The estate looked like something from a period film. Stone walls. Gravel paths. Gardens that had been manicured for centuries. I walked through the main house and out the back terrace, where a uniformed attendant pointed me toward the archery range without my having to ask.

The range was at the far edge of the grounds, past a hedge maze and a small pond where swans moved slow across the water. I could hear voices before I saw them. Georgia's laugh. High and bright. The kind of laugh that expected to be noticed.

I stopped at the hedge line and watched.

Liam stood with his hands in his pockets, relaxed, smiling at Georgia as she pulled back a bowstring with theatrical concentration. Her form was all wrong — elbow too high, stance too narrow — but she looked good doing it, which was probably the point. The bow released. The arrow went wide. Georgia pouted. Liam laughed and said something I couldn't hear. She swatted his arm.

I felt nothing I hadn't already felt.

I stepped onto the range.

Liam saw me first. His smile didn't drop right away. It took a full two seconds — enough time for his brain to register the shape of me, the fact of me, the wrongness of me being here at all. Then his face went very still.

Georgia turned. Her expression moved through confusion, then recognition, then something that looked almost like embarrassment. She set down the bow.

"Olivia," Liam said. His voice was careful. Controlled. "What are you doing here?"

I walked closer. Stopped a few feet away. The grass was damp under my shoes. Somewhere behind me, a bird called out, sharp and sudden.

"I've been thinking," I said. My voice was soft. Open. The way it used to be. "About everything. About us."

Liam glanced at Georgia. Then back at me. "This isn't the time—"

"I just want to understand," I said. I let my voice crack a little. Not much. Just enough. "If you're honest with me, I can forgive this. I can forgive all of it. I just need to know the truth."

Georgia shifted her weight. "Maybe I should—"

"Stay," Liam said. He didn't look at her. He was looking at me now, really looking, and I could see the calculation happening behind his eyes. The same calculation that had been happening for three years. How much could he say. How much would I believe. How far he could push before I broke.

He smiled. Not the warm smile. The other one. The one that said he'd already won.

"You want the truth?" he said.

"Yes."

He laughed. It was a short sound, almost surprised, like he couldn't believe I was still this easy.

"There is no disorder, Liv," he said. "There never was."

I didn't move.

"The pills were vitamins," he continued. "B complex. Dr. Richards relabeled them. The whole thing was—" He gestured vaguely, like he was describing a business deal. "A strategy. You were getting too close. Asking too many questions. I needed you to stop looking."

"And the alternate personality?"

"A role." He shrugged. "Not even a hard one. You wanted to believe I was sick. So I let you. It worked perfectly."

Georgia was staring at him now. Her face had gone pale.

I took a breath. Let it out slowly.

"You're sure?" I said. "That's really what happened?"

"Yes." He said it with the casual satisfaction of a man who had just explained how he'd closed a particularly clever deal. "You were too trusting. That was always your problem."

I reached into my coat pocket. Took out the recording device. Small. Black. The red light still blinking.

I held it up so he could see it.

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to.

The color left his face all at once. His mouth opened. Closed. His eyes went from the device to my face and back again, like he was trying to solve an equation that had suddenly stopped making sense.

"Olivia—"

I held his gaze. I let him see exactly what I was. Not the woman he married. Not the woman he manipulated. Someone else entirely.

Then I turned and walked back toward the estate house.

I didn't hurry. I didn't look back.

Behind me, I heard him say my name again. Louder this time. Desperate.

I kept walking.

The swans were still on the pond. The gravel crunched under my shoes. The air smelled like rain coming.

I reached the terrace. Pulled out my phone. Texted Anderson.

*Got it.*

His response came before I reached the front door.

*Good. Come home.*