Chapter 4

The next morning, Ava began her secret investigation.

Her mind was a whirlwind of pain and fury, but a cold resolve was setting in. She needed proof. Irrefutable proof.

Ethan left for work, his usual peck on her cheek feeling like a brand.

As soon as the door closed, Ava went straight to his study. It was usually locked, but she' d seen him idly spin the combination lock on his private safe once, distracted on a call. She' d memorized the numbers, a random fact stored away, now suddenly vital.

Her fingers trembled as she turned the dial. Click. The heavy door swung open.

Inside, it wasn't just business papers.

There was a lacquered wooden box. She lifted the lid.

Photographs. Dozens of them. Of Sophia Bellweather.

Sophia laughing, Sophia at parties, Sophia on a beach, Sophia looking ethereal. Candid shots, professional-looking portraits. A shrine.

Dates on the back spanned years, even before Ava' s mother got sick. This was no fleeting fancy; this was a lifelong obsession.

Beneath the photos, she found more.

Receipts for lavish gifts – jewelry, designer clothes, even a down payment for a luxury condo in Sophia' s name. All dated within the last five years, during their marriage.

Bank statements showing large sums transferred to accounts linked to Sophia or her family' s businesses. Business deals that inexplicably benefited Sophia' s associates.

Ethan wasn't just obsessed; he was actively bankrolling Sophia's life, propping up her world, all while married to Ava.

Then, at the bottom of the safe, under a pile of old stock certificates, she found it.

A manila envelope.

Inside, a hospital document. An organ donation consent form.

For Sarah Williams.

And at the bottom, where the next-of-kin signature was required: Ava Williams.

Except it wasn't her signature.

It was a forgery. A very good one, but undeniably fake. The slant was wrong, the loop on the 'A' too precise.

Her blood ran cold. This was it. The concrete evidence of his monstrous betrayal. He hadn' t just manipulated the system; he had forged her consent to sacrifice her mother.

The dates on the form, the timing of the "sudden" availability of Sophia's mother's transplant – it all clicked into place with horrifying clarity.

She carefully photographed everything with her phone: the pictures of Sophia, the receipts, the bank statements, and especially the forged consent form.

The wedding ring on her finger suddenly felt like a shackle. It wasn' t a symbol of love or partnership. It was a brand, marking her as the wife of her mother' s killer, a placeholder in a life that was never meant for her.

She had to get out. Far away from him.

She began to plan.