Chapter 1

Ava Miller stood by the entrance of the gallery, a tight smile fixed on her face.

Five years.

Five years married to Ethan Hayes, tech mogul, city power player.

Five years of his cold shoulder, his women, the latest being Chloe Vance, whose laughter echoed too loudly from across the room.

Ava' s real life was a carefully balanced act: curator by day, desperate sister by night, shuttling between David' s sterile hospital room and this glittering, hollow world. David needed the experimental therapy, the one Ethan' s family foundation controlled. That was the only chain that bound her.

Tonight was her curated show, "Echoes in Metal."

Months of work.

Chloe, Ethan's "protégé," drifted near the main installation, a delicate balance of steel and wire.

She gestured, a champagne flute in hand.

Too close.

The towering central sculpture, a jagged piece by a promising new artist, wobbled.

A collective gasp.

Then a sickening, metallic screech as it crashed to the polished concrete floor.

Pain, sharp and blinding, tore through Ava' s side as a flying fragment struck her.

The gallery lights seemed to dim, the curated sounds of the evening replaced by a ringing in her ears.

Someone shouted her name.

She felt herself falling.

Later, in the stark white of an emergency room, a doctor spoke in hushed tones.

"The impact... I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hayes. You were about three months along."

Three months.

A secret hope, a tiny flicker of warmth she hadn't dared acknowledge, extinguished.

She reached for her phone, fingers trembling, and dialed Ethan.

It rang, once, twice.

"What is it, Ava?" His voice was clipped, impatient.

Music and Chloe' s distinct laugh babbled in the background.

"Ethan, there was an accident at the gallery. The sculpture..."

"Is that all? I'm busy. Send me the bill."

"Ethan, I... I lost the baby."

A pause. Not of shock, or sympathy. Just a pause.

"Don't be dramatic, Ava. You're always seeking attention. I'll call you later."

The line went dead.

She stared at the phone, the words a fresh wound.

The news reached David' s hospital room somehow.

He was already so fragile, the rare genetic disorder stealing his strength piece by piece.

Her miscarriage, her despair relayed by a well-meaning nurse, was the final blow.

His will to fight, already worn thin, just...snapped.

He passed away two days later, quietly, while Ava held his hand, her tears soaking his thin blanket.

Ethan arrived as she was signing David' s death certificate.

He didn't touch her.

He just stood there, impeccable in his tailored suit.

"Tragic," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'll cover the funeral expenses, of course. A decent sum. Consider it... generous, given how your family begged me for help with his treatments."

Ava looked up, her eyes dry now, her grief a cold, hard stone in her chest.

"We're even, Ethan."

He almost smiled. "Are we?"

A day later, Ethan' s assistant called.

A prime burial plot was available in a prestigious cemetery, he said.

A gift from Mr. Hayes.

All Ava had to do was apologize to Ethan for her "accusatory tone" at the hospital.

"No," Ava said, her voice flat. "Thank you."

She buried David in a simple plot she could afford, far from the city's gleam.