Chapter 3

A few days later, the atmosphere in the studio shifted.

Ethan brought in a woman.

She was young, gorgeous, and drenched in a suffocating cloud of cheap perfume.

"This is Chloe Montgomery. My new personal assistant," he introduced casually.

Chloe wore a tight, dangerously short skirt.

She eyed me up and down, her gaze sharp and condescending, as if looking at a piece of outdated, unwanted furniture.

Ethan handed some of his "care" tasks over to her.

The tedious, degrading duties that used to be mine.

Chloe immediately slid into the role.

While I was sorting files, she would lean heavily against Ethan, adjusting his collar, her fingers lingering suggestively on his throat.

Ethan didn't push her away. He didn't even look annoyed.

Carter stood nearby, smirking and talking just loud enough for me to hear.

"Now this is what a real assistant looks like. Chloe actually knows how to take care of Ethan."

"Unlike some people who look like they're attending a funeral."

Ethan chuckled, saying nothing.

Then, he turned his gaze to me, wearing that familiar, hypocritical smile.

"Serena, take a break."

He patted his thighs.

The very legs that could run a race perfectly.

"Chloe, come massage my legs."

Chloe eagerly knelt beside his wheelchair.

Her hands slid onto his calves, rubbing them with slow, suggestive strokes.

Ethan leaned his head back, closing his eyes with a satisfied sigh.

Right in front of me.

My stomach churned.

Ethan opened his eyes, watching me with a smug, teasing look.

So that was it.

Even the "privilege" of being his punching bag for atonement wasn't exclusive.

Chloe could do it. Any other "Chloe" could do it.

I was just a tool he could throw away whenever he wanted.

Five years. What a joke.

The nausea hit me again, but this time, it wasn't from humiliation. It was from pure, unadulterated clarity.

I had to leave.

Right now.

The realization had never been clearer.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers icy cold.

I scrolled down to a number I hadn't called in years.

Valerie.

My aunt who lived abroad. My final escape route.

The call connected, and her warm, anxious voice filled my ear.

"Serena? Is everything okay?"

"Aunt Valerie, I need your help."

My voice trembled in a way I couldn't control.

"I need to leave. As soon as possible."

There was no hesitation. No questions asked.

"Okay. Leave it to me."

After hanging up, my heart hammered like a drum, yet a strange, cold peace washed over me.

Over the next few days, I worked as usual. I kept a blank face, sorted files, endured Chloe's petty provocations, Ethan's hypocrisy, and Carter's insults.

Nobody noticed a thing.

Late at night, I began cleaning up.

I deleted my digital footprints, shredded any papers that could give away my plan, and packed a few essentials and cash into an inconspicuous backpack.

I worked fast and silently.

With every item I packed, I felt like I was shedding a layer of dead skin, revealing the cold, determined resolve beneath.