CHAPTER 2: THE WOMEN WHO NEVER CAME HOME
The safe house felt too quiet.
Ava sat beside the window, staring into the darkness beyond the glass.
Sleep refused to come.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ethan's face.
His smile.
His voice.
His promises.
And now every memory felt poisoned.
Had any of it been real?
Or had she simply been the next name on a list?
The thought made her stomach twist.
Not because she still loved him.
But because part of her feared the answer.
At 3:17 a.m., Detective Monroe arrived carrying a thick cardboard box.
She looked exhausted.
The kind of exhaustion that came from chasing monsters for too long.
Without a word, she placed the box on the table.
"What is this?" Ava asked.
Monroe sat down.
"Everything we know about Ethan Hayes."
The room suddenly felt colder.
Ava slowly opened the box.
Inside were files.
Photographs.
Court records.
Insurance claims.
Medical reports.
Years of evidence.
Years of lies.
The first photograph showed a smiling woman with dark hair.
Beautiful.
Young.
Happy.
"Her name was Rachel Turner."
Monroe's voice was quiet.
"She married Ethan eleven years ago."
Ava stared.
"Ethan was married before?"
The detective nodded.
"Three times."
The air left Ava's lungs.
Three.
Not one.
Not two.
Three.
Another photograph.
Another woman.
Blonde.
Laughing.
Standing beside Ethan at a beach wedding.
"Melissa Carter."
Another file.
Another face.
Another wife.
"Jennifer Brooks."
Ava's hands shook.
Each woman looked exactly like her.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Kind.
Trusting.
Successful.
Independent.
Every one of them had inherited significant wealth shortly before marrying Ethan.
Every one.
"What happened to them?"
The detective's face hardened.
"Officially?"
A pause.
"They disappeared."
Ava swallowed.
"And unofficially?"
Monroe looked directly into her eyes.
"We believe they're dead."
The room went silent.
Dead.
Not divorced.
Not missing.
Dead.
Ava stared at the photographs.
Three women.
Three lives.
Three futures stolen.
And Ethan had simply moved on to the next victim.
To her.
Then Monroe opened another file.
This one was different.
Medical records.
Ultrasound images.
Laboratory reports.
Hospital admissions.
The detective pointed toward a page.
"Look closely."
Ava obeyed.
Her blood turned to ice.
Because every woman had received the exact same diagnosis she had.
Pregnancy.
Every single one.
But none of them were pregnant.
"What is this?"
Ava whispered.
The detective hesitated.
Then answered.
"We didn't understand it either."
She slid another report forward.
"This came from Dr. Patel."
Ava immediately leaned closer.
Inside were laboratory findings.
Toxicology reports.
Microscopic images.
Scientific notes.
Dr. Patel's handwriting filled the margins.
Ava struggled to understand the medical terminology.
Then one phrase jumped off the page.
BIOLOGICAL IMPLANT.
"What does that mean?"
Monroe looked uneasy.
Very uneasy.
"It means someone inserted a foreign organism into your body."
Ava stared.
Unable to process the words.
"No."
The detective nodded slowly.
"We believe Ethan and his mother were working with someone."
"Someone?"
"A medical researcher."
The room seemed to tilt.
"A criminal researcher."
Monroe corrected.
"They created a method of inducing pregnancy symptoms."
Ava felt sick.
"Why?"
The detective answered immediately.
"Control."
Silence.
"If a woman believes she's carrying a child, she becomes vulnerable."
Ava understood instantly.
Because she had already changed her life for the baby she thought existed.
She postponed legal decisions.
Financial decisions.
Travel plans.
Medical procedures.
Everything.
The fake pregnancy had become a prison.
Exactly as intended.
Monroe continued.
"Once the women transferred assets into joint accounts..."
Ava finished the sentence herself.
"They disappeared."
The detective nodded.
For a moment nobody spoke.
Then Ava noticed something.
One file remained unopened.
Different color.
Different label.
She reached for it.
Monroe immediately stopped her.
"No."
Ava looked up.
"What?"
The detective hesitated.
Then sighed.
"You need to be prepared."
Fear crawled down Ava's spine.
"What is it?"
Monroe slowly opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph.
A man.
Middle-aged.
Glasses.
Dark hair.
White coat.
Ava froze.
Because she recognized him immediately.
Dr. Patel.
Except the photograph wasn't recent.
It was ten years old.
And beneath it were the words:
DECEASED.
Ava's heart stopped.
"What?"
The detective nodded.
"Dr. Ravi Patel officially died nine years ago."
The room exploded into silence.
Ava looked from the photograph to Monroe.
Then back again.
"No."
Monroe slid another document across the table.
Death certificate.
Police report.
Funeral record.
Everything confirmed it.
Dr. Patel was dead.
Yet yesterday he performed her ultrasound.
Yesterday he warned her.
Yesterday he saved her life.
Ava's hands began shaking uncontrollably.
"Then who was he?"
The detective answered quietly.
"We don't know."
The room felt suddenly unsafe.
Because the only person who understood what was happening...
Didn't officially exist.
Across the city Ethan Hayes sat in his penthouse office.
His calm mask had finally cracked.
For the first time in years, fear appeared.
Real fear.
Because his phone had just received a message.
A single photograph.
Ava entering Detective Monroe's office.
Someone was watching her.
Someone besides him.
The text beneath the image was simple:
YOU LOST HER.
Ethan immediately stood.
His pulse accelerated.
Because only one person would send that message.
His mother.
Victoria Hayes.
The true architect behind everything.
The woman even Ethan feared.
Meanwhile, two hundred miles away, a hidden laboratory sat abandoned beneath an old pharmaceutical facility.
Federal agents forced open steel doors.
Flashlights swept through darkness.
Dust covered forgotten equipment.
Rows of storage containers lined the walls.
Then one agent stopped.
"Detective..."
Monroe turned.
The agent's face had gone pale.
"What?"
Slowly he pointed toward a refrigerated chamber.
Inside were dozens of medical files.
Hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
Women.
Names.
Addresses.
Photographs.
Potential targets.
And among them sat a brand-new file.
Ava Sterling.
The date printed on the front was tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Not next month.
Not next year.
Tomorrow.
Because Ethan and Victoria had already scheduled the final phase.
The phase none of the previous women survived.
Monroe stared at the file.
Then immediately grabbed her phone.
"Ava."
The detective's voice shook.
"Listen carefully."
"What happened?"
Monroe swallowed hard.
"We found your file."
Silence.
"What file?"
The detective closed her eyes.
"The one marked for termination."
Ava's blood turned to ice.
Because suddenly she understood.
The fake pregnancy.
The manipulation.
The isolation.
The marriage.
It had all been leading toward one moment.
One final step.
And according to the people hunting her...
That moment was less than twenty-four hours away.