Our Story, Rebuilt

"No one," I whispered, clutching the phone in my pocket as Liam' s voice cut through the sterile silence of our penthouse. He was no longer the brilliant tech genius I loved, but a monster fueled by grief.

His grip like steel clamps, he snatched my phone, his cruel laugh echoing as he twisted my words: "You lost that right the day you killed Chloe." My sister. His accusation, a daily poison, blamed me for an accident he refused to believe.

He shoved me into the sharp edge of a glass table, then dragged me to our bedroom, once a haven, now a torture chamber.