After I Vanished, My Obsessive Billionaire Ex Went Insane

Ethan Vance stepped right over my blood-soaked body to save his falling mistress. "Stella, she’s carrying my baby! If anything happens to them, I will never forgive you!" I crawled through the shattered glass, my palms sliced open and bleeding. Still, I desperately clutched the military dog tag that had been my lifeline through years of war. Three years ago, I took a bullet for him. My right knee was completely shattered. Holding my blood-covered body, he had sworn to God that he would never let another woman carry his child. But today, he carried a three-month-pregnant Chloe out of the estate, never once looking back at me. I dragged myself back into my wheelchair, wiped my tears, and logged into the encrypted system that had been locked away for years. In three days, Stella Brooks would cease to exist. And he would never find me again. **Stella’s POV** Ethan’s personal drone feed was always synced to my tablet. Originally, he set this up so I could watch the construction progress of the wildlife rescue station he was building for me. But right now, the screen was playing a scene that made my blood run cold. In the desert, a customized black Jeep was tearing through the sand dunes. Ethan sat in the driver’s seat. He held the steering wheel with one hand, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes wild and untamed. In the passenger seat sat a young girl in a tight tank top and cargo pants. She was screaming with excitement, leaning halfway out the window, shouting into the wind. "Ethan, driving this crazy? Aren't you afraid your wife will get mad?" Her voice was bright, dripping with youthful energy. Ethan let out a low laugh, blowing a ring of smoke. The wind scattered his words, but every syllable pierced my heart. "She can barely walk now. A gust of wind sends her straight to the ER. She’s too fragile. She can’t handle this kind of thrill. But you—you’re wild. I like that." The girl giggled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Ethan didn’t pull away. Instead, he spun the wheel harder, making her scream in delight. Sitting in my wheelchair, I looked down at the hideous scar on my right leg and calmly hit pause. No screaming. No tears. I just felt like this multi-million-dollar sterile recovery suite was suddenly suffocating. I wanted to throw up. Three years ago, in the African savanna, I pushed him out of the way of a poacher’s sniper. A hollow-point bullet shattered my knee. Stella Brooks—the combat medic and wildlife photographer who could hike through rain forests with fifty pounds of gear—died that day. Ethan had held my bloody body and cried like a lunatic. He knelt outside the OR and swore that he would be my legs for the rest of his life. He promised to worship me like a goddess and never let me suffer. And he did. At least, at first. He hired the world's best medical team to save my leg, even though I was confined to crutches and a wheelchair. He brought me back to LA, built this fortress of an estate, and monitored my vitals twenty-four hours a day. Everyone in our circle said billionaire Ethan Vance was a saint. They said he gave up his wild nature to care for a disabled woman. But they didn't know that saints get bored. He had locked an eagle with broken wings in a golden cage, while he flew out into the wild to chase a fresh, lively bird. I shut the video and opened an encrypted dark web page. It was the recruitment portal for the UN Peacekeepers' "Operation Zero." It was a high-risk medical rescue mission in an active war zone. The mortality rate was sky-high. Once you joined, your entire identity, records, and background would be wiped clean to protect you from retaliation. Without hesitation, I typed in my name and hit submit. A second later, red text flashed on the screen: *Application approved. The extraction team will arrive at your coordinates in three days at midnight. Prepare for identity reset.* I closed the laptop and let out a long breath. Three days. Ethan, in three days, I’m giving you your freedom back. At 10 PM, the bedroom door gently pushed open. Ethan walked in, smelling faintly of medical disinfectant. His germaphobia and obsessive control were severe. Every time he came back from the outside, he had to shower and sanitize before seeing me. He walked quickly to my wheelchair, knelt on one knee, and placed my right leg over his lap. His broad palms began to expertly massage my atrophied muscles. "Stella, does it hurt today? Did you take your meds on time?" He looked up at me, his dark eyes filled with a sickly, obsessive devotion. Looking at his handsome, loving face, all I could see was him speeding through the desert with that girl. My stomach churned. "It doesn't hurt," I said, pulling my leg back. "Where were you today?" Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air. His eyes flickered, but he quickly recovered, gently grabbing my hand to kiss my knuckles. "Just inspecting some new projects. Boring business meetings. The dust was bad outside, and I didn’t want to irritate your lungs, so I showered at the office before coming home." He lied so smoothly his heart rate didn’t even change. "I see," I said, looking into his eyes. "You work so hard." Ethan seemed to sense my coldness. Suddenly, he grew anxious. He stood up, lifted me from the wheelchair, and pulled me tightly into his chest. He held me so hard my bones ached. "Stella, are you mad because I haven’t been spending enough time with you? I won’t go to the office tomorrow. I’ll stay home and play with you, okay? Don't look at me like that. It scares me." He buried his face in my neck, breathing me in like a starving dog. I let him hold me, my arms hanging limply at my sides. I didn’t hug him back like I used to. "Ethan, you’re hurting me." He let go instantly, his face pale with panic as he checked my body. "I’m sorry, Stella! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just... I just love you so much." Love? Looking at the red veins in his eyes, I only felt pity. "I’m tired. I want to sleep." I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at his fake face anymore. Ethan carefully tucked me into bed. He sat by my side, staring at me until my breathing became even. In the dark, I heard him whisper, "Stella, you’re mine forever. No one will ever take you from me." I didn’t open my eyes. I just counted down in my head. Two days left. *****Stella’s POV** The next morning, the roar of a sports car engine woke me up. Ethan suffered from severe insomnia and sensory issues. The estate had a three-mile quiet zone. Even birds were scarce, let alone loud engines. I grabbed my crutches, limped to the French window, and pulled back the heavy drapes. Down on the lawn sat a flashy red Ferrari. The girl from the video, Chloe, was stepping out of the car wearing a short tennis skirt. She was Ethan’s newly hired "personal bodyguard and driver." What a joke. He was a billionaire who traveled with eight ex-special forces guys. Since when did he need a pretty young girl to protect him? Ethan was standing on the steps, his face dark as he scolded her. "Who allowed you to drive that loud piece of garbage in here? I told you, no noise!" Ethan’s voice was low, but it dripped with icy rage. Chloe wasn’t scared at all. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his elbow. "Ethan, I missed you. You promised to play tennis with me yesterday, but you left halfway through. You owe me." Ethan shoved her hand off, his eyes darting toward my second-floor window. I stood deep in the shadows of the curtains. He couldn’t see me. "Get out. Do it again, and you’re blacklisted from LA," Ethan growled before turning back inside. Chloe stood on the lawn, stomping her foot, but her eyes held no fear. Only ambition. A few minutes later, my bedroom door opened. Ethan walked in carrying a warm glass of milk and my pills. His face was back to his gentle, loving mask. "Stella, did she wake you? The new driver doesn’t know the rules. I’ve already fired her." He knelt by the bed, holding the milk to my lips. I looked at him, choosing not to call him out. "Don’t fire her. Young people bring energy. This place is too dead anyway," I said, taking a sip. Ethan’s eyes darkened instantly. He grabbed my wrist, his voice tight. "You like energy? I can invite crowds over! Are you bored of me, Stella? You can’t think that way!" His obsessive paranoia was acting up again. "I’m not," I replied quietly. "I just don’t want you isolating yourself for my sake." Ethan stared at me for a long time before letting out a cold laugh. "Everyone else is trash compared to you, Stella. Don't try to push me away." After breakfast, Ethan pushed my wheelchair to the conservatory. It was supposed to be a stroll, but really, he just pushed me around his expensive orchids, keeping me in his sight. "Sir, I need your signature on this urgent contract." A sweet voice broke the silence. Chloe had changed into a tight pencil skirt, holding a folder as she strutted in. Her skirt was incredibly short, showing off her long, toned legs. Ethan’s face fell. "Who let you in? Get out!" Chloe bit her lip, her eyes turning red. "Sir, it’s really urgent. And... I’m your assistant. It’s my job to report to you." She emphasized the word "assistant," her eyes darting to me with a hint of challenge. I leaned back in my wheelchair, enjoying the show. Afraid I would get angry, Ethan stood up, snatched the folder, and roared in her face, "I said get out! Are you deaf?" Chloe took a step back, tears finally rolling down her cheeks. "Ethan..." she whimpered. "Shut up!" Ethan