Chapter 2

Ethan Knight stood before me, his expression unreadable, a mask of professional composure firmly in place. The tender look he'd had for Chloe's photo was gone, erased as if it never existed. He'd straightened his tie, the picture of cool detachment.

"Reassigned to Miss Vance, effective immediately?" he repeated, his voice neutral.

"That's what I said," I replied, my tone deliberately bored. I walked further into the room, picking up a meaningless crystal figurine from a side table, turning it over in my hands. "You seemed so... concerned for her welfare. I thought you'd appreciate the opportunity to dedicate your full attention to her."

Chloe, ever the actress, clasped her hands together. "Oh, Ava, that's so thoughtful of you! But Ethan has always taken such good care of you."

I shot her a look that could freeze fire. "I'm sure he'll extend the same exemplary service to you, dear sister."

Ethan's gaze flickered between us. "My duty is to ensure your safety, Miss Monroe. That has always been my primary directive from your father and my employer."

"And now your primary directive, from me, is Chloe," I said, placing the figurine down with a sharp click. "Marcus has approved the change. Unless you have an objection?"

I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. He wanted to object. He wanted to ask why. But his training, his ingrained discipline, held him back. Or perhaps, the thought of being Chloe's dedicated protector was too appealing to refuse.

"My personal feelings are irrelevant," he said, his voice still flat. "I will follow your instructions, Miss Monroe."

"Excellent." I forced a smile. "Chloe, you're in good hands."

Chloe beamed. "Thank you, Ava! And thank you, Ethan. I'll try not to be too much trouble." She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

My stomach churned. The image of him looking at her photo, the overheard phone call about her "purity" – it all coalesced into a knot of bitter resentment.

I had loved this man. And he had been coveting my manipulative half-sister, the favored child of my father's affair, the living symbol of my mother's heartbreak.

He saw purity in Chloe. What did he see in me? The "bad girl," the damaged goods, the inconvenient daughter.

Fine. Let him have his illusion.

"I need to prepare for the Hamilton gala tonight," I announced, turning towards my bedroom. "Ethan, you can begin your new duties by escorting Chloe wherever she needs to go. I'm sure she has a busy schedule."

Ethan inclined his head. "As you wish, Miss Monroe."

Chloe piped up, "Actually, Ava, I was hoping we could all go to the salon together? Get ready for the gala? It would be fun!"

I paused at my bedroom door. "No, thank you, Chloe. I prefer to get ready alone." I looked at Ethan. "Ensure she arrives at the gala safely. And on time."

His eyes met mine, and for a fleeting second, I thought I saw a flicker of... something. Confusion? Regret? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that impenetrable mask.

"Understood, Miss Monroe."

The words were a dull ache in my chest. Each professional, detached syllable a reminder of the chasm between us. A chasm he had created, and I was now cementing.

I closed my bedroom door, leaning against it for a moment, the cool wood a small comfort.

This was necessary. Pushing him towards her was the only way to lance the wound, to cauterize the hopeless affection I held for him.

If he wanted Chloe, he would have her. And I would learn to live with the ashes.

Later, as I dressed for the Hamilton's annual charity gala, I felt a strange detachment. The gown was exquisite, a deep sapphire silk that shimmered with every movement. My reflection stared back, a woman I barely recognized – polished, aloof, her eyes holding a new, hard glitter.

When I emerged, Ethan was waiting in the hallway. Alone.

His eyes swept over me, a brief, professional assessment. "Miss Monroe. You look... striking."

The compliment, if it was one, felt hollow. "Is Chloe ready?" I asked, my voice cool.

"Miss Vance is in the main drawing-room, with your father," he replied. "She asked me to wait for you here."

A subtle shift. He was already deferring to Chloe's requests. Good.

We walked in silence to the drawing-room. Marcus was beaming at Chloe, who was preening in a pale pink confection of a dress, looking every bit the innocent ingénue.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me, or rather, when she saw Ethan behind me.

"Ava! You look wonderful!" she gushed. "And Ethan, thank you for waiting."

He gave a slight nod, his attention, I noted with a familiar pang, already shifting towards Chloe. He subtly positioned himself closer to her, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Shall we?" Marcus said, ever impatient when it came to social obligations that could benefit him.

At the gala, the air buzzed with the low hum of New York's elite. Jewels glittered, champagne flowed, and polite meaningless chatter filled the grand ballroom.

