Chapter 3 3

The protestor, a middle-aged man with wild eyes, spat at Ethan.

"You're just like your old man! And her! She's a gold-digging whore!"

Ethan's face was a mask of fury.

"Get him out of here," he snarled at his security.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Ethan, who rarely drank in public and never before noon, grabbed a bottle of champagne from a nearby ice bucket.

He uncorked it with a loud pop and poured a glass, handing it to Chloe.

"For your nerves, my dear," he said, his voice loud enough for the reporters to hear.

He then took a long drink directly from the bottle himself, a defiant gesture.

It was a clear statement. He stood by Chloe. He would break his own rules for her.

"Anyone who bothers Mrs. Vance again will answer to me personally," Ethan announced, his eyes sweeping over the crowd.

He then turned, his arm securely around Chloe, and led her into the house.

He didn't even glance towards the car where Ava sat. He had forgotten her completely.

As he moved, his shoulder brushed hard against the car's side mirror.

Ava, who had leaned forward slightly, felt a sharp pain as the mirror, jolted by the impact, swung inwards and struck her temple.

Stars exploded behind her eyes.

Ethan and Chloe disappeared inside.

Ava touched her temple, her fingers coming away sticky with blood.

He hadn't even noticed. He hadn't seen her. He hadn't cared.

She had endured so much for this man. The secret marriage, the constant loneliness, his coldness, Chloe's taunts.

For what? For a love that was a mirage?

Her devotion felt foolish, wasted.

She fumbled in her purse for a tissue, pressing it to the cut.

The bleeding wasn't severe, but the throbbing in her head was intense.

She was alone. Again.

She spent the night in the guest room of the beach house, tending to her wound, the silence of the house amplifying her desolation.

The next morning, her phone rang. It was Chloe.

Ava almost didn't answer, but a morbid curiosity made her press the accept button.

"Ava, darling," Chloe's voice was bright, too bright. "Are you feeling better? Ethan was so worried when he heard you weren't well."

A lie. Ethan hadn't contacted her.

Then, Chloe's voice dropped, became more intimate. "He stayed with me last night, you know. He said he couldn't leave me alone after that dreadful scene. He was so... attentive."

Ava could hear the rustle of sheets in the background, a low murmur that might have been Ethan's voice.

Rage, cold and sharp, flooded through Ava.

Chloe was deliberately tormenting her.

Ava hung up.

She sat there for a moment, trembling. Then, she picked up her phone again.

She knew a reporter at a prominent gossip blog, someone who owed her a favor from an old interior design project.

She typed out a message, attaching an anonymous tip about Chloe Vance's suspicious financial dealings related to Arthur Gold's estate, hinting at potential fraud. She included specific account numbers she'd once glimpsed on Arthur's desk when she'd been forced to attend a family dinner.

It was a reckless, retaliatory act, born of pain and anger.

Nothing happened immediately. The blog didn't publish anything.

Two days later, back in New York, Ethan called. His voice was curt.

"Ava, get to my office. Now."

He hung up before she could reply.

The tone of his voice promised a storm.