Chase watched me sign the papers, a flicker of surprise in his cold eyes. He probably expected me to cry, to beg. He always saw me as a pathetic creature who lived for his scraps of attention.

"So eager," he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. "Playing hard to get now, Elena? You think this will make me want you?"

He was so arrogant, so certain of my devotion. He couldn't imagine a world where I wasn't hopelessly in love with him.

His lawyer, a man named Mr. Hanson, cleared his throat nervously. "Chase, Ms. Carrillo's flight from London just landed. The car is waiting to take her to the hotel."

I saw the name on his tongue before he said it. June.

"Shut up," Chase snapped at the lawyer, his good mood vanishing. He shot a glance at me, as if worried I had heard.

I had. It didn't matter anymore.

I turned and walked out of the hotel room without another word. I didn't look back.

Back at the villa, the house we had shared for five years, I started to pack. I moved through the silent, opulent rooms like a ghost. This place had never been a home. It was a beautiful cage. I took only my personal belongings, leaving behind the jewelry, the clothes, the life he had bought for me. Everything fit into a single suitcase. I was ready to leave this city, this life, and never look back.

I was zipping up the suitcase when the bedroom door burst open. Chase stood there, his face a mask of thunder.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. He strode across the room, grabbed my arm, and hauled me to my feet. His grip was like steel.

"Let go of me, Chase," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.

"You're not going anywhere," he growled, pulling me towards the door. "You're coming with me."

"Why? So you can parade me around like a trophy wife one last time?" I asked, struggling against his hold. "To protect your precious June?"

His grip tightened, his knuckles white. "You did this. You leaked those photos of me and June to the press, didn't you? To ruin her homecoming."

I stared at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

He dragged me into the living room and threw me onto the sofa. He turned on the massive television. A news channel was on, the screen filled with a chaotic scene at the airport. June, looking fragile and overwhelmed, was being swarmed by reporters.

"Ms. Carrillo! Is it true you and CEO Chase Vargas have been in a relationship for years?" a reporter shouted.

"Are you the reason for his impending divorce from his wife, Elena Carrillo?" another yelled.

Then, a reporter held up a photo. It was a picture of Chase and June, taken years ago. They looked happy, intimate. My heart gave a painful thud, a reflex I hated.

"You've always hated her," Chase snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "You were jealous of her, even as kids. You couldn't stand that she was the one I loved."

He was right about one thing. I did hate her. But not for the reasons he thought. I remembered our childhood all too clearly. June, the orphan my parents had adopted out of the goodness of their hearts. June, who could cry on command and make everyone believe she was the victim.

I remembered the time she "accidentally" broke our mother's favorite vase and then looked at me with wide, tear-filled eyes, telling our parents I had pushed her. They had believed her, of course. June was so charming, so fragile. I was just the quiet, serious daughter. They always took her side.

I had tried to love her. I really had. But it was impossible to love a snake you were forced to share a room with.

"I didn't do this, Chase," I said, my voice weary. I was done defending myself to him. He would never believe me.

He scoffed. "Your silence is an admission of guilt." He saw my packed suitcase by the stairs. "Running away after you've done the deed? How predictable."

He walked over to the closet and pulled out a dress-one he had bought me. It was elegant and demure. The perfect costume for the supportive, loving wife.

"Put this on," he ordered, throwing it at me. "We're going to the press conference for June's new album. You're going to stand by my side and smile. You're going to tell everyone how much you love your sister and how happy you are that she's back."

I looked at the dress, then at him. The humiliation was a bitter taste in my mouth. But I knew I had no choice. Not yet.

I stood up and took the dress. I walked past him, my shoulder brushing his. For a brief moment, I felt him stiffen.

In the car, I sat as far away from him as possible, staring out the window. He drove in a tense silence. When we arrived, he turned to me.

"Remember your role, Elena," he warned.

I didn't answer. I got out of the car. As he came around to my side, he took my hand. I flinched, but forced myself not to pull away. He threaded his fingers through mine.

"Now," he said, his voice softer, almost a performance. "Let's go show them what a happy couple looks like."

He led me into the throng of reporters. The camera flashes were blinding. I put a small, polite smile on my face and walked beside him. I felt like an actress in a terrible play.

I saw June on the stage, her eyes finding ours. She was flanked by her managers, looking every bit the wronged starlet. When she saw my hand in Chase's, her angelic smile faltered for just a second. A flash of pure, unadulterated jealousy crossed her face before she replaced it with a look of brave vulnerability.

And I knew, without a doubt, that this whole circus was her creation.

June's PR team had been working overtime. By the time Chase and I arrived, the narrative was set: June Carrillo, the beloved indie darling, was the victim of a vicious smear campaign, likely orchestrated by a jealous party.