I spotted Catherine Hamilton, Julian's mother, across the room. A woman of quiet dignity and strength, she was one of the few people in this city I genuinely respected. She, along with my maternal Preston family, had orchestrated this marriage to Julian as a lifeline for me. A sanctuary.

Chloe, however, was in her element, fluttering from one group to another, her laughter light and tinkling. Ethan shadowed her, a silent, watchful guardian. His gaze, I noticed, lingered on her often. Not just protectively. There was an undercurrent there, the same subtle warmth I'd seen when he looked at her photograph.

It was a constant, painful reminder.

Chloe soon flitted over to me, Ethan a step behind.

"Ava, isn't this fabulous?" she chirped, linking her arm through mine. I stiffened but didn't pull away immediately. We were in public.

"It's a party, Chloe," I said dryly.

"Oh, you're always so serious," she pouted, then turned her bright smile on Ethan. "Ethan, do you remember that time you helped me find my lost locket at the museum benefit? You were so clever to figure out it had slipped into that medieval helmet!"

Ethan's lips curved slightly. "It was a logical deduction, Miss Vance. The weight distribution of the helmet was off."

"You're too modest!" Chloe exclaimed. "You saved me. That locket was a gift from Daddy."

I listened, my insides twisting. He "saved" her over a locket. He was "clever." The admiration in her voice was sickeningly sweet, and the way Ethan almost, almost, basked in it was even worse. He downplayed it, but the slight softening of his features told me he remembered the incident with fondness. He had done countless things for me, faced actual dangers, and never once had he shown such... personal engagement.

Chloe then turned to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's a private showing of the new acquisitions tomorrow at the museum. Just for a few select donors. Daddy arranged an invitation for me. Would you... would you like to come with me, Ethan? As my guest, of course, not just... you know."

Ethan's gaze met hers. "I would be honored, Miss Vance."

My jaw tightened. A private viewing. Another opportunity for them to bond.

Chloe then, as an afterthought, turned to me. "You should come too, Ava! It could be fun."

Before I could utter the scathing refusal on my lips, I said, "I think not, Chloe. I have other plans." Then, looking directly at her, my voice laced with ice, "Besides, three's a crowd, especially when one is a glorified babysitter and the other is... well, you."

Chloe's eyes widened, feigning hurt. Ethan's expression hardened, a flash of disapproval in his eyes directed squarely at me.

Perfect. Let him see me as the villain. It made everything easier.

An announcement cut through the murmur of the crowd. The charity auction was about to begin.

This was why I was truly here tonight, beyond the social niceties and the painful Ethan-Chloe show. The centerpiece item was a diamond necklace, once belonging to a Preston ancestor. My mother had loved the stories about it. I wanted it. Not for its monetary value, but for the connection to her, to a time before Marcus and Chloe had shattered our world. It was one of the few things my Preston family hadn't been able to secure for me directly, as it had fallen out of family hands generations ago and was now part of a private collection being auctioned. With the Hamilton deal securing my trust fund, I could finally afford to bring it back.

The bidding started. I raised my paddle.

A moment later, another paddle went up across the room. Chloe.

She smiled sweetly at me, a glint of challenge in her eyes. Marcus stood beside her, looking smug. He was clearly backing her, trying to outbid me, to humiliate me publicly.

"One million," I called out, my voice clear and steady.

Chloe, after a whispered consultation with Marcus, countered, "One million, two hundred thousand."

She didn't have that kind of money. Marcus was playing games.

I could feel Ethan's gaze on me. I didn't look his way.

This was between me and my father's legacy of favoritism.

"Two million," I stated, my voice ringing with newfound authority. The money from my maternal trust, managed by the Hamiltons and Prestons, was substantial. Marcus knew it. The Hamiltons had ensured its release was imminent, tied to my agreement to marry Julian. I was already drawing on the certainty of it.

Chloe gasped. Marcus's face tightened. He hadn't expected me to go so high, so fast. He likely didn't know the full extent of the Preston inheritance Catherine was ensuring I received.

Chloe looked pleadingly at Marcus, who shook his head curtly. He wasn't going to throw more money into this petty squabble, not when his own finances were so precarious, bailout notwithstanding. He had other priorities, like maintaining his image.

A wave of satisfaction washed over me. For once, I had the upper hand.

The auctioneer was about to bring the gavel down. "Going once, going twice-"