Chapter 2

When I was twenty-four, I lost the baby and had my uterus removed. I'd never be a mother.

In the ICU, my mind was clear, but my body was completely numb, hooked up to various machines. My mom came in and didn't say a word, just cried. Watching her, I also shed tears, struggling to push out the words, "I want a divorce."

"Child, you can't leave him!"

"You're... different now."

My mom's words were veiled, but I understood immediately. A fire of anger surged through me.

"It was *them*! They did this to me!"

I couldn't scream; my throat was raw, my voice ragged, but the rage and despair were unmistakable. My mom wiped her tears and squeezed my hand.

"This isn't the time to be stubborn. You're like this now; if you divorce, who will want you? Your mother knows best, Chloe. I wouldn't lead you astray. Listen to me. When you get out of the hospital, go back to Brandon and live your life. You're different now. You need to be even better to Brandon if you want to keep him."

I stared at her face, etched with what looked like concern, and the fury in my chest suddenly dissipated. She squeezed my hand tighter.

"Did you hear me? For your sake, we even returned the dowry money to their family! Don't make us worry anymore!"

Her face was plastered with 'I'm doing this for your own good,' and as I watched, my tears stopped falling. All I wanted to do was laugh.

I guess a woman just *needs* a man in her life, right?

*

"Young woman, with so many things you could be doing, why *this*? Can't you live without a man?"

The officer questioning me was an older man, maybe in his late forties or early fifties. He clanged his thermos loudly on the table the moment he walked into the interrogation room. I watched him the whole time, and when our gazes met, his filled with disgust. I just curved my lips into a smile.

"That's right. I can't."

"Do you even realize where you are? Get serious!" Officer Miller wasn't amused. He picked up his thermos and slammed it down again.

I leaned back in my chair, getting as comfortable as I could. "Officer, I'm just answering your question. I *am* serious."

He looked about to slam the thermos down again when a younger officer called him out. I glanced over. The young officer had a good build, but I didn't get a clear look at his face.

Soon after, the young officer entered and took Officer Miller's place. My gaze traveled from his long legs upwards, finally reaching his face.

The moment I recognized him, I panicked, lowering my head and straightening up awkwardly. The handcuffs on my wrists glinted, and I frantically clasped my hands together to hide them.

Ryan Stone. How could it be him?

How could it be *him*?!

*

"Do you know who that is?"

It was my freshman year of college. I was stumbling through my introduction during student government club tryouts when I heard the voice. I looked up, following the gazes of the other students. I noticed the young man sitting in the middle.

He wore a dark trench coat, his posture casual, almost lazy, yet he exuded a cool indifference. When his eyes met mine, I panicked, looking down and shaking my head. I'd only been enrolled for a month; I barely knew my roommates.

"That's Ryan, our club president. You don't know him?"

"Don't tease her! Hey, I've got a question for you: if Ryan broke a rule and you caught him, would you report it?"

As the question hung in the air, someone else chimed in, egging me on. My mind went blank, but I nodded.

"Yes. I'd report him."

They all laughed. I kept my head down, my palms sweating from nerves.