Chapter 3

My phone exploded with messages from Liv.

"OMG! Ethan just stormed back in, white as a sheet!"

"He literally DRAGGED Chloe out of the ballroom!"

A few minutes later: "They' re back! HOLY S AVA! Chloe is wearing a CATERING STAFF UNIFORM!"

Liv attached photos.

Chloe, red-faced and humiliated, in a drab, ill-fitting black and white uniform.

Ethan, standing beside her, looking like he wanted to murder someone. Probably me.

The Starlight Gala had a strict no-early-departure policy for its prominent guests and table hosts. They were stuck there.

I smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

After the gala, Liv sent one last photo. My Oscar de la Renta gown, crumpled and discarded in a public trash can near the venue.

I screenshotted it.

I posted it to my Instagram story.

"Trash belongs in the trash. #KnowYourPlace."

Within minutes, hundreds of likes. The comments were veiled but clear. New York society knew.

That night, Ethan came home. Long after I' d gone to bed.

He didn' t come to the bedroom. I heard him pacing in his study.

The next morning, he approached me, looking haggard.

"Can I have Stella' s box back?" he asked, his voice subdued.

I looked at him. "Is that all you have to say?"

He sighed. "Ava, I apologize. For my poor judgment. But my relationship with Chloe is purely professional. I was rewarding her for her hard work."

I scoffed. "Hard work? Ethan, her performance reviews are mediocre at best. And access to a multi-million dollar beach house, attendance at the Starlight Gala, and a designer gown are not 'rewards for hard work.' They are romantic gestures. Any young woman would interpret them that way."

He flinched.

"You're using her, Ethan," I said, my voice flat. "She looks like Stella. You're trying to recreate something you lost. And you're doing it at my expense."

He stared at the floor.

I went to my safe, retrieved the mahogany box, and handed it to him.

"I understand your attachment to Stella's memory," I said, my voice softening slightly. It was, after all, a tragic story. "But don't destroy what we have, what we' ve built, because of a ghost. This has to be the last time, Ethan. The absolute last."

He looked up, relief flooding his face. "Thank you, Ava. I swear. It won't happen again. I'll distance myself from Chloe. I'll handle it."

He reached for me, pulling me into an embrace. He kissed me, murmuring apologies.

As he did, I bit his lower lip. Hard. Enough to draw a tiny bead of blood.

He gasped, surprised, a flicker of something else in his eyes.

"A reminder," I whispered.

He looked at me, then a strange, contrite smile touched his lips. He seemed almost aroused by my assertiveness.

He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope. Maybe this was the shock he needed.