Chapter 4

Ava Miller POV

Mark wasn't just knocking anymore. The wood groaned as he kicked the door.

"Give me the ring, Ava!"

I looked down at my hand. The diamond was huge. Five carats. It didn't feel like jewelry; it felt like a shackle, heavy and cold against my skin.

"Open it," I told Maya.

Maya looked at me like I was crazy. "He'll hurt you."

"No, he won't. Not here. Not with the building security watching the hallway feed."

Maya hesitated, her fingers trembling as she unlocked the door. Mark pushed it open, filling the frame. He was a wall of muscle in a cheap suit that strained at the shoulders.

"Mr. Reed wants the ring," he repeated, holding out a thick hand. "And he wants you out. Now."

I didn't cower. I didn't cry. I slowly pulled the ring off my finger. It left a pale band of skin, a ghost of a promise that was lighter than the rest.

"Tell him," I said, locking eyes with Mark, "that if he wants it, he can come get it himself."

I dropped the ring into my pocket.

Mark stepped forward, his face twisting in anger. "You don't dictate terms to the family, Ava."

"I'm not family," I said, my voice ice. "Remember? The engagement is void."

"There's a charity gala tonight," Maya interjected quickly, stepping in front of me like a shield. "The 'Hope for Youth' event. Ava designed the centerpiece. She's going."

Mark laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "You think the boss wants to see you there?"

"I think the boss cares about his image," I said. "If I don't show up, people will talk. They'll ask why the fiancée is missing days before the wedding. Does his 'amnesia' cover explaining my absence to the press?"

Mark hesitated. He knew I was right. The Reed family hated questions more than they hated enemies.

"Fine," Mark spat. "Show up. But stay out of his way. And give the ring back tonight, or I take it."

He turned and stalked away.

*

The gala was at the Met. The Great Hall was filled with imported flowers, champagne, and the sharks of New York society circling in tuxedos and gowns.

I wore a black dress. Long sleeves to cover my cast, which Maya had wrapped in black silk. I looked like a widow before I was even a wife.

I stood by my display. It was a sculpture of glass and light, representing hope. It had taken me three months to design, delicate spires reaching upward like frozen breath.

"Well, well," a high, piercing voice cut through the ambient jazz. "If it isn't the ghost."

Chloe Vance.

She was wearing red. Bright, screaming red. And hanging off her arm was Ethan.

He looked at me. His eyes were blank. Vacant, polished to a shine. The perfect actor.

"Do I know you?" he asked. The cruelty in his voice was subtle, hidden under a layer of polite confusion.

"I'm Ava," I said. "I designed this." I pointed to the sculpture.

"It's... quaint," Chloe giggled. She leaned into Ethan. "Baby, doesn't it look a bit... fragile?"

Ethan smirked. He reached out as if to admire the craftsmanship, and tapped the delicate glass spire of my sculpture.

*Crack.*

The top piece shattered. Shards of glass rained down onto the pedestal with a sickening chime.

"Oops," Ethan said. "Clumsy me. My memory isn't the only thing that's broken, I guess."

The people around us gasped. A waiter rushed over with a broom.

My heart hammered against my ribs. He did that on purpose. He destroyed my work, my art, just to show me he could.

"It's okay," I said. My voice didn't shake.

I reached into the display. With my good hand, I didn't sweep the pieces away. Instead, I rearranged the broken shards. I placed them in a circle around the base, turning the wreckage into a mosaic.

"Art is about adaptation," I said, loud enough for the onlookers to hear. "Sometimes, things have to break to become something new."

A few people clapped. An older woman nodded at me approvingly.

Ethan's jaw tightened. He didn't like that I didn't break.

"Come on, Chloe," he muttered. "This place is boring."

As they walked away, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from Chloe.

*Photo attached.*

It was a selfie of her and Ethan in bed. He was asleep. She was winking.

*Text: He says my name in his sleep. He never says yours.*

I deleted the message.

Maya appeared at my elbow. She looked pale.

"Ava," she whispered. "I just heard something. From a caterer who works the Reed events. I saw the run-of-show on their tablet."

"What?"

"They're going to the Botanical Gardens tomorrow morning," Maya said. "Ethan and Chloe. They're rehearsing a 'public recovery' scene. He's going to 'remember' her, not you. He's going to propose to her in the place where you two were supposed to take your wedding photos."

It was the final insult. The ultimate erasure.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?" Maya asked. "That's it?"

"No," I said, staring at the mosaic of broken glass. "That's the end."