Chapter 2

Ethan' s estate was a monument to his success, sprawling and opulent.

Ava was not taken to the main house.

Mr. Henderson, Ethan' s stern, gray-haired butler, led her to a small, dilapidated guesthouse at the far edge of the property.

It was cold, sparsely furnished, and smelled of disuse.

"Miss Vance will reside in the main house with Mr. Reed," Henderson informed her, his tone devoid of warmth. "Your duties will be... outlined."

Ava understood. She was less than a guest, more like a prisoner.

Or a servant.

The chill in the guesthouse seeped into her bones, aggravating the ache that was a constant companion.

Her medication was losing its fight against the disease.

The next morning, her new life began.

"Mr. Reed requests you prepare his breakfast," Henderson announced, his face impassive.

Ava, once an aspiring winemaker, found herself in the vast, gleaming kitchen of the main house.

Chloe Vance swept in, dressed in silk, a condescending smile on her lips.

"Oh, you're making breakfast? How... quaint," Chloe said, watching Ava struggle with the unfamiliar stove.

Ethan arrived, his presence filling the room with a cold authority.

He didn' t even look at Ava.

He sat, and Chloe served him the eggs Ava had prepared.

Chloe took one bite, then recoiled dramatically.

"Ethan, darling, this is... inedible. It' s pure salt!"

Ethan' s eyes, cold and hard, finally landed on Ava.

He picked up the plate.

With a sudden, violent movement, he smashed it on the floor.

Eggs and shattered porcelain skittered across the polished stone.

Food splattered Ava' s worn jeans.

"Incompetent," Ethan snarled. "You will kneel there and reflect on your incompetence. For the rest of the morning."

Ava stared at him, defiance flickering in her eyes. "No."

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Your father's company, your sister's comfort... they hang by a thread, Ava. My thread. Kneel."

The fight drained out of her. Her family's well-being was the chain around her neck.

As she slowly sank to her knees on the cold floor, she heard it again.

His inner voice, a stark contrast to his spoken venom.

[I shouldn't have agreed to let Sunny come here... This is wrong.]

Then, a wave of self-recrimination.

[Why is she so stubborn... doesn't she know how to cut corners? Is pride worth this?]

Ava knelt, the shards of porcelain digging into her knees through her jeans, the humiliation a burning fire.

Ethan and Chloe left the kitchen, their laughter echoing.

Hours later, Henderson told her she could rise.

Her legs were stiff, her body aching.

That evening, at dinner, a new torment.

The staff served Ethan and Chloe a lavish meal.

Ava was made to stand by the wall.

When they were finished, Ethan gestured to Chloe' s half-eaten plate.

"You will eat that," he commanded Ava, his voice flat. "In front of the staff. Penance for your mother's sins."

Chloe giggled, a cruel, sharp sound. "Oh, Ethan, you're terrible."

Ava' s stomach churned.

[Her mother's actions... they weren't her fault...] Ethan' s thought was a fleeting whisper of doubt in his mind, quickly crushed.

[No, Ethan, don't forget your parents... they were innocent too!]

Ava picked up the fork, her hand shaking.

She was beginning to understand. She wasn't hallucinating.

She was hearing his real thoughts, the conflict raging beneath his icy exterior.

It didn't make the humiliation any less, but it added a strange, painful layer of complexity.

She ate the cold leftovers, each bite a new degradation.

A week later, Ethan hosted a business party.

Ava was handed a maid' s uniform. Black, starched, ill-fitting.

"You will serve the guests," Henderson instructed.

She moved through the crowded rooms, a ghost in her own life, offering canapés and drinks.

She saw the pitying glances, heard the whispered gossip.

Chloe, resplendent in a red gown, "accidentally" bumped into Ava, spilling a tureen of hot soup down Ava' s arm.

Ava gasped, biting back a cry of pain as the scalding liquid seared her skin.

She didn't make a sound, just set the tureen down and fled to the kitchen to run cold water over the burn.

Later that night, huddled in the cold guesthouse, she saw a silhouette outside her door.

Ethan. He placed a small tube of burn cream on her doorstep, then hesitated, and walked away.

Ava' s heart gave a strange flutter.

Before she could reach it, another figure darted out from the shadows – Chloe.

Chloe snatched the cream, a malicious glint in her eyes, and disappeared.

The small gesture of kindness, stolen.

The next day, Chloe was by the pool, a picture of leisurely elegance.

Ava was ordered to clean the already spotless patio tiles.

As Ava scrubbed near the pool's edge, Chloe "tripped," her arm "flailing," and shoved Ava hard.

Ava lost her footing and fell into the ice-cold early autumn swimming pool.

The shock of the cold water stole her breath.

She surfaced, gasping, a violent cough racking her body.

She tasted blood, warm and metallic, and quickly turned her head, coughing it into the pool water, hoping no one saw.

Ethan appeared at the edge of the pool, looking down at her.

"The patio isn't clean enough," he said, his voice like chips of ice. "Get out and do it again."

He hadn't seen the blood. Or if he had, he didn't care.

Her illness was progressing. The cold, the stress, the constant humiliation – they were a potent, deadly cocktail.

She hid it, though.

She applied makeup carefully each morning to hide the dark circles under her eyes, the sallowness of her skin.

She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

This is a game to you, Ethan, she thought, scrubbing the tiles with numb fingers. Let's see how long I can play.

He found a new torment.

The rose garden. His mother' s prized collection.

Ava was ordered to prune the thorny bushes. Without gloves.

Her hands were soon scratched and bleeding.

