Chapter 2

Ethan kept a firm arm around Ava as he guided her out of the conservatory, his words a constant stream of feigned outrage and protective assurances. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Ava. I promise. No one will get away with hurting you like this."

His concern felt like a suffocating blanket. Each word was a carefully crafted lie, and she now knew it.

He took her back to his penthouse, a place that had once felt like a sanctuary, now a gilded cage. He fussed over her, offering her water, tea, his touch lingering a moment too long.

"You should rest," he said, his voice soft. "I'll make some calls. Start an investigation."

Ava nodded mutely, her mind reeling. She needed to be alone, to think.

Once he was in his study, presumably making those "calls," Ava's eyes landed on his tablet, left carelessly on the coffee table. An impulse, born of a desperate need for more truth, however painful, made her pick it up. It was unlocked.

Her fingers trembled as she opened his messages. Her heart pounded.

There it was. A long, sickening thread of messages between Ethan and Seraphina.

Seraphina: Is it done? Is the little charity case crying yet?

Ethan: The video played beautifully. She's devastated. Just as you wanted, my dear.

Seraphina: Excellent. She deserves so much worse for what she did to me. And for existing.

Ethan: Patience, Seraphina. This is only the beginning. Her fall will be spectacular.

The messages went back months. Detailed plans. His contempt for Ava was a recurring theme.

Ethan: She's an amusing diversion. So naive, it's almost pitiful.

Ethan: Had to endure another of her dreadful, heartfelt stories about her dead mother. The things I do for you, Seraphina.

In stark contrast, his messages to Seraphina were filled with affection, almost reverence. Daily calls, large money transfers to Seraphina for her "restorative break" abroad, pet names. He called Seraphina "my queen," "my brilliant star." Ava was just "the violinist," "the project."

The sheer depth of his duplicity stole Ava's breath. This wasn't just about a stolen soloist spot. This was a sick game they both enjoyed, with her as the pawn.

The click of his study door opening made her drop the tablet back onto the table as if it had burned her.

Ethan emerged, a look of strained concern on his face. He walked towards her, holding a small, white box.

"Ava," he began, his tone gentle, "with everything that's happened... and, well, we were together last night... I thought, just to be safe..."

He opened the box. Emergency contraception.

The gesture, so cold, so clinical after what she'd just read, after the intimacy they'd shared, was like a slap in the face. It underscored her status in his eyes: a temporary amusement, a body, nothing more.

A bitter taste filled her mouth. She clutched the box, her knuckles white.

"Thank you, Ethan," she managed, her voice surprisingly steady. "That's... thoughtful."

He leaned in to kiss her, a gesture of false comfort. Ava turned her head slightly, and his lips brushed her cheek. A small, almost imperceptible recoil, but she felt his body tense for a fraction of a second. He didn't comment, his mask of concern firmly in place.

"I'll take care of everything, Ava," he said, his hand stroking her hair. "You just focus on yourself. I'll make sure whoever did this pays. And when this blows over, we'll have that trip to Paris I promised you. Just you and me."

More lies. More false promises. Did he think she was still that gullible?

The next morning, the summons came. A curt call from her stepfather, Arthur Vance. His voice was glacial.

"Ava. My office. Now."

When Ava arrived at Vance family home, the atmosphere was thick with condemnation. Seraphina was nowhere to be seen, supposedly still recovering from her "ordeal" of returning from abroad and the shock of the gala video. Mrs. Caroline Vance, Seraphina's mother, stood beside Arthur, her face a mask of disdain.

Arthur didn't waste time.

"The video. The scandal. You've disgraced this family, Ava." His voice was low, furious.

"I didn't..." Ava started, but he cut her off.

"Silence!" He took a step towards her, his face contorted with rage. Then, his hand lashed out, a stinging slap across her face.

Ava stumbled back, her cheek throbbing, tears springing to her eyes.

"You are a stain on our reputation," Arthur seethed. "Just like your mother."

Mrs. Vance watched with cold satisfaction.

"I've booked you a bus ticket," Arthur continued, his voice devoid of any warmth. He tossed a flimsy ticket onto the mahogany desk. "Back to your mother's old town. Upstate. You will leave New York. Your scholarship at Auer... consider it gone if you cause any more trouble."

Exile. He was banishing her.

Ava looked at the ticket, then back at her stepfather. The fight drained out of her. What was the point? They had already decided her guilt.

"Okay," she whispered. A strange calm settled over her. She wanted to leave. She needed to escape this city, these people.

Arthur looked surprised by her quick capitulation. "Good."

Then, a flicker of something else crossed his face. His image. "Seraphina is having a small welcome home party tonight. Ethan is hosting it for her. You will attend. You will smile. You will act as if nothing is wrong. We need to show a united front until you are... gone."

Even in her disgrace, she was a prop for their flawless family image.

Ava nodded numbly. "Alright."

Back in the room that had been hers in their house, Ava slowly began to pack the few belongings she kept there. Later, she would go to her small dorm room and pack the rest.

She found the scarf she'd been knitting for Ethan. With deliberate, steady hands, she unraveled it, stitch by stitch, until it was just a useless pile of yarn.

She did the same with every small gift he'd given her, every token of his feigned affection, consigning them to the trash.

Each unraveled thread, each discarded item, was a small act of severing, a quiet reclaiming of herself.