Our appearance together was a masterstroke. Chase Vargas, the powerful CEO, standing by his wife, Elena, who was also June's adoptive sister. It was the perfect, unspoken rebuttal to the rumors. It screamed solidarity.

June saw us, and her performance kicked into high gear. She rushed toward us, her face a mask of tear-streaked relief.

"Elena! Chase! I'm so glad you're here!" she cried, throwing her arms around me. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her nails digging into my arm. "I knew you wouldn't believe those horrible lies."

I stood rigidly in her embrace, my smile frozen on my face. I was a puppet, and she and Chase were the puppet masters. I played my part, murmuring something about sisterly love and the cruelty of the media.

The crowd surged forward, a chaotic mix of fans and reporters. People were pushing, shouting. A security line buckled. I saw a heavy stage light precariously balanced on a stand start to wobble. It was directly above us.

I tried to step back, to pull away from June, but she held me fast. "Stay close, sister," she whispered, her voice a venomous hiss in my ear. "It's dangerous."

She knew. She saw the light, too. And she wasn't letting me go.

In the next moment, everything happened at once. The light stand toppled. June didn't try to pull me out of the way. Instead, she shoved me forward, directly into its path, and then threw herself to the side with a theatrical scream.

It was a perfect plan. Except, as the stand fell, the heavy light fixture broke loose and swung sideways. It missed me completely and crashed into June's shoulder as she scrambled away. She screamed again, this time in genuine, if minor, pain.

Chase, who had been watching the whole thing unfold, didn't hesitate. He lunged into the crowd, his eyes only for June. He scooped her up in his arms, his face frantic with worry. "June! Are you okay? Talk to me!"

He didn't even glance at me.

I had been shoved so hard that I stumbled backward and fell. I landed hard, my face hitting the cold concrete floor. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe, couldn't make a sound.

As I lay there, dazed, I felt a searing, blinding pain in my side. I looked down. A piece of rebar from the broken security barrier, sharp and rusted, had been jutting up from the floor. My fall had driven it deep into my abdomen.

The crowd, like a tide, followed Chase and June as he carried her toward the exit. People were screaming, running. Someone stepped on my hand. Another kicked my leg. I was invisible, a piece of trash left behind in the chaos.

Warm, sticky blood started to soak through my dress. The pain was immense, a fire spreading through my entire body. I tried to call out his name.

"Chase..."

It was a whisper, lost in the noise.

He was already at the door, pushing his way through. He didn't turn around. He didn't look back. He just disappeared, with her in his arms.

I lay there, watching him go. The last shred of hope in my heart withered and died.

This was it. The final act.

I had been keeping a silent count in my head for five years. Every deliberate cruelty, every casual betrayal. The ninety-nine times he had broken my heart. And now, this. Leaving me to die on a cold, dirty floor while he saved the woman who had tried to kill me.

This was number one hundred.

The number I had promised myself would be the end.

My vision started to blur. The sounds of the crowd faded into a dull roar. The last thing I saw before I passed out was a kind-faced security guard kneeling beside me, his phone to his ear, his voice urgent.

"We need an ambulance. Now. A woman is bleeding out."

Then, everything went black.

I spent hours in surgery. When I woke up, the first thing I heard was the hushed, indignant voices of two nurses.

"Can you believe it? The pop star, June Carrillo, gets a whole VIP suite for a bruised shoulder. They've had every specialist in the city look at her."

"Meanwhile, this one, Mrs. Vargas, almost died. The rebar missed her main artery by a millimeter. And her husband? Hasn't shown up once. We tried calling him, his assistant, everyone. No one answered."

The irony was so thick I could have choked on it.

Alone. I had a husband, a father, a sister. But in the end, I was completely alone.

The pain in my side was a dull, constant throb. But it was nothing compared to the emptiness inside me.

I closed my eyes and drifted back into the darkness.

I woke up a day later. The pain was a sharp, unwelcome reminder that I was still alive. Through the thin wall of my hospital room, I could hear voices. June's voice, whining and petulant.

"Chase, my shoulder hurts so much. And the press won't leave me alone. They're saying I'm faking it for publicity."

There was a long pause. I strained to hear Chase's reply.

"It's just a bruise, June," he finally said, his voice flat and tired.

"A bruise? It was a traumatic experience! I could have been killed!" she sobbed. "I've suffered so much. All those years I was away from you, I was so miserable. I thought about you every single day."

"Then why did you leave without a word?" Chase asked. The question hung in the air, cold and sharp. It was a question I had wanted to ask for five years.

"I had no choice!" she cried. "Elena's family... they threatened me! They said if I didn't leave, they would ruin me. They would ruin you! I did it to protect you, Chase. And it was torture, knowing Elena was here with you, taking my place."

