Chapter 4
975 Words
When I woke up again, the sharp, acrid smell of disinfectant flooded straight into my nose.
The doctor stood at the foot of my bed, flipping through my medical chart, and delivered the terrible news.
I'd been pregnant for two months, but I'd lost the baby.
Worse, the severe blow I'd taken had ruptured my uterus. I would never be able to carry another child again.
My hand drifted of its own accord to my flat stomach.
There had been a tiny, growing life there. I never even got the chance to feel it exist, and already it was gone.
The hospital room door swung open.
Ethan walked in, and right behind him trailed Blair, her eyes puffy and red from crying.
He dragged a chair over to the bed, sat down, and curled his hand around mine.
"Ivy, I heard what the doctor said."
His voice was steady. He said, "It's okay. Blair's pregnant. When she has the baby, we'll put it under your name, and we'll raise it together."
Blair stepped forward, and big fat tears plopped down her cheeks.
"Ivy, I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were pregnant. I'll give you the baby once it's born. I promise I'll never see Ethan again. Please don't blame me."
I stared at these two bastards, and my stomach churned so violently I gagged twice.
"Get out." I jabbed a finger at the door. "Take your goddamned bastard brat with you and get the hell out! Both of you can go to hell!"
Ethan's brow furrowed. He stood up and pulled Blair behind his back, shielding her.
"Calm down. Blair is only trying to be kind."
He was just about to say more when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
The second he answered it, his face darkened before my very eyes.
He hung up, then shoved the phone screen right in my face.
Number one trending search:
#AllofUp-and-ComingPainterBlair'sFlagshipWorksforHerExhibitionArePlagiarized
The post included side-by-side comparison images. One of my college sketches, and one of the details from Blair's exhibited pieces. Ninety percent of the work was an exact match.
"You're coming to me after your plagiarism got exposed?" I sneered.
"You're the only one who had the original sketches!" Ethan snarled through gritted teeth.
"Ivy, I never thought you could be this cruel. Just because you lost your baby, you have to destroy everything Blair worked for?"
"Her work?" I snapped, my voice rising sharply. "I painted every last stroke of those!"
"Enough!" Ethan cut me off sharply.
"Blair's exhibition cannot fail. You're never going to paint again anyway, are you? There's a press conference tomorrow afternoon. You're going to go out there and clear her name. Tell everyone you stole the sketches from her."
He wanted me to falsely confess that I stole the sketches and lied that she plagiarized me?
I stared at the man I'd loved for years, and the rage burning in my chest was so hot I could've killed him with my bare hands.
"In your dreams," I spat the two words out.
Ethan lost all patience. He waved a hand, and two burly bodyguards stepped in from the hallway.
"Hold her down."
He pulled a syringe out of his pocket, filled with a clear, colorless liquid.
"It's just a sedative. You're too unstable right now. You need to rest. I'll have someone bring you to the conference tomorrow."
The bodyguards clamped down on my arms, one on each side, holding me tight. The sharp needle inched closer to my skin.
"Wait." I stopped struggling and softened my voice.
"Look at the state I'm in. I can't make it to the venue."
Ethan froze mid-movement.
"I can do it via livestream." I held his gaze, steady. "I'll connect to the press conference live and clear her name for you."
He studied me for a long, tense second, then tucked the syringe back into his pocket.
"Good. You know what's good for you. Don't try any tricks."
Three o'clock rolled around the next afternoon.
I stood on Bayshore Bridge, phone held tight in my hand.
The sea wind howled so hard that my hospital gown snapped and flapped wildly against my body.
On my screen was the live feed of the clarification press conference Ethan had organized for Blair.
The massive screen at the venue cut to my livestream simultaneously.
Ethan, sharp and polished in a tailored suit, was chatting smoothly to the cameras, spinning a narrative that painted Blair as the poor wronged victim.
When he saw my connection go through, he paused for a beat, then gestured for me to speak.
I panned the camera away from the churning, frothing sea below and back to my deathly pale face.
"Hello everyone. I'm Ivy. Ethan's wife, and Blair's older cousin."
Dead silence fell over the venue.
"I'm going live today to get two things out into the open."
The wind tangled my hair into a mess, but nothing could dim the sharp, blazing resolve in my eyes.
"First, every single painting in Blair's exhibition was plagiarized from my original sketches."
"Second, Ethan cheated on me with Blair. To steal my forty-percent company stake, he personally bashed my two-month-old baby to death in my womb."
Chaos erupted through the hall, and camera flashes popped nonstop like lightning.
I stared at Ethan's panic-stricken face through the lens, and I smiled.
"Ethan, I wish you both ruin and a rotten death."
The words barely left my mouth before I spread my arms wide, toppled over the guardrail, and plunged into the sea.
On the big screen, the seawater swallowed me whole.
Ethan's face drained of every last drop of color, turning bone white.
He shot to his feet and bolted straight out of the venue.
The microphone slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor, blaring a shrill, earsplitting feedback whine.
- Writer
