Chapter 2

The next morning, Ethan left early for Austin, promising to be back by evening.

The silence in the Airbnb pressed in.

I was restless, the unease from yesterday now a persistent hum.

I wandered into the small living area, my body stiff and sore.

Ethan' s briefcase was on the coffee table. He' d forgotten it.

As I moved to put it by the door, I heard his phone, left on the charger, buzz.

It was a text message notification. I shouldn' t look.

But the screen lit up with a preview: "Mark Jenkins: Transfer of $50k to AM account complete. Discretionary fund, as instructed. Main portfolio remains shielded. No issues."

AM. Ava Miller. Fifty thousand dollars.

Discretionary fund? Shielded main portfolio?

Ethan had said they were broke, that Cole Holdings was on the verge of collapse.

He' d said this Airbnb was all they could "afford" for my recovery.

The words on the screen swam. A thank you for my "selfless act"?

Or hush money?

A wave of nausea hit me, colder and sharper than any physical pain from the donation.

The company was never in danger.

The drive back to Austin a few days later was a blur of forced cheerfulness from Ethan and my own churning thoughts.

He said I was well enough to be home.

Our apartment felt different, tainted.

Chloe was there, fussing, but her eyes didn' t quite meet mine.

Then Brooke Hayes walked out of my bedroom.

My bedroom.

She wasn' t pale or frail. She was vibrant, glowing with health, wearing a new silk robe that probably cost more than my monthly rent in college.

"Ava, darling!" Brooke cooed, air-kissing near my cheek. "So good to see you up and about. I feel absolutely reborn. Your marrow is just... wonderfully strong."

Her smile was too wide, her eyes glittering with something that looked like triumph.

The taunt was clear, sickening.

My blood ran cold. The $50,000. The "shielded portfolio." Brooke, looking like she' d just stepped out of a spa, not a hospital bed.

It all clicked into a horrifying picture.

"What... what' s going on?" My voice was barely a whisper.

I looked at Ethan, then Chloe.

Ethan stepped forward, his arm around Brooke' s shoulders. "Ava, calm down. Brooke' s benefactor came through right after your donation. It was a miracle. The company is safe."

"But you said... you said the company was already collapsing," I pressed, my voice shaking. "And the money... Mark Jenkins texted about $50,000..."

Chloe jumped in, her voice a little too high. "Oh, that! The benefactor was so grateful, Ava! They insisted on giving you a gift. A thank you for being willing to help Brooke. It was anonymous, of course."

Gaslighting. Pure and simple.

They were sticking to the story, their faces masks of concerned innocence.

But I saw it. The way Ethan' s hand rested a little too comfortably on Brooke' s silk-clad waist.

The way Brooke leaned into him, a possessive glint in her eyes.

My gaze fell to Ethan' s car keys on the hall table.

Next to them, a pair of expensive-looking women' s sunglasses I' d never seen before. And a small, plush dog toy, a brand I knew Brooke favored for her little poodle.

Subtle, but there. Evidence of a shared life I wasn't part of.

His betrayal wasn't just about the money or the company. It was deeper.

It involved her.

My mind flashed back to university.

Brooke, always trying to one-up me in the orchestra.

There was a coveted solo cello performance in our senior year. I' d practiced for months.

Brooke had wanted it badly.

The night before the final auditions, someone had "accidentally" loosened the tuning pegs on my cello, just enough to make it sound slightly off during my performance.

I' d suspected Brooke, but had no proof.

She' d gotten the solo.

I remembered complaining to Chloe, furious and heartbroken.

Chloe had been indignant on my behalf. "She' s awful, Ava! I can' t believe she' d do that!"

Ethan, who had just started dating me then, had been furious too.

He' d confronted Brooke, called her a cheat. He' d been my hero.

Now, seeing him with Brooke, so comfortable, so protective of her, that memory felt like a cruel joke.

His past heroism was a lie, just like everything else.