Chapter 3

Ethan paraded Ava around the gala, his hand possessively on her waist.

He was overtly affectionate, whispering in her ear, laughing at something she didn' t say.

Ava saw it clearly now. Each touch, each smile, was a calculated move.

A performance for Victoria, who watched them with a carefully neutral expression from across the room.

Ava felt nothing.

No flutter in her stomach. No warmth.

Just a cold, hollow ache.

His lips brushed her temple. She didn' t flinch, didn' t respond.

She was an actress in his play.

Suddenly, Victoria stumbled.

Her hand flew to her head. She swayed, her face pale.

"Ethan," she gasped, her voice weak.

Ethan dropped Ava' s hand instantly.

He was at Victoria' s side in a second.

"Victoria! What' s wrong?" His voice was laced with genuine panic, a stark contrast to his casual dismissal of Ava' s supposed mugging.

He supported Victoria, his arm around her, his face etched with concern.

The crowd murmured.

Ava watched, a spectator to their drama.

Her role in this scene was over.

She turned and quietly walked away, unnoticed.

No one stopped her.

Back at the penthouse, Ava moved with a strange, detached calm.

She went through the rooms, collecting every item Ethan had given her.

The expensive clothes, the jewelry, the books.

She packed them into boxes.

Then, she stripped her presence from the guest suite she occupied. Her few personal belongings, her toiletries, her worn copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude."

She was erasing herself. A symbolic cleansing.

It was painful, but also liberating.

A few days later, Ethan informed her, his tone casual, that Victoria would be staying at the penthouse.

"She' s not feeling well. Needs someone to look after her. And it' s... convenient for us to discuss some business matters."

Ava felt a cold dread, but nodded numbly.

Victoria moved in, not into a guest room, but into the master suite adjacent to Ethan' s.

She immediately began to redecorate.

"This dreary grey has to go," Victoria announced, surveying the living room. "I prefer warmer tones. And these sculptures... so depressing."

She directed staff to move furniture, replace art, order new rugs.

Ava' s small comforts, the few things that had made the vast space feel slightly less alien, disappeared.

A vase Ava liked was replaced. A throw blanket she used was gone.

Ethan agreed to every change, every whim.

He seemed eager to please Victoria, to rebuild their shared nest.

Ava watched the transformation with a mix of sadness and a strange sense of relief.

It solidified her resolve. She had to leave.

The scholarship to London. It was her only way out.

She would confirm her acceptance. Soon.