Chapter 3

Ava POV

The family dinner was a funeral for a marriage that never happened.

The long mahogany table was set with glistening crystal and polished silver, yet the air tasted like ash. Ethan sat at the head, regal and detached, with Chloe positioned triumphantly on his right. I was seated halfway down, stranded near the cousins who wouldn't dare look me in the eye.

Ethan tapped his wine glass with a spoon. The sharp ding sliced through the room, silencing the murmurs instantly.

"I have an announcement," he said, his voice smooth, practiced, and sickeningly confident. He didn't look at me. "The engagement between the Reed and Miller families is formally dissolved. Ava is... unwell. She requires time away to heal. She will be leaving for Italy tonight."

Silence. Total, suffocating silence. This wasn't a breakup; it was a public execution.

Chloe smirked, tracing the rim of her wine glass with a manicured nail. "We just want what's best for you, sweetie."

I stood up. My chair scraped loudly against the floor, a jarring screech in the quiet room.

"Thank you for your concern," I said, my voice dead flat. "I'll pack my bags."

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I walked out of the dining room with my back straight, feeling Ethan's eyes burning a hole between my shoulder blades. He expected a scene. He expected me to beg.

The silence confused him. Good.

I went to my room, grabbed the pre-packed bag Maya had hidden under my bed, and walked out the back servants' entrance. My car was waiting.

I wasn't going to Italy. I was going to the safe house Maya had set up.

I drove onto the dark highway, the city lights fading in the rearview mirror like dying embers. Rain started to fall, slicking the asphalt into a black mirror.

I checked the rearview. A black sedan was following me. No lights.

My heart hammered against my ribs. He knows.

I pressed the gas pedal. The engine roared in protest. The sedan matched my speed effortlessly.

"Come on," I whispered, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

I took a sharp turn onto the coastal road, hoping to lose them in the curves. The sedan slammed into my rear bumper with bone-jarring force.

My car spun. The world dissolved into a violent kaleidoscope of shattering glass and twisting darkness. Metal screamed like a dying beast. I felt the sickening crunch of impact as my car flipped, rolling down the embankment.

Pain exploded in my shoulder. My head slammed against the window. Then, silence.

I was hanging upside down. The seatbelt cut into my chest like a vice. Blood dripped into my eyes, warm and blinding.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel above. A flashlight beam cut through the darkness.

"Check her," a voice said. Ethan.

I squeezed my eyes shut, slowing my breathing, forcing my body to go limp.

The door was wrenched open. Hands patted me down, rough and efficient.

"She's out cold," Leo said. "Pulse is weak."

"Good," Ethan said. He sounded bored, as if discussing a tax return. "Plant the bottle. Make it look like she was drinking. The narrative is she was distraught over the breakup."

"And the brakes?"

"Failed. A tragic accident."

Chloe's voice drifted down, high and sickeningly excited. "Is she dead?"

"She will be soon," Ethan said. "Let's go. I hear sirens. I don't want to be near this when the cops show up."

Rage is a powerful stimulant. It kept me conscious when the pain tried to drag me under.

My hand fumbled under the seat. Maya had taped a small, high-powered recorder there. Just in case, she had said.

I pressed the button with trembling fingers. The tiny red light blinked once.

"Make sure she looks like the perpetrator," Ethan said, his voice clear even through the rain. "I don't want any loose ends."

"You're brilliant, baby," Chloe cooed.

"Get in the car," Ethan snapped.

They walked away. I heard car doors slam. An engine revved. Then, they were gone.

They left me to die in the rain.

I hung there, the blood pooling in my head. I thought about the seven years. The smiles. The promises. All of it, a lie to buy time, to buy power.

I will not die here, I told myself. I will not let them win.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Not the police. Maya.

She had been tracking my GPS. She knew the moment I went off-road.

The darkness started to close in. I fought it, but my body was broken.

"Ava!" Maya's voice. Frantic.

"Recorder," I rasped, the word bubbling up with blood. "Under... seat."

"I got you," she sobbed, her hands gentle on my face. "I got you."

Strong hands cut me down. I was laid on the wet grass.

"She's fading," a paramedic said.

"Do the switch," Maya ordered. Her voice was steel. "Do it now."

I didn't understand. Then I remembered the plan. The body from the morgue. The Jane Doe that looked like me.

"You're going to die tonight, Ava Miller," Maya whispered in my ear, squeezing my hand tight. "And you're going to be born free."

I looked up at the rainy sky. It was the last thing Ava Miller ever saw.

I woke up in a white room. It smelled of antiseptic and lavender.

My body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. My arm was in a cast. My ribs were taped.

Maya was sitting in a chair next to the bed, looking exhausted.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Did it work?" My voice was a dry croak.

She held up a newspaper. The headline screamed: TRAGEDY: MAFIA PRINCESS DIES IN DRUNK DRIVING ACCIDENT.

There was a picture of my mangled car. A picture of Ethan looking somber at a press conference.

"He thinks he won," Maya said. "Everyone does."

I tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through my chest.

"Good," I said.

I looked out the window. The sky was blue. A different blue than the one over the estate.

"Who am I?" I asked.

Maya handed me a passport. The photo was me, but my hair was dyed dark, my makeup different.

Name: Olivia Carter.

DOB: June 12, 1998.

Place of Birth: Seattle, WA.

"Olivia Carter," I tested the name. It felt strange on my tongue. It felt light, unburdened.

"You have money," Maya said. "You have a history. You have freedom."

"And I have a memory," I said, my eyes hardening.

I touched the bandage on my forehead.

"He killed Ava," I said softly. "But he forgot one thing."

"What?"

"Ghosts don't stay buried."

I looked at Maya. "I remember everything, Maya. Every lie. Every hit. Every dollar he stole. And now? Now it's my turn."