Chapter 4

The day I fell into that water was the day I died. Not physically—no, that would have been easier—but mentally. The part of me that was hopeful, forgiving, and naive was stripped away by the cold rush of the river. I let my old self wash away with the current. What emerged was someone colder, harder, with a single mission etched into my very bones: to find Ethan’s murderer and make them pay.

Pay for separating me from my daughter. Pay for throwing me in jail. Pay for taking my husband from me in cold blood. Whoever they are, they’ll face justice—my kind of justice—and when I find them, God help them.

After I was shot in the back and the ankle, the river became my salvation. I’d never been much of a swimmer, but survival has a way of sharpening your instincts. I clawed my way to the riverbank, gasping and shivering, and let fate decide what was next. It brought me to the doorstep of a common villager who found me, half-dead, and nursed me back to health. For a month, I lingered in the shadows, letting my wounds heal, plotting my next move, and undergoing light surgery to subtly alter my appearance while the rest of the world believed I was dead.

Now, I stand at the door of Ashley’s home, a place I once considered a safe haven. I knock firmly, and within seconds, the door swings open. Her face goes ghost-white, her eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, she just stares at me, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out. Her brow furrows, and she steps back slightly, studying me with a mix of confusion and fear.

“Elaine?” she whispers hesitantly, her voice trembling.

“It’s me,” I say, forcing a weak smile. Her eyes narrow, scanning my face as though trying to piece together a puzzle. The seconds stretch, her expression shifting from doubt to tentative recognition. Then, suddenly, it clicks.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. “Elaine!”

Her shock gives way to a flurry of emotion—disbelief, relief, and a joy so overwhelming she pulls me into a crushing hug. “It really is you!” she cries, her voice breaking. “I thought you were dead!”

---

Ashley places a bottle of rum on the table in front of me, but I shake my head in distaste. “I can’t take alcohol with my condition,” I say quickly, gesturing toward my side where the bullet wound is still tender beneath the bandages. She sighs, takes the bottle away, and returns with a cup of steaming tea.

“Take this. It’ll help with the healing,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Since when did you become an herbalist?”

She smiles faintly. “My Nana used to tell me about her time as a nurse during the war. Back then, herbs were all they had.” She disappears into the kitchen for a moment and comes back with a kettle of more tea. “This should do you good.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, cradling the warm cup in my hands. It feels comforting, almost like normalcy—a feeling I’ve long forgotten.

Ashley pours herself a glass of rum, taking a swig before sitting across from me. I’ve always worried about her drinking; it’s become her crutch over the years, and I fear it’s starting to consume her. Still, now isn’t the time to lecture. She stares at me for a long moment, her expression shifting from disbelief to something softer.

“Wow,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “A month ago, I thought I’d lost my best friend. And now, here you are, sitting in my kitchen like nothing happened.” Her voice cracks, and she quickly wipes at her eyes.

I reach across the table to squeeze her hand. “You thought I was dead?”

“It was all over the news,” she says, her voice trembling. “The prison fire... they said it killed some people. And when I didn’t hear from you...” She trails off, shaking her head. “I thought you were gone for good.”

My chest tightens at the mention of the fire. I hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt when I started it. It was supposed to be a distraction, a way to escape and get to my daughter. But the fire spread faster than I anticipated, claiming lives I never intended to harm. The weight of that guilt sits heavy on my shoulders.

“Hey,” Ashley says gently, pulling me out of my thoughts. “What’s done is done. Focus on what comes next. So... what do you plan to do now?”

I meet her gaze, determination hardening my voice. “I’m going to get Autumn back.”

Ashley’s expression darkens. “You can’t just walk into the Rivera mansion and take her. They’ll have you back in prison before you can blink.”

“I know,” I groan, running a hand through my hair. “But there has to be a way. I just need to see her, to know she’s okay.”

Ashley hesitates before saying, “I saw her last week.”

My heart leaps, and I sit up straighter. “You did? How is she?”

“Healthy,” she says cautiously. “But... not happy. Delaney, the housekeeper, told me she hardly talks to anyone.”

Tears pool in my eyes as Ashley continues. “But when she saw me, she ran to me, hugged me, and asked about you.”

That does it. The dam breaks, and the tears spill over. “I missed four years of her life,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Her fifth birthday... I promised we’d ride the Ferris wheel together, but I wasn’t even there.”

Ashley pulls me into a tight hug, her voice firm. “You’ll get her back, Elaine. You’re her mother. No one can take that away from you.”

Wiping my tears, I nod. “You’re right. But first, I need a disguise. I can’t risk being recognized.”

Ashley grins. “You’ve come to the right person. I’m a master of transformations.”

---

A few hours later, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror. My once strawberry-blonde hair is now a sleek platinum blonde, and my golden eyes have been masked by green contact lenses. Ashley’s makeup skills are astonishing; she’s accentuated my sharper cheekbones and enhanced my new complexion, skillfully transforming me into someone else entirely. The dyed hair and makeup simply enhance the changes from my surgery—it's a gradual transformation that now feels complete. I turn to her, impressed.

“You should consider a career in disguise surgery,” I joke.

She laughs. “Glad you approve. Now, remember: I do the talking.”

We step into Bathtub Gin & Co. later that day, the bar where Ashley works. The place looks different from what I remember, with new décor and a cozier ambiance. We weave through the bustling bar area and head to a back office where a grubby middle-aged man sits behind a desk. His eyes light up when he sees Ashley.

“Ashley. What now?” he grumbles.

“I need a job for my friend,” Ashley says boldly. “Tiffany here is looking for work.”

Tiffany. That’s the name she’s given me to match my new look. I’m not thrilled about it, but I let her take the lead.

The man rubs his chin thoughtfully, his greasy fingers leaving smudges on his skin. “I can think of a spot. How about cleaning?”

Ashley crosses her arms, her expression fierce. “Griffin, my friend’s not handling some dirty mop. You hear me?”

I tug her sleeve, whispering, “I don’t really have the right to be picky.”

She shakes her head. “You deserve better.” Turning back to Griffin, she demands, “So?”

He groans, rubbing his temples. “Fine. She can bartend. Now, get out of my office.”

Ashley smirks triumphantly and pulls me out of the room. “My work here is done,” she says with a wink.

I shake my head, laughing softly. “You’ve got some nerve talking to him like that.”

“Griffin’s not the boss,” she says with a smirk. “If he were, this place would’ve gone under ages ago.”

“Then who is?” I ask, curious.

Her smirk widens. “Lucas Grayson. And trust me, you’ll want to stay on his good side.”