Chapter 2

The next morning, I systematically cleared my rooms of anything related to Ethan, Liam, and Noah.

Old photographs, gifts from birthdays past, silly mementos from shared childhoods.

Each item went into a large velvet-lined box.

The Astor sapphires, the Caldwell chronograph, the Sterling first-edition book – they were already with my father' s secretary, ready to be dispatched back to their respective families.

This wasn' t just about rejecting their marriage proposals.

This was about erasing their deep-seated influence from my life.

A complete break.

My resolve was firm.

I would not repeat the mistakes of my past lives.

My focus was on Julian Mercer, on the future I was trying to build.

A future based on pragmatism, not painful, unrequited love.

Over the next few days, I saw glimpses of the trio.

They were, as always, doting on Izzy.

She had apparently made a swift recovery from her "accident."

I saw Ethan personally driving her to a follow-up appointment, his hand protectively on her arm as she exited the car.

Liam had used his media connections to publish a small, glowing piece about Izzy' s "bravery" and "resilience" in a society gossip column, complete with a photo of her looking angelic.

Noah, through his family' s foundation, had reportedly made a generous "donation" to a charity Izzy "volunteered" for, in her name.

They orbited her, their attention a constant, suffocating blanket.

I watched them from a distance, a detached observer.

A bitter smile touched my lips.

How had I been so blind?

It was so obvious, their affection for her.

It screamed from every gesture, every glance.

And I, in my previous lives, had been the fool who believed their polite attentions were for me.

I was a convenient cover, a socially acceptable partner while their hearts lay elsewhere.

One afternoon, I was in the conservatory, reviewing some preliminary reports on Mercer Consolidated, Julian' s company.

Izzy appeared, carrying a tray with tea.

Her father, Mr. Rossi, our estate manager, usually handled such things, or one of the maids.

"Miss Ava," Izzy said, her voice soft and sweet, "I thought you might like some tea."

She curtsied slightly, the picture of subservience.

As she set the tray down, she "accidentally" bumped the table, and a little tea sloshed into the saucer.

"Oh, I'm so clumsy!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with feigned distress.

Before I could say a word, Ethan, Liam, and Noah, who had apparently been lingering in the adjoining drawing-room, rushed in.

"Izzy, are you alright?" Ethan asked, his voice laced with concern, completely ignoring me.

"Don't worry about it, Izzy," Liam said, already dabbing the spill with a napkin. "It's just a little tea."

"You work too hard, Izzy," Noah added, his tone gentle. "You should rest more."

They fussed over her, their collective attention a shield around her.

They subtly, or not so subtly, implied that I was perhaps being too demanding, expecting Izzy to serve me.

My jaw tightened.

"She offered," I said, my voice calm but firm. "And since she seems so dedicated to serving, perhaps one of you should consider taking her into your own household. She clearly thrives on such attention."

The air crackled.

Izzy' s eyes welled up instantly.

She crumpled, as if my words were physical blows.

"Oh, Miss Ava, I... I didn't mean to presume... I just wanted to be helpful... I'm so sorry if I overstepped..."

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with dramatic sobs.

It was a masterful performance.

The trio turned on me, their faces thunderous.

"Ava! How can you be so cruel?" Ethan snapped, his eyes flashing.

"She was just trying to be nice!" Liam exclaimed, his arm protectively around Izzy' s shoulders.

"What has gotten into you?" Noah demanded, his usually calm demeanor gone. "Izzy has a delicate nature. You know that."

Delicate? Or manipulative?

"Cruel?" I repeated, my voice like ice. "Is it cruel to state the obvious? Or are you all so blinded by her 'delicate nature' that you can't see anything else?"

I felt a wave of futility wash over me.

Arguing with them was pointless. They were a united front, impenetrable in their devotion to Izzy.

I stood up, pushing the reports aside. "I have work to do."

I turned to leave.

"Miss Ava, wait!" Izzy cried, reaching out a hand, her face streaked with tears. "Please, don't be angry with me. I'll do anything..."

She stumbled, "accidentally" bumping into a small pedestal table near the doorway.

A priceless Ming vase, a Vanderbilt heirloom, teetered precariously.

"Izzy!" I warned, instinctively reaching out.

But Izzy didn' t try to steady the vase.

Instead, she let out a piercing scream, clutching her own arm as if in agony, and deliberately knocked the vase to the floor.

It shattered into a thousand pieces.

Then, she collapsed, crying out, "My arm! Oh, Miss Ava, you pushed me!"

It happened so fast.

Ethan, Liam, and Noah spun around at her scream.

They saw Izzy on the floor, the shattered vase, and me standing over her.

"Izzy!" Ethan roared, rushing to her side.

Liam was right behind him. "What did you do, Ava?"

Noah knelt beside Izzy, his face a mask of fury directed at me.

In their haste to get to Izzy, Ethan inadvertently shoved me hard.

I stumbled backward, my ankle twisting painfully, and hit the sharp corner of a console table.

A searing pain shot up my leg.

They didn't even notice.

Their entire world had narrowed to Izzy, moaning on the floor, cradling her supposedly injured arm.

They lifted her gently, their faces etched with worry and anger towards me.

"We need to get her to a doctor!" Ethan declared.

They carried Izzy out, leaving me standing alone amidst the wreckage of the vase, a sharp pain in my ankle, and an even sharper pain in my heart.

I sank onto a nearby chair, my leg throbbing.

Tears welled in my eyes, hot and bitter.

Not tears of sadness for them, or for any lost love.

Tears of rage at my own past foolishness, at their blind, destructive devotion.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

This was it.

The absolute, final severance.

They had made their choice, again and again.

Now, I had truly made mine.