."
And then—he was gone.
As Chloe lay in the hospital bed, the weight of everything crashed down on her. The betrayal, the loss, the humiliation—she had lost everything. Lucas, Emily, her reputation, her home, her money. Everything.
She barely reacted when the doctor came in, a clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable. "Ms. Hunt, we've conducted a psychological evaluation," he said calmly.
She barely heard him.
"Your mental state shows signs of severe trauma and depression, a psychotic break" the doctor continued, his tone careful. "We recommend professional treatment."
Chloe blinked. "Treatment?" Her voice was hollow.
The doctor hesitated. "Yes. However… before that can happen, there's another matter."
The door opened, and two uniformed officers stepped in. The metallic clink of handcuffs sent a chill through her veins.
"Chloe Hunt," one of them said, stepping forward, "you are under arrest for fraud, tax evasion, and embezzlement."
Her breath hitched. No. No, this can't be happening.
The officer continued speaking, reading her rights, but Chloe barely heard anything past the pounding in her ears.
She was being arrested.
Her mother's rejection, Lucas's disgust, Emily being taken from her—all of it paled in comparison to this moment.
The cold steel of the handcuffs closed around her wrists.
And for the first time since this nightmare began…
Chloe finally understood that there was no escape.
Chloe barely registered what was happening as she was escorted out of the hospital the next day. The flashing lights of the police car, the murmurs of hospital staff, the weight of the handcuffs on her wrists—it all blurred together in a haze of disbelief.
She wasn't going to a regular prison. No, they had deemed her mentally unfit. Her public defendant had fought for a psychiatric facility instead of a standard sentence, citing her deteriorating mental health. The system had its flaws, and as a woman with no prior record, the court had shown some leniency. But it wasn't freedom—it was nine years in a psychiatric ward under strict supervision.
The moment she arrived, the stark white walls of the facility felt suffocating. There were no expensive dresses, no designer bags, no luxurious spa days. Just pale blue scrubs, routine check-ins, and endless therapy sessions where she was forced to confront the monster she had become.
Lucas had made sure she couldn't manipulate her way out of this. The evidence against her was airtight. The IRS, the fraud commission, the divorce court—they had all lined up against her, brick by brick, sealing her fate.
She had lost everything. Her wealth, her status, her freedom.
But the worst part?
Emily.
Her daughter—**her own flesh and blood—**had been taken from her. There were no visits, no calls, no letters. She was nothing but a stranger now.
At night, as she lay in a cold, unfamiliar bed, listening to the distant wails of other patients, reality sank in.
For the first time, Chloe truly felt the emptiness of her choices.
And there was no one left to blame but herself.
Lucas sat in his home office, staring at the screen in front of him. His email inbox was flooded with updates—IRS reports, legal documents, bank statements confirming the reversal of Chloe's embezzlement, final divorce proceedings, and CPS confirmations. Each message was another nail in the coffin of the life he had once thought was real.
He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. It was finally over. Nine years in a psychiatric facility. The courts had decided that Chloe wasn't fit for a normal prison sentence. Too unstable. Too fragile.
Lucas should have felt angry. Should have felt robbed of the justice he wanted—the full weight of the law crushing her. But instead…
He felt nothing.
His phone vibrated. A message from James:
"She was escorted out to the hospital this morning. It's done."
He stared at the text for a long moment before locking his phone and placing it on the desk.
Chloe had tried to find him. Camped outside his workplace for days. Security had sent him the footage—her pacing, begging the front desk, waiting for a man who never came.
She had gone to his parents' house, probably hoping to see Emily. But Lucas had already arranged everything. His parents had taken Emily to a vacation house out of town. Far away from the wreckage Chloe had caused.
Then, she had gone to her mother's house. Lucas didn't need to be there to know what had happened. Disgrace. Humiliation. Rejection. Chloe had burned every bridge she had.
Now, she was gone. Locked away. Out of his life.
Lucas looked at the framed photo on his desk—Emily's bright, smiling face.
This is what mattered now.
He closed his laptop and stood up. For the first time in years, his house felt like home.
SEVEN YEARS LATER
Lucas sat in his backyard, watching his son, Ethan, chase after his older sister, Emily. His youngest, little Hana, sat on his lap, giggling as she played with his fingers. His wife, Mei, stood near the patio, talking with his mother as they prepared dinner.
Life had moved forward.
Three years after Chloe was institutionalized, Lucas met Mei. She was strong, kind, and saw the world with sharp eyes that reminded him never to take things at face value again. They had married within a year. Two years later, Ethan was born. Two more years, and Hana arrived. His family was complete. His happiness was real.
He had long since stopped thinking about Chloe. She was nothing more than a ghost, a distant nightmare from a past life.
But today, the past came knocking.
His phone vibrated. A message from James.
"She's out."
Lucas exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the chair. Chloe Carter was free.
He wasn't worried—his life was ironclad. His finances were untouchable. His family was safe.
But still… the past had a habit of creeping back in unexpected ways.
CHLOE'S POV – THE PAST SEVEN YEARS
The first thing she remembered was the cold, sterile white of the hospital walls. The second was the sound of cuffs locking around her wrists.
She had screamed, fought, begged—but it hadn't mattered.
Her mother had testified against her. The government had mountains of evidence. Lucas had washed his hands of her. Her life was gone.
For the first three months, she was in shock. She refused to eat. Refused to speak. Refused to believe this was real.
The facility was cruel in its own way—not a prison, but close enough. Strict schedules. Therapists picking apart her mind. Group sessions with women who were either broken or completely detached from reality. She was neither.
But as months passed, reality set in.
Her accounts? Frozen.Her possessions? Sold off.Her name? Destroyed.
Even if she got out, where would she go?
Two years in, she accepted that she had lost.
She no longer had the rage, the delusions of fixing things, the fantasies of making Lucas take her back. She had nothing.
By the fourth year, she had changed. The arrogance was gone. The entitlement had faded. All that was left was a hollow woman who didn't recognize herself in the mirror.
She knew Lucas had remarried. . She knew she was just a ghost in his past.
In her sixth year, she started planning.
She wasn't going to rot here. She would get out. She would start over. She would survive.
And in her seventh year, the doors opened due to good behaviour and better mental health but she was required to go for 2 weekly appointments with her therapist if she failed that meant another 2 years to her sentence.
She stepped out, breathing in fresh air for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
And then, reality crashed in.
She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. No money. No job.
But she wasn't done yet.
She would find Lucas. She would see him.although She knew he had more kids now but she needed to see him
And maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to crawl back from the abyss.
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