Chapter 2

Ethan went quiet. For days.

I almost thought he' d learned his lesson.

Then my phone buzzed. A message from Liv Chen, my closest friend.

She was at the Starlight Foundation Gala, the biggest charity event of the New York season.

The message contained a photo.

Ethan. And Chloe Miller.

Chloe was wearing a gown. Not just any gown.

It was the custom-made, one-of-a-kind Oscar de la Renta I had commissioned for this exact gala. The one I' d decided against wearing at the last minute, opting for a different look.

It was still my gown.

Chloe' s Instagram feed popped up almost simultaneously. Liv must have sent it too.

"First time at the Starlight Foundation Gala! Thanks to Mr. Hayes for showing me what real high society is like! #Blessed."

The photo showed Ethan with a faint smile, his arm around Chloe' s waist.

Ethan hated being photographed. He' d always refused even casual snaps with me, complaining it was frivolous.

But here he was, beaming for his secretary. In my dress.

The audacity was breathtaking.

I forwarded Liv' s photo and Chloe' s post to Ethan.

"Explain this. Now. Why is she wearing my gown?"

No reply.

My fingers flew across my phone screen. I went to my private gallery.

I found the photo I needed.

It was of a small, velvet-lined mahogany box.

Inside were mementos of Stella Bloom. Ethan' s college girlfriend. The one who had died tragically. His "perfect memory," his "one that got away."

Old photos, dried flowers, a pressed corsage, faded letters.

I knew from Ethan' s sister, years ago, how sacred this box was to him.

I also knew Chloe Miller bore a striking, almost unsettling resemblance to Stella. It was the only logical reason for his sudden, inexplicable infatuation. He wasn't a fool, just easily led by his sentimentality.

I sent the photo of the box to Ethan.

My phone rang less than thirty seconds later.

"Ava! What are you doing?" His voice was trembling, a mix of panic and fury. "Don't you dare touch that!"

"Funny, Ethan," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "I feel the same way when other people touch my things. Like my Hamptons house. Or my custom gowns."

He was breathing heavily. "What do you want?"

"I want Chloe Miller out of my dress. Immediately. There are private suites at the venue. She can change there. I don't care what she changes into."

"You have dozens of gowns! You wear them once! What does it matter?" he argued, his voice rising.

"My discarded items are still mine, Ethan. They are not for your little playthings to pick through. You have until the main auction begins. That' s twenty minutes."

"Or what, Ava?" he snarled.

"Or Stella' s precious memories go up in smoke. Literally. I have a fireplace. And matches."

I hung up.

I pictured him there, at the gala, the music, the glittering crowd.

And the sudden, cold dread on his face.

Good.