Ethan strolled by with Chloe.

"Look, darling," Chloe said, pointing at Ava's hands. "Blood roses. How very dramatic."

Ethan' s lips curved into a cruel smile. "Fitting, wouldn't you say?"

One afternoon, Henderson ordered her to clean Ethan' s private study.

It was a room filled with books, success, and the lingering scent of his expensive cologne.

Tucked away on a high shelf, almost hidden, she found it.

A small, hand-carved wooden finch.

Delicate. Perfect.

A bird they used to watch together in the vineyards, long ago, when they were children.

A tiny, faded tag was tied to its leg. "E for Sunny."

The "Sunny" was smudged, as if by a tear.

Her breath hitched.

He had made this. For her.

When Ethan returned, she held it out, her hand trembling.

"Did you... did you make this for me?"

His face hardened, his eyes unreadable. "That's an old trinket. Means nothing. Put it back."

He turned away.

But she heard his thoughts, raw and agonizing.

[I carved this for your 16th birthday, Sunny. The day I came home to find Dad had collapsed... Why, Sunny, why did your family have to destroy mine?]

Tears welled in Ava' s eyes. He snatched the finch from her, his fingers brushing hers, a spark of unintended warmth.

Then he strode to the fireplace, and without a word, tossed the finch into the flames.

Ava cried out, a small, wounded sound.

He watched it burn, his face a mask of stone.

She felt the heat on her face, the smell of burning wood, the death of a memory.

The pain was a physical thing, twisting inside her.

She stumbled out of the study, back to the guesthouse, clutching a small, charred feather she' d snatched from the hearth when he wasn' t looking.

She found an old photo album her mother had kept. Pictures of her and Ethan, young, laughing, inseparable.

Sunny and E.

The contrast between then and now was a fresh wave of agony.

She hid the feather inside the album. A secret relic of a love that had turned to ash.

The next week, Chloe' s diamond necklace went "missing."

A frantic search ensued.

Of course, it was "found" tucked under Ava' s thin mattress in the guesthouse.

Chloe feigned shock and outrage. "I knew it! That little thief!"

Ethan dragged Ava into the main hall.

"Did you steal this?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

"No," Ava said, meeting his gaze. "I didn't."

He didn't believe her. No one would.

[Sunny wouldn't steal. Chloe's games are childish. Fine, I'll punish her 5 more times like this, then let her go.]

His internal calculation. Five more.

Ava almost sagged with a twisted kind of relief. An end. A quantifiable amount of suffering.

"Five more times, Ethan," she whispered to herself later, alone in her cold room, the accusation of "thief" ringing in the house. "I don't know if I can make it."

She was so tired.

She imagined letting go, not of life, but of the bitterness, the resentment.

Ethan passed her door, paused. He must have overheard her whisper.

Later, she found a bottle of strong pain medication outside her door.

Chloe found it first. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion and a deeper, possessive jealousy. She took the pills.

Chloe had a prized orchid, a rare, delicate bloom.

Ethan, in a new fit of calculated cruelty, ordered Ava to care for it.

Ava, weak from her illness, her hands still raw from the roses, accidentally broke a single, fragile petal while watering it.

Chloe discovered it and shrieked as if Ava had committed murder.

She dragged Ethan to see.

"She destroyed it! My beautiful orchid! She did it on purpose!"

Ethan' s face was thunderous. He grabbed Ava by the throat, his fingers tightening.

Ava gasped, her vision swimming.

[Only 2 more times...] His thought, a chilling countdown.

Chloe, seeing her advantage, added fuel to the fire.

"She's just like her mother, isn't she? Always using underhanded tactics. I heard her mother wasn't as pure as everyone thought."

The mention of Ava's mother, whom Ethan's parents had once trusted, ignited a fresh inferno in his eyes.

He squeezed harder.

[Stop! Don't lose control! Two more times... two more...]

He released her just as black spots danced before Ava' s eyes. She crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.

"You are nothing," he spat. "Less than nothing."

She lay there, her body trembling, the ghost of his fingers on her skin.

Two more.

The next day, Chloe had a new idea.

"For the memorial of Ethan' s parents," Chloe announced brightly at breakfast, "we should do a charity hike. Up Mount St. Helena."

Ethan looked at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"And Ava," Chloe continued, her smile saccharine, "to show her true remorse for her family's sins, should do it barefoot. Carrying a heavy memorial plaque."

Ethan didn't object. His silence was consent.

Ava looked from Chloe' s triumphant face to Ethan' s impassive one.

Barefoot. Up a mountain.

The plaque was marble, heavy, its edges sharp.

The hike was agony.

The trail was rocky, uneven. Her bare feet were quickly cut, bruised, then bloodied and raw.

Each step was a fresh wave of pain.

Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred.

She stumbled, fell, picked herself up, and continued.

The weight of the plaque pressed down on her, a physical manifestation of the guilt Ethan had heaped upon her.

She reached the summit, the view a dizzying panorama she barely registered.

She placed the plaque on the designated memorial spot.

Then, she collapsed, unconscious.

Ethan, who had arrived by a less strenuous route with Chloe, saw her crumpled form.

For a fleeting second, a pang of unprecedented fear, sharp and cold, pierced through his anger.

Chloe, ever watchful, quickly diverted his attention. "Darling, look at the view! Isn't it breathtaking?"

He turned away from Ava.

Lying there, on the cold stone, Ava didn't hear his thought, but it hung in the air around him.

[Sunny, you must hate me now, don't you?]

She was bleeding, broken, and utterly alone.