Chapter 4

Martha lunged forward like a rabid dog, trying to rip the paperwork to shreds.

"I won't allow it! You won't take a single red cent from my son!"

Our screaming match in the hallway had already penetrated the thin hospital doors.

I shoved her back hard and took long strides toward the elevators.

Suddenly, the room door was violently thrown open from the inside.

Brandon leaned heavily against the doorframe, clutching the copies of the divorce petition and the bank statements Martha had slipped him earlier.

The veins on the back of his hands bulged with desperate rage.

He knew he was backed into a corner.

Without my signature, the condo couldn't be touched.

And the money Nicole held would soon be frozen by a court injunction.

With a savage jerk, Brandon ripped the IV catheter right out of his hand.

Blood sprayed out, splattering across his pale gown and the doorframe.

Inside the room, Emma, who was peeling an apple, let out a terrified scream.

Brandon looked completely unhinged. With bloodshot eyes, he stumbled toward his daughter, shouting hoarsely:

"Emma! Your mother wants me dead! Get your phone out! Record this and post it all over TikTok and Facebook! Let everyone see how this monster treats her dying husband!"

Emma was trembling from head to toe.

Looking at her father's bloody hand and his twisted, desperate face, she bit her lip, took out her phone, and tapped the camera on.

The lens pointed right through the open doorway, aiming straight at me as I paused and slowly turned around in the hallway.

The phone camera locked onto my face.

Emma held the device in a death grip, her hands shaking.

Brandon clutched his stomach, wheezing heavily, staring at me like a predator waiting for me to break under the weight of moral guilt.

Martha shrieked beside him, "Record it! Let the whole world see how this poisonous bitch drives her own husband into the grave!"

I took a slow step forward, standing squarely under the brightest overhead light.

"Did you get me in focus?" I asked, looking straight into Emma's eyes.

She flinched back half a step, her lips turning pale and dry. She didn't dare say a word.

I pointed at the private school crest embroidered on her blazer.

"Once you've got it, go ahead and post it."

"The second that video goes live, your private school tuition next semester, your $60-an-hour private piano lessons, and those $200 sneakers on your feet are all canceled."

Emma's eyes went wide with shock. Her phone tilted downward.

"Chloe, don't you dare threaten a child!" Brandon roared from the doorway.

"I'm not threatening her. I'm informing her."

I shifted my gaze to Brandon. "I will divide the marital property through legal channels. Starting today, I will not spend another single dollar on this family. You, your mother, and your daughter can take your dying body and your mother's meager social security check, and go live your grand romance."

I turned and walked straight into the elevator.

When I got back to the condo, I pulled my hard-shell suitcase from the top of the closet.

I packed only my clothes for the current season. My passport, social security card, bank cards, and the original property deed were secured in the hidden compartment.

Brandon had once gifted me a gold necklace; I unclasped it and left it lying flat on the nightstand.

Once packed, I sat on the sofa and opened my phone.

I canceled the auto-pay on the apartment's broadband and terminated the recurring billing for gas, water, and electric utilities.

Then, I called the bank to report Brandon's secondary credit card—which I had been dutifully paying off—as lost and canceled.

Dragging my suitcase to the foyer, I tossed my spare house keys onto the entryway table.

The heavy lock clicked shut with a metallic snap.

I had severed the parasitic tube this family used to bleed me dry.

I rented a small studio apartment near my office.

The first night I moved in, the room was completely bare—just a single mattress and a wardrobe.

At two in the morning, my phone screen lit up.

It was a text from an unknown number:

“Mrs. Miller, you are truly heartless. Brandon is writhing in agony on his bed, and they won't even give him a pain pump because the account is delinquent. Aren't you afraid of karma?”