“I understand completely,” I said, my voice smooth as steel. “We can certainly achieve a… striking resemblance. I will make you a masterpiece.”
Chloe beamed, a shark smelling blood. “Good. Money isn’t an issue. He gave me his card.”
She slid a sleek, black card across the glass. Richard Vance. Vance Corp.
My husband was paying for his mistress to replace me. He was funding his own haunting.
“Excellent,” I whispered, picking up the card. It felt heavy, like a weapon. “The nurse will take you to prep. I’ll see you in the OR.”
Chloe signed the consent forms without reading a single word. She stood up, checking her reflection in the window, preening.
As the nurse led her away, I sat alone in the silence. The rage didn’t burn; it froze. It crystallized into a plan so perfect, so symmetrical, that it felt like destiny.
Chapter 2: The Anesthesia of Ignorance
The prep room was quiet. I washed my hands, the ritualistic scrubbing grounding me. Finger to elbow. Scrub. Rinse. Repeat.
My phone buzzed on the metal tray. A text from Richard.