raised his hand, looking like he was about to strike her. "Ethan," I called out. My voice wasn't loud, but it stopped him instantly. He turned around, his face filled with panic. "Stella, don’t be mad. I’ll make her disappear." "I'm not mad," I said, rolling my wheelchair toward them. I looked at Chloe’s young, plump face, and my eyes landed on the necklace hidden beneath her collar. It was a rare pink diamond. Ethan had bought it at an auction last month for fifty million dollars. The media had reported it as a gift for his beloved, disabled wife. So, he gave it to his "assistant" instead. "If it’s urgent, sign it," I said, looking up at Ethan. "I’m tired anyway. I want to rest." Ethan threw the folder right at Chloe’s face, turned, and grabbed my wheelchair handles. "I’ll take you back. No stupid contract is more important than you." But as the wheelchair turned, I caught the reflection in the glass dome. Ethan’s hand, hidden behind his back, was squeezing Chloe’s fingers twice in a reassuring gesture. And Chloe was staring at my back with a victorious smile. I looked down at my numb right leg. It was so absurd. Ethan, you wanted me to be your pure, holy goddess in a cage, but you wanted her to be your wild filly in the meadows. You’re too greedy. Too bad I’m not playing this game anymore. Back in my room, I told him I wanted to nap and kicked him out. I opened my laptop and began deleting every trace of my existence from the hard drive. Photos, diaries, our shared plans for the future—all dragged into the shredder and permanently erased. Thirty-six hours left.**Stella’s POV** The event tonight was the annual LA Charity Gala. Usually, Ethan never brought me to these things. He said the crowds were too messy, the air too dirty, and it would stress me out. But today, he had a designer gown sent to my room, insisting I go. I knew why. That afternoon, paparazzi had leaked photos of him and Chloe in the desert. Even though the faces were blurry, it had caused a massive stir in high society. He needed me there to save his "devoted husband" brand. I was his best PR tool. When the limo pulled up to the red carpet, flashbulbs blinded us. Ethan got out first, walked to my side, and carefully lifted me into my custom, handcrafted wheelchair. He knelt in front of the cameras, adjusted my dress, and gently kissed my forehead. "Don’t worry, I’m right here," he whispered, his voice dripping with sweetness. The crowd gasped in admiration. "Ethan Vance is so devoted to his wife." "The rumors about him cheating are ridiculous. Everyone knows his wife took a bullet for him." Listening to the whispers, Ethan stood taller, pushing me like a proud king showing off his most prized trophy. Halfway through the gala, Ethan was pulled away by some tech billionaires to talk business. He looked back at me three times, lecturing the bodyguards a dozen times before finally leaving. I told the guards I needed to use the restroom and had them wait outside. The moment I rolled into the private restroom, I heard a voice on the phone from one of the stalls. "Oh, please, don’t worry about her. He only brought that cripple to show off for the media. Did you see how he kept squeezing my hand under the table?" It was Chloe. She was here as "staff," wearing a plain black suit, but her arrogance couldn't be hidden. "What does that woman have besides a guilt trip? She’s like a piece of dry wood—touch her and she breaks. Ethan is sick of her. He told me that only when he’s with me does he feel alive." "Next month we’re going to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. He’s already booked the private jet. As for that cripple? Let her rot in that big mansion." Chloe laughed triumphantly. I stood by the sink, turned on the faucet, and let the cold water run over my fingers. So, in his eyes, I was just a lifeless piece of dry wood. I grabbed a paper towel, dried my hands, and ignored the stall completely as I rolled back out. As I turned the corner of the hallway, a waiter carrying a tray of red wine slipped. He fell right toward me. I tried to dodge, but my right leg wouldn't move. The entire glass of red wine splashed onto my white designer gown. "I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, ma'am! It was an accident!" The waiter turned pale, dropping to his knees, desperately trying to wipe my dress with his sleeve. Before I could speak, a dark shadow rushed over. *BOOM!* Ethan kicked the waiter square in the chest. The man flew back, crashing into the wall with a painful cry, blood instantly leaking from his mouth. "Do you want to die?!" Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a rabid beast, grabbing the waiter’s collar and raising his fist to beat him to death. "Ethan! Stop!" I barked. Ethan’s fist froze in the air. He turned to me, his chest heaving, his face twisted with pure violence. "He ruined your dress! He almost hurt you!" Ethan spat, as if the waiter had committed a mortal sin. "I’m fine. It’s just wine," I said coldly. "Let him go." Ethan glared at the waiter for a few seconds before throwing him to the floor. He took off his suit jacket, wrapped it tightly around me, and lifted me in his arms. "We’re going home." His voice was still shaking, his grip painfully tight. Under the shocked and terrified stares of the guests, Ethan carried me out of the hall. In the back of the limo, Ethan held me like a frightened child, kissing my cheek repeatedly. "Stella, no one gets to hurt you. Anyone who touches you dies." His obsessive whispers made my skin crawl. Looking at the city lights rushing past, I felt a deep sense of irony. He could beat a man to death in public over a wine stain on my dress, but in private, he let another woman mock me as a useless cripple. His protectiveness was just a shield to cover his guilt. Back at the estate, Ethan personally drew a bath, carefully washing my body as if I were fragile porcelain. Once I was tucked into bed with my eyes closed, he crept out to his study. I opened my eyes, pulled the burner phone from under my pillow, and checked the time. Twelve hours until my team arrived. *****Stella’s POV** Countdown: Day Two. After we got back from the gala last night, Ethan acted like a guilty sinner, kneeling by the bed and massaging my legs for two hours. He kissed my ugly scar over and over, murmuring, "Stella, you’re my life." If I hadn't already hacked his backup phone, I really would have believed his act. At 8 AM, Ethan walked in with a bowl of warm organic oatmeal. "Stella, how do you feel? Are your legs sore?" He placed a soft pillow behind my back, blew on a spoonful of oatmeal, and fed it to me. I swallowed the tasteless food, looking at the dark circles under his eyes. "You didn't sleep well?" Ethan paused, then smiled gently. "Just some urgent business at the office. But it’s fine. I’m staying home to play with you today." The moment he finished speaking, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up. It was only for two seconds, but I saw the text clearly. Chloe: *Ethan, the baby kicked today! Come feel him.* Ethan’s expression changed instantly. A flash of raw excitement and urgency washed over his face. His hand holding the spoon trembled slightly. He quickly flipped the phone face down, but his smile was stiff now. "What is it?" I asked, pretending to be clueless. Ethan cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze. "It’s... the medical team in Germany. They said there’s a breakthrough in your prosthetic materials. They need me on a video call to confirm the specs." He set the bowl down, holding my hand with a guilty look. "Stella, I’m sorry, but I have to go to the lab. Wait for me at home, okay? I’ll be back to have lunch with you." "Okay," I said, pulling my hand away. "Go. My leg is more important." Ethan let out a huge sigh of relief. He kissed my forehead quickly and walked out of the bedroom. He was in such a rush that he forgot to hang up his jacket—the one he usually kept close because it smelled like me. Ten minutes later, I opened my tablet. The dashcam of Ethan’s Maybach was streaming live. He didn't drive to any lab. He drove straight into the VIP parking garage of LA’s most exclusive private maternity hospital. I switched the feed to the hospital hallway cameras. Ethan was practically running toward the private ultrasound room. Inside, Chloe was lying on the bed, her small baby bump exposed. Ethan rushed in, grabbed her hand, and his eyes actually turned red with tears. "Doctor, how is the baby? Is he healthy?" This man, who was a ruthless shark in the business world and an obsessive monster to me, actually had a trembling crack in his voice. The doctor smiled, pointing at the screen. "Mr. Vance, the heartbeat is strong. He's a very healthy boy." Ethan stared at the blurry grey shape on the screen, tears rolling down his cheeks. He bent down, kissing Chloe’s belly with pure devotion, as if touching a holy relic. "Chloe, thank you... thank you for giving me a real family." Sitting in my wheelchair, watching this touching family of three, I felt like a rusty saw was tearing through my heart. Three years ago, the doctor had handed us my medical report, telling us that due to the heavy trauma and medication, I would never be able to conceive. What did Ethan say back then? He had cried, holding me tight, and said, "Stella, I only want you. A kid will only take away my love for you. We are a family, just the two of us. I swear to God, I will never let another woman carry my blood." But now, he was crying tears of joy over another woman’s belly. He didn't hate kids. He just didn't want a disabled woman to