Chapter 3 3

The penthouse felt hollowed out, stripped bare of my presence.

I had systematically erased myself.

Clothes, books, personal items – all gone.

Only Ethan's things remained, stark and masculine against the minimalist decor he favored.

I found the small, unopened velvet box from the disastrous Hamptons proposal on his nightstand.

I picked it up, opened it.

The diamond was indeed large, flawless, and utterly cold.

It represented nothing.

I dropped it into the wastebasket next to the shredded remains of a baby outfit – a tiny, gender-neutral sleeper I'd bought in a moment of fragile hope after the miscarriage, a hope Ethan had unknowingly, or perhaps knowingly, crushed.

My resignation from Reed Innovate had sent shockwaves through the company.

My team, the people I'd mentored and led, called, begging me to reconsider.

"Ava, the company needs you. Ethan needs you."

"I need rest," I told them, my voice gentle but firm.

"And independence."

The liberation in those words was a heady sensation.

Ethan finally called again, his voice a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

"Ava, what the hell is going on?"

"First the resignation, now your assistant says you've cleared out your office."

"Are you seriously still upset about the Hamptons? Chloe was genuinely unwell."

"I'm preparing for my wedding, Ethan," I said, the lie slipping out easily.

Let him believe what he wanted.

"Oh. Right." He sounded distracted.

"Well, don't take too long."

"Listen, Chloe can't find her favorite cashmere throw, the Hermes one. Do you know where it is?"

I disconnected the call.

His obliviousness was a shield I no longer needed to penetrate.

A week later, Chloe's Instagram featured a new post: a selfie, pouting prettily, captioned, "My hero @EthanReed is working too hard. Missing our cuddle time. #neglected."

It was a blatant, childish manipulation, and I felt a flicker of something akin to pity for Ethan, quickly extinguished.

The next call, however, was not so easily dismissed.

It was Ben Carter, his voice tight with urgency.

"Ava. It's Ethan. He's... God, Ava, he's been critically injured."

"He was protecting Chloe. Some kind of attack, a disgruntled ex-employee of hers."

"He's at Lenox Hill. It's bad."

"They need you. Your blood type... again."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

My rare blood, a resource to be tapped at will.

"Chloe?" I asked, my voice flat.

"Fled the scene," Ben said, disgust lacing his tone.

"Said the stress was too much for her 'fragile nerves.'"

"He shielded her, took the brunt of it."

"Ava, please. He might not make it."

My own body still felt weak from the kidney removal, from the previous donation.

The thought of giving more, of depleting myself further for him, was repulsive.

And yet...

"I'll be on the next flight," I heard myself say.

Some habits, some deeply ingrained patterns of self-sacrifice, died harder than others.

The procedure left me drained, my vision swimming.

As I lay recovering in a small, private room, I overheard Ethan's voice from the adjacent suite, clearer than it should have been, the door slightly ajar.

He was speaking to Ben.

"Chloe... is she okay? She must be terrified."

His voice was weak, but the concern for her was unmistakable.

"She's fine, Ethan. Already on a plane to somewhere sunny, I imagine," Ben said, his voice devoid of sympathy.

"Good. She needs to be safe," Ethan murmured.

"Ava... she'll understand. She always does."

"She'd do anything for me. She'll never leave. Never."

The words, so confident, so utterly dismissive of my own agency, my own pain, were the final hammer blow.

Whatever lingering, foolish embers of compassion I might have felt were instantly extinguished, replaced by an icy rage.

He would never understand. He would never change.

And I would never, ever go back.

This time, the break was absolute. Irreversible.