The lies flowed so easily from her lips. She was a master of her craft.

"She wasn't taking your place," Chase said, his voice hard. "She was a substitute. A placeholder. Nothing more."

The words should have hurt. But they didn't. I felt nothing.

June, sensing she was losing him, changed tactics. "I should go. I'm just causing you trouble. I'll leave the country again. It's better this way."

"Don't," he said, his voice soft again. I heard a rustle of fabric, and I could picture it perfectly. Him pulling her into his arms. Her, melting against him, a triumphant little smile on her face.

"It's just... I know how much Elena loves you," June whispered, her voice laced with false sympathy. "Even after everything, she's still your wife."

I heard him hesitate. A slight intake of breath.

"Not for long," I said. My voice was raspy, weak, but it cut through the silence.

The room next door went quiet. A moment later, my own door opened. Chase and June stood there, their faces a picture of shock.

June recovered first. She rushed to my bedside, her eyes wide with fake concern. "Elena! You're awake! Oh, thank God. I was so worried. We were so worried."

She noticed his frown and immediately her expression changed. Her eyes filled with tears. She dropped to her knees beside my bed, a dramatic, theatrical gesture.

"Elena, please," she begged. "Don't divorce Chase. It's all my fault. I'll leave. I'll disappear again. Please, don't let me be the reason you two break up. I couldn't live with myself."

It was a brilliant performance. She was the noble, self-sacrificing victim. I was the cruel, unforgiving wife.

Chase's face hardened. He looked at me with pure disgust. "Look at her, Elena. She's on her knees, begging you. And you just lie there with that cold expression. Have you no heart?"

He pulled June to her feet. "Let's go, June. She's not worth it."

He turned and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. June gave me one last look over her shoulder. A look of pure, triumphant malice.

I lay back against the pillows, the silence of the room pressing in on me. I thought of my mother. She had always told me to be strong, to be kind. But she had also told me not to be a fool. I had been a fool for so long. The thought of her made my chest ache with a fresh wave of grief.

I reached for my phone and dialed my father's number. He was living in Europe for his health, but he picked up on the second ring.

"Elena, darling. Is everything alright?"

"Dad," I said, my voice breaking. "I'm getting a divorce."

There was a pause on the line. I held my breath, waiting for the lecture, the disappointment.

"Good," he said, his voice firm. "It's about time. That boy was never good enough for you. The business means nothing. Your happiness is everything. Come to Europe. Come live with me."

Tears streamed down my face. Tears of relief, of gratitude. "Okay, Dad. I'll come."

"I love you, pumpkin."

"I love you too, Dad."

Before I hung up, a thought struck me. "Dad, one more thing. Did you or Mom ever threaten June? Did you force her to leave the country five years ago?"

"What?" He sounded genuinely confused. "Of course not. Why would we do that? She told your mother she won a scholarship to study music abroad. She packed her bags and left a thank you note. We never heard from her again until she popped up on the internet as a singer."

Another lie. The very foundation of Chase's revenge was a lie.

I sighed. It didn't matter anymore. I was done digging into the past. I just wanted to leave.

A few days later, I was cleared to travel. As I was packing my small bag, my phone rang. It was June.

"Sister," she said, her voice sickly sweet. "Let's meet before you go. There's something I need to tell you. Something Mom said to me, right before she died."

My blood ran cold. I knew it was a trap. I knew she was lying. But the mention of my mother was a bait I couldn't resist.

"Where?" I asked, my voice hollow.

She named a quiet, expensive cafe. I knew it was a mistake, but I went anyway. I had to know.

She was already there, sipping a latte, looking radiant. She didn't look like someone who had just survived a "traumatic experience."

"You're looking well," I said, sitting down.

"Chase has been taking very good care of me," she said, flashing a diamond bracelet on her wrist. "He feels so guilty about what happened. He's been spoiling me rotten."

She prattled on for ten minutes, detailing every gift, every tender moment. I listened without expression. I was immune to her poison now.

"What did my mother say?" I finally asked, cutting her off.

She smiled, a slow, cruel smile. "Oh, that? I lied."

I stared at her.

"She didn't say anything to me," June continued, enjoying my reaction. "Why would she? She always loved you more. The perfect daughter. But it doesn't matter who she loved, does it? Because in the end, I'm the one who has everything. I have Chase. I have the fame. And you? You have nothing."

She leaned forward, her voice a triumphant whisper. "You really are a fool, Elena. You always have been."

Before I could respond, there was a commotion at the front of the cafe. A man burst in, his face contorted with rage. He was holding a glass bottle filled with a clear, fuming liquid.

"June Carrillo!" he screamed. "You ruined my life! Now I'm going to ruin your pretty little face!"