give him a broken child. On the tablet, Chloe’s whiny voice echoed. "Ethan, when are you going to leave that cripple? I don’t want our son to be born a bastard." Ethan’s smile faded, his brow furrowing. "Soon," he said, stroking her hair. His voice sounded irritated. "She depends on me completely. If I divorce her now, she won't survive. Let me transfer the South Valley estate to your name first. Take care of the baby, and I’ll handle her." *Handle* me. I let out a cold laugh and shut down the screen. Ethan, you don't need to handle me. In forty-eight hours, I’ll be gone from your world forever. *****Stella’s POV** At 2 PM, Ethan hadn't returned. He sent a text saying the lab was running late, telling me to eat lunch without him. I sat in the study, permanently shredding the last of my wildlife photography files. Suddenly, the sharp click of high heels echoed on the hardwood floor outside. The estate was covered in thick carpets, and Ethan had ordered all staff to wear soft-soled slippers so they wouldn't disturb me. Only one person would wear heels here. The study door was shoved open. Chloe walked in, wearing a designer maternity dress and carrying a Birkin bag. "Well, well, Stella Brooks. Still looking at your trashy photos?" She looked around the room, her eyes landing on my useless right leg. A sneer of pure disgust spread across her face. I shut my laptop and looked at her coldly. "Who gave you permission to come in?" "Ethan’s keycard, obviously." Chloe walked over, looking down at me. She pulled an ultrasound photo from her bag and slapped it right onto my face. The sharp edge of the paper cut my cheek, leaving a thin red line. "Take a good look, Stella. I’m three months pregnant. It’s a boy. Ethan was so happy he bought me a forty-million-dollar villa today." Chloe rubbed her belly proudly, her eyes vicious. "You’re a useless cripple who can’t even stand up. How are you going to compete with me? Ethan told me that being with you feels like taking care of a corpse. He said the smell of medicine on you makes him sick!" I listened to her rant, my heart incredibly calm. "Are you done?" I picked up the photo from my lap and fed it right into the paper shredder beside me. "Now get out." The shredder buzzed loudly, turning the ultrasound into tiny strips. Chloe’s face twisted in shock. She didn’t expect me to be this cold. She gritted her teeth, her eyes suddenly landing on a glass display case on the corner of my desk. Inside were my military medals and the shattered dog tag that had stopped the bullet three years ago. It was my life. Chloe sneered, raised her hand, and smashed the glass case off the desk. *SMASH!* The sound of shattering glass was deafening in the quiet room. My medals and dog tag rolled into the pile of sharp glass shards on the floor. "Oh, my bad. My hand slipped," Chloe gasped fake-apologetically. The blood rushed to my head. I pushed against the armrests, trying to stand up, but my right leg failed me. I fell heavily onto the glass-covered floor. The shards sliced into my palms, and blood instantly pooled on the floor. "Hahaha! Look at you! Crawling like a dog!" Chloe laughed hysterically, raising her heel to stomp on my dog tag. Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from downstairs. "Stella!" Ethan was back. Chloe’s laughter cut off instantly. Her eyes rolled, and she threw herself onto the floor, clutching her stomach and screaming in agony. "Ah! My stomach! It hurts so much!" The study door was kicked open. Ethan rushed in, freezing at the sight. I was lying in a pool of blood and glass, my hands desperately covering my dog tag. And Chloe was lying a foot away, pale and sweating. "Ethan... save me... she pushed me... our baby..." Chloe cried, reaching out weakly. Ethan’s pupils shrunk. Without a single second of hesitation, he stepped right over my body and gathered Chloe into his arms. "Chloe! Are you okay? Don't worry, I’m taking you to the hospital!" Ethan’s voice was trembling violently. He didn't even look at me. I pressed my bleeding hands against the floor and forced my head up to look at the man I had traded my leg for. "Ethan," I called out, my voice hoarse. Ethan spun his head around, his eyes filled with pure rage and disgust. "Stella, are you insane?!" he screamed. "If you have a problem, take it out on me! She’s pregnant! If anything happens to my baby, I will never forgive you!" *My baby.