Chapter 2 2

Ethan was largely absent during my recovery.

A proxy caregiver, a polite but distant woman from a private nursing agency, attended to my needs.

It was clear where his priorities lay. With Chloe.

He finally appeared on the day of my discharge, a whirlwind of forced cheerfulness and apologies.

"So sorry I've been swamped, Ava. Big deals closing."

"But I have a surprise for you. Something to make up for all this."

He didn't drive me back to our penthouse.

Instead, the car headed east, towards the Hamptons.

I was too weary to question, too numb to care.

He led me into a lavish estate, music drifting from the open doors.

Inside, a crowd of faces I vaguely recognized – Ethan's business associates, society acquaintances – turned towards us.

"Surprise!" they chorused.

Ethan beamed, pulling me to the center of the room.

"Ava, my love," he began, dropping to one knee, producing a velvet box.

"These past few weeks have shown me how precious life is, how much you mean to me."

He opened the box.

A diamond, ostentatiously large, glittered coldly under the chandelier light.

This was the moment I had once dreamed of, a moment now rendered a grotesque mockery.

Before he could utter the question, a commotion near the entrance drew everyone's attention.

Chloe Vahn stood there, pale and ethereal, a hand pressed to her chest.

"Ethan... Ava..." Her voice was a fragile whisper.

"I... I just came to offer my blessing. You deserve all the happiness."

She swayed, her eyes fluttering.

"Oh... I feel... faint..."

Ethan was by her side in an instant, his proposal forgotten, my presence ignored.

He swept her into his arms.

"Chloe! Are you alright?"

As he carried her towards a quieter room, Chloe's eyes met mine over his shoulder.

A small, triumphant smile touched her lips before she let her head fall weakly against his chest.

"You lose," she mouthed silently.

The crowd murmured.

I stood alone, the unopened ring box still in Ethan's abandoned spot on the floor.

Humiliation, hot and sharp, washed over me.

He hadn't even finished the proposal.

Back in our shared penthouse, the silence was a physical weight.

I moved through the rooms, a ghost in my own life.

Methodically, I began to purge.

Photos of us, his gifts, the expensive clothes he'd liked me to wear.

In the back of my closet, I found a small, sealed box.

Inside, a tiny pair of knitted baby booties, a soft, pale yellow.

I'd bought them in a moment of hopeful joy, a dream that had turned to ash.

I dropped them into the donation bag with everything else.

My resignation from Reed Innovate was emailed the next morning.

Executive Vice President. Chief Strategy Officer. The architect of his corporate comeback.

Gone.

Ethan called, his voice tight with shock.

"Ava? What is this? Your resignation?"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No, Ethan," I said, my voice surprisingly calm. "I'm getting married."

"Married?" He sounded incredulous, then a note of possessive satisfaction crept in.

"Well, it's about time. I was beginning to think you'd say no after my... interruption."

He actually chuckled.

He thought I meant him.

The arrogance was astounding.

"I have to go, Ethan," I said, before he could disabuse himself of the notion.

A few hours later, Chloe's Instagram lit up.

A photo of Ethan, handsome and smiling, feeding her caviar at Per Se.

The caption: "Feeling cherished 💖. Some surprises are worth the wait."

My flight to Austin was in six days.

The call came on the third day. Ben Carter.

His voice was frantic.

"Ava! It's Ethan. He... he was assaulted."

"Defending Chloe from a paparazzi scrum gone wrong."

"He's at New York-Presbyterian. He needs blood. Your type. It's rare, you know that."

"Chloe... Chloe refused. Claimed her 'delicate condition' post-kidney transplant made it too risky."

"Then she just... left. Flew to Monaco, according to his security."

My rare blood type.

The one that had made me a perfect kidney donor.

The irony was a bitter pill.

Despite everything, despite the cold knot of fury in my stomach, I found myself at an Austin clinic, a needle in my arm.

Some deeply ingrained part of me, the part that had cared for him for a decade, couldn't let him die.

I felt faint afterwards, the nurse fussing over me.

Later that evening, Ben called again.

He sounded distraught, broken.

"Ava... I... I was with Ethan when he woke up."

"He was asking for you. Then he started talking about Chloe..."

"He said... he said, 'Chloe's too fragile for all this.'"

"'Ava... Ava would give her life for me. She'd never leave me.'"

"He still doesn't get it, does he?"

No, he didn't. He never would.

That knowledge, more than anything, solidified my resolve.

It was a clean break. A necessary amputation.

The next morning, my phone buzzed with a news alert.

Chloe Vahn, looking radiant in a designer gown, photographed at a charity gala in Monte Carlo.

Her "delicate condition" and "trauma" apparently forgotten.

Ethan, according to Ben, was still recovering.

But when Chloe called him later that day, hysterical about "feeling unsafe" and "needing him," he discharged himself against medical advice.

He chartered a private jet to be by her side, not even bothering to call or text me, not even asking Ben how I was after the blood donation.

His priorities had always been clear.

I was just too blind, too hopeful, to see them.