When Ava arrived at the ER – Ethan had insisted she meet him there, "for support" – he was making a huge fuss over Chloe.
Chloe was on a gurney, a perfectly placed ice pack on her forehead, looking pale and fragile. Ethan was hovering, stroking her hair.
"She's been my rock through all this," Ethan announced loudly to a nurse, making sure Ava could hear. "Such a dear friend. I don't know what I'd do without her."
He shot Ava a look, clearly expecting her to react. To be jealous. To fight for him.
Ava just stood there, arms crossed.
A doctor finally saw Chloe. A mild concussion, they said. Keep an eye on her.
Ethan made a big show of relief, hugging Chloe tightly.
"I was supposed to have a neurology follow-up with you today, Ethan," Ava reminded him, her voice flat. "We had an appointment."
Ethan looked flustered. "Oh, right. Well, obviously, this is more important. Chloe needs me." He turned back to Chloe, all tender concern.
Ava just nodded. "Right."
Another piece of his "devotion" facade crumbled. He was prioritizing his fake girlfriend's fake emergency over his own "recovery."
Later that night, Ava's phone buzzed.
A picture message. From an unknown number.
It was Ethan and Chloe. Kissing. A selfie, clearly taken by Chloe, her tongue just visible.
The caption: "He's feeling much better. "
Ava deleted it without a second thought.
Then another. Chloe in Ethan's shirt, sprawled on his couch, looking smug.
Delete.
Another. A close-up of their hands, intertwined.
Delete.
The messages kept coming, a barrage of staged intimacy.
Chloe, or Ethan through Chloe, was trying to break her.
They didn't realize Ava was already broken, and rebuilding herself into someone they wouldn't recognize.
Ava sat on her bedroom floor, the one box of their shared past still in the closet.
She remembered Ethan, years ago, when she'd had the flu. He'd stayed with her for three days straight, making her soup, reading to her, holding her hand.
Genuine care. Real love.
Or had that been an act too? Part of a long con?
The thought made her stomach clench.
The Ethan who sent those pictures, who flaunted his fake amnesia and his new girl, was a monster.
The tears she'd been holding back finally came. Not for the Ethan she was losing, but for the Ava who had believed in him for so long.
For the fool she had been.
A week later, Maya dragged Ava to a gallery opening. "You need to get out. See people who aren't Ethan or his new side piece."
And of course, Ethan and Chloe were there.
They were the center of a laughing group, Chloe practically draped over Ethan, her hand possessively on his chest.
Maya stiffened beside Ava. "Assholes."
Ava just watched them, a strange detachment settling over her. They looked like characters in a poorly written play.
Ethan caught her eye. He smirked, then leaned down and kissed Chloe, a long, deliberate kiss. For Ava's benefit.
Ava turned away, heading for the bar.
As she reached for a glass of wine, a hand shot out and covered hers.
Ethan's.
"Don't," he said, his voice low, almost a growl. "You're allergic to red wine, remember?"
Ava froze.
For a split second, his eyes were clear. The old Ethan. The one who knew her.
Then, just as quickly, the fog returned. Or he pulled it back into place.
He blinked, looking confused. "Sorry. Did I... say something wrong?" He stepped back, turning towards Chloe, who was now approaching, her eyes narrowed.
"Everything okay, babe?" Chloe asked, sliding her arm through Ethan's.
"Yeah, fine," Ethan said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Just... a weird moment."
He let Chloe lead him away, not looking back at Ava.
A flicker. A mistake. Or another calculated move?
Ava didn't know. And she was starting not to care.