* He finally admitted it. Looking at his twisted, angry face, I wanted to laugh. So, I did. "Your baby?" I raised my bloody hand, pointing at him. "Ethan, did you forget the oath you made to God?" Ethan froze, a flash of panic crossing his eyes. But Chloe let out another painful whimper, snapping him back to his fury. "You’re completely unreasonable! How did you become so vicious and twisted?!" Ethan spat those words, picked up Chloe, and ran out of the study without looking back. The front door slammed shut with a deafening bang. Silence returned to the study. I lay on the cold floor alone, looking at the blood-covered dog tag in my hand. Tears finally fell silently. I slowly crawled back into my wheelchair. I didn’t bandage my wounds. I just let the blood drip onto the carpet, staining it dark red. *****Stella’s POV** The smell of blood filled the study. I didn't call the estate's doctor. As a former combat medic, treating wounds was second nature. I limped to the medicine cabinet and grabbed iodine, tweezers, and a suture kit. No anesthesia. I bit down on a clean towel and used the tweezers to pluck the glass shards from my palms, one by one. Every time I pulled a piece out, my body convulsed with pain. Sweat soaked my shirt, but I didn't make a sound. In the end, I stitched my own hand with five sutures. By the time I tied the last knot, the sun was rising. At 7 AM, frantic, messy footsteps hurried down the hall. The study door was pushed open. Ethan walked in, smelling like hospital disinfectant and Chloe’s sweet perfume. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw covered in stubble. He looked exhausted and manic. But when his eyes landed on the dried blood on the carpet and my heavily bandaged, bleeding hand, he froze as if struck by lightning. "Stella..." his voice cracked. He practically crawled to my side, throwing himself at my knees. His hands shook as he tried to touch my hand, but he didn't dare. His tears fell hot against my skin. "How did this happen? Where is the doctor?! Where are the useless doctors of this estate?!" he roared like a mad beast toward the hallway. "I didn't call them," I said quietly, my voice dry from lack of sleep. "I stitched it myself." Ethan whipped his head around, staring at me in disbelief. Looking at my pale face, the bloody tweezers, and the suture needle, he suddenly slapped himself hard across the face. *SLAP!* The sound echoed in the study. His cheek swelled instantly. "I’m sorry, Stella! I’m so sorry! I was out of my mind last night. I thought you really wanted to hurt the baby... The doctor said Chloe almost miscarried, so I stayed at the hospital all night. I didn’t know you were hurt this badly..." He rambled, burying his face in my lap, crying like a lost child. Looking at his guilty tears, I only felt cold. He cried for my blood, yet he had stepped right over me when I was lying in glass. "Ethan, you don't need to explain," I said, my voice completely flat. "Did the baby survive?" At the word "baby," Ethan’s body stiffened. He looked up, a twisted, maniacal calculation flashing in his eyes. He grabbed my shoulders, whispering with a sickly excitement, "Stella, I’ve made up my mind. I thought about it all night at the hospital." "That baby is my blood. I can’t discard him. But you will always be my only wife." He stared into my eyes, as if presenting a grand gift. "Once Chloe gives birth, we will take the baby. We’ll put him under your name. We’ll raise him ourselves!" I froze, my blood running cold. "We’ll discard the mother and keep the child. I’ll pay her off and send her out of the country so she can never come back. Stella, didn’t you always regret that we couldn’t have a child? I’m giving you a real family, okay?" Ethan got more excited as he spoke, reaching up to cup my face for a kiss. I jerked my head away, a wave of intense nausea hitting me. I began to gag. This was his "love." To satisfy his desire for an heir, he treated Chloe like a breeding machine to be discarded. To satisfy his self-sacrificing devotion to me, he wanted to force his mistress's child onto me, making me raise the proof of his betrayal for the rest of my life! He treated both of us like toys he could manipulate. "Do you find it disgusting?" Ethan’s face darkened when he saw me gagging. The tenderness in his eyes was replaced by a cold glare. He grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him. "Stella, don't be ungrateful! For your sake, I’m denying my own child’s mother her status! What more do you want?!" "I can have any woman I want! I treat you like a queen, so don't push me to use force!" Looking at his twisted face, I stopped fighting. "Okay," I said, staring into his eyes. Ethan froze, his grip on my chin loosening. "What did you say?" "I said okay," I whispered, forcing a hollow smile. "We keep the baby and discard the mother. We’ll do it your way." The darkness in Ethan’s eyes vanished, replaced by wild joy. He pulled me into a suffocating hug, nearly crushing my ribs. "Stella, I knew you loved me! I knew you’d understand!" He mumbled in my ear like a madman who had finally gotten his favorite toy. I rested my chin on his shoulder, watching the clock on the wall. Twenty hours left.