Chapter 3

The hospital confirmed a fractured collarbone and multiple contusions. They wanted to keep me for observation, worried about a concussion.

I stayed for two days. Ethan never called. Not once.

I handled my own discharge papers.

The moment I walked into our silent apartment, my phone rang. Ethan.

"Ava, come pick me up."

That was it. He hung up.

No "how are you," no "sorry you were in an accident." Just an order.

He was used to it. I was Mrs. Cole, but I was also his on-call, unpaid assistant.

A location pinged on my phone a second later. A private club downtown.

I turned, wincing as pain shot through my shoulder, and walked back out to the garage. The pain was a dull throb, a constant reminder.

The private room was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of expensive whiskey.

Ethan was there with Mark and a few other business associates. They were laughing.

He saw me, his expression unchanged. "Took you long enough."

Mark's wife, a woman I barely knew, smirked. "Ava, you look a little rough. Tough night?"

I ignored her.

Ethan stood up. "Let's go." He said his goodbyes, then walked out, expecting me to follow.

As I turned, Chloe Davis brushed past me, heading towards Ethan's group. She gave me a small, almost pitying smile.

"Ava, darling," one of Ethan's older clients slurred, leering at me. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. Ethan just needs to blow off some steam. He'll come back to you."

My stomach churned.

Ethan was already halfway down the hall. He didn't look back.

Chloe was now talking animatedly with Mark, who gestured towards the exit, presumably telling her Ethan had left.

She hurried out after him.

I found them by the valet. Ethan was holding the car door open for Chloe.

He saw me and frowned. "What are you waiting for?"

He gestured for Chloe to get in the front. He got in the back.

I drove. Again.

The silence in the car was heavy, suffocating.

Chloe kept glancing at Ethan in the rearview mirror, her expression soft, concerned.

We dropped her off at her trendy Tribeca apartment building.

Ethan leaned forward. "Make sure you get some rest, Chloe. Let my office know if you need anything tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mr. Cole," she said, her voice full of warmth. "You too."

She got out, and Ethan moved to the front seat.

"Home," he said, his tone flat.

Back at our apartment, he went straight to the bar, pouring himself a large scotch.

He didn't ask about my hospital stay, my injuries. Nothing.

I watched him, a stranger in my own home.

"Ethan."

He turned, one eyebrow raised.

"I want a divorce."

The glass in his hand stilled. He stared at me, his eyes narrowing. For the first time in a long time, I had his full attention.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I want a divorce." My voice was quiet, but firm. "I've already spoken to Noah Williams. He'll be representing me."

Ethan's face, usually so controlled, showed a flicker of something. Surprise? Disbelief?

He let out a short, harsh laugh. "Noah? My friend Noah?"

He took a slow sip of his scotch. "Ava, what game are you playing now? Trying to get my attention? It's a bit dramatic, even for you."

My heart ached at his casual cruelty.

"This isn't a game, Ethan."

He walked towards me, stopping a few feet away. His eyes were cold.

"You think you can just walk away? After ten years? After everything I've given you?"

"Given me?" I almost laughed. "You gave me a beautiful cage, Ethan. And a last name."

"Don't be absurd," he snapped. "You have everything a woman could want."

"Except a husband who sees her as more than a responsibility or an inconvenience."

He set his glass down with a thud. "You're being ridiculous. You wouldn't survive a week without me."

The old Ava would have flinched. Would have doubted herself.

But the woman standing before him now was different. The accident, his callousness, his words about Chloe – they had burned away the last of my illusions.

"I guess we'll find out," I said.

I went to our bedroom, the master suite that felt more like a museum exhibit than a home. I started pulling a suitcase from the top of the closet.

Ethan appeared in the doorway. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm leaving, Ethan. Tonight."

He strode over, grabbing my arm. His grip was like iron.

"You're not going anywhere."