Chapter 1

Ten years. A decade as Mrs. Ethan Cole.

Our apartment on the Upper East Side was featured in magazines. "Manhattan's Power Couple," one headline read.

They saw the sprawling penthouse, the charity galas, Ethan's name-a titan in New York finance.

They didn't see the king-sized bed with an ocean of space between us.

Or the way Ethan's eyes, the color of a stormy sea, would skim over me, polite, always polite, but distant.

I was eighteen when I told him. My guardian, the man who'd taken me in after my parents died.

It was my college graduation party. Champagne flowed. I found a courage I didn't know I possessed.

He was older, already a force in the business world.

That night, he took what I offered.

When I woke, sunlight striping the unfamiliar bedroom, he was already dressed, looking out the window.

"Ava," he said, his voice even. "I'll take responsibility for you."

So, he did. He married me. I became Ava Miller-Cole.

I gave up my acceptance to Columbia Law. A wife, especially Ethan Cole's wife, had duties. Or so I let myself believe.

Everyone said I was lucky. I'd landed the city's most eligible bachelor.

For a long time, I tried to believe it too.

Tonight was the annual Children's Foundation Gala. One of the biggest events of the season.

I chose a sapphire blue gown. Ethan liked blue. Or he'd said so once, years ago.

He adjusted his bowtie in the hall mirror, his reflection sharp, impeccable.

"Ready?" he asked. Not looking at me, but at his own image.

"Yes."

In the car, silence. It was a familiar companion.

At the gala, the flash of cameras, the murmur of the crowd. Ethan was in his element, shaking hands, a brief, charming smile for each acquaintance.

I stood by his side, the perfect accessory.

Later, a commotion near the bar. Raised voices.

Ethan, usually so controlled, was suddenly in the middle of it. He shoved a man, hard.

His special assistant, Chloe Davis, stood behind him, looking distressed.

The man Ethan shoved had apparently been too aggressive with Chloe, trying to get her to drink.

Ethan's face was thunderous. "Don't you ever touch her."

It escalated. Security intervened.

The headlines would be about Ethan Cole, the brawler.

I ended up at the precinct on East 67th. The air was stale, smelling of disinfectant and despair.

Ethan was in a side room with his friend, Mark, a corporate lawyer Ethan kept on speed dial.

I was supposed to smooth things over, be the understanding wife.

The door was slightly ajar. I heard Mark's low laugh.

"Man, you really lost it for her. If you like this Chloe so much, just set her up in a quiet place. Ava's crazy about you. She wouldn't dare make a fuss even if she found out."

A pause. Then Ethan's voice, laced with something I couldn't quite name. Weariness?

He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.

"Chloe's different."

My breath caught.

"She's not like Ava," Ethan continued, his voice dropping, confidential. "Chloe has self-respect. She wouldn't just... offer herself up like that. I can't shame her with something that has no future, no proper status."

The floor tilted. The buzzing fluorescent light above seemed to mock me.

Not like Ava.

Self-respect.

Offer herself up.

Ten years. My entire adult life. Reduced to a girl who lacked self-respect, who was easy.

The cold of the city night seeped through the old building's walls, right into my bones.

I'd always known he didn't love me, not truly. But I thought he respected our vows, respected me as his wife.

I was wrong.

He thought I was cheap.

I pushed the door open.

Ethan and Mark stopped talking.

Ethan looked up, his expression unreadable. "This is a mess. Thanks for coming."

Always polite. Always distant.

Mark mumbled his thanks too. "Sorry you had to deal with this, Ava."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I went to handle the paperwork.

Mrs. Cole, taking care of business.

It felt like my duty.

It always had.