Chapter 2

Days later, Ava found herself in a sterile, unfamiliar room.

Not a hospital. A prison of sorts.

One of Ethan' s many properties, now her cage.

Her father was alive, but his hands were permanently damaged. His career as a surgeon was over.

Her mother was with relatives, her mental state fragile, the trauma accelerating her Alzheimer's.

Ava was alone, a captive.

Chloe Vance swept into the room, dressed impeccably, a stark contrast to Ava' s disheveled state.

"Time to earn your keep, Ava," Chloe said, her voice bright and cruel.

She pointed to a bucket and mop.

"The master bathroom needs cleaning. And be thorough. Ethan likes it spotless."

Ava stared at the cleaning supplies, then at Chloe.

This was her new reality. Servitude. Humiliation.

She remembered a time when Ethan would have moved mountains for her, when his touch was gentle, his words loving.

Now, he used another woman to command her, to degrade her.

The cold water from the bucket seeped into the thin fabric of her borrowed clothes as she knelt to scrub the floor.

Each movement was an effort, her body aching from the night of the fire and the subsequent days of neglect.

Ava squeezed the dirty water from the rag, her hands raw.

The steam from the hot water she was supposed to use for Chloe's bath billowed around her, but she felt only cold.

A memory surfaced, unbidden.

Ethan, two years ago, on a chilly autumn evening.

They were at his small apartment then, before his "success".

He'd drawn a bath for her, filled with bubbles and her favorite lavender scent.

His hands had been gentle as he washed her hair, his laughter warm as she splashed him.

"You're my queen, Ava," he'd whispered, kissing her wet shoulder. "I'll always take care of you."

The memory was so vivid, so full of love, that it felt like a physical blow.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears.

Where was that Ethan?

How could he transform into this monster?

The contrast between then and now was a chasm of pain, a constant reminder of everything she had lost.

His past affection was a cruel ghost, haunting her present misery.

Chloe entered the bathroom, wrapped in a luxurious robe.

She inspected Ava's work with a critical eye.

"Barely adequate," Chloe sniffed.

She walked towards the tub Ava had just filled.

As she passed Ava, Chloe "tripped", her arm flailing out.

A full cup of scalding tea, conveniently placed on the vanity, went flying.

Straight onto Chloe' s arm.

Chloe screamed, a theatrical, piercing sound.

"Aah! You did that on purpose, you clumsy bitch!"

Ava recoiled, stunned. "No, I didn't! You..."

"Ethan! Ethan, help me!" Chloe shrieked, clutching her arm, which was barely reddened.

Ethan burst into the bathroom, his face a thundercloud.

He saw Chloe, seemingly in agony, and Ava standing nearby, looking guilty by proximity.

"What happened?" Ethan demanded, his voice harsh.

"She threw hot tea on me!" Chloe wailed, tears welling in her eyes. "She's trying to hurt me, Ethan!"

Ava opened her mouth to defend herself, but Ethan cut her off.

"Silence!" he roared at Ava.

He rushed to Chloe's side, his expression full of concern for her, and cold fury for Ava.

"Are you okay, Chloe? Let me see."

He didn't even glance at Ava, his judgment already passed.

Ethan gently examined Chloe's arm, his touch surprisingly tender.

"It's just a little red," he murmured to Chloe, then glared at Ava.

"For this, you'll pay."

His punishment was swift and cruel.

He dragged Ava outside to the old, empty swimming pool.

It was a cold autumn night, the air biting.

"Get in," he commanded.

The pool was half-filled with stagnant, icy rainwater.

"Ethan, please," Ava begged, shivering already. "I didn't do it. She..."

"I said, get in!" He shoved her towards the edge.

Ava stumbled, falling into the frigid water with a splash.

The cold shocked the air from her lungs. It was bone-chilling, seeping into her, making her teeth chatter uncontrollably.

She struggled to stay afloat in the shallow end, the water up to her chest.

Ethan stood at the edge, watching her, his arms crossed. Chloe was beside him, a smug look on her face, wrapped in one of Ethan's jackets.

"You'll stay there until I decide you've learned your lesson," Ethan said, his voice like chips of ice.

"But Ethan, she'll freeze," Chloe said, feigning concern.

"She should have thought of that before she hurt you," Ethan replied, his gaze fixed on Ava's suffering form.

He showed no empathy, no flicker of the man she once loved. Only cold, hard indifference.

Ava shivered violently in the icy water.

Her lips were turning blue.

Her chest ached with a familiar, dangerous tightness.

She thought she heard him, for a moment, a whisper in her mind.

Ava, get out of there.

The voice was his, the one from before, the one that loved her.

She looked up, a desperate, fleeting hope in her eyes.

Was that a flicker of concern on his face? A shadow of doubt?

Then Chloe snuggled closer to Ethan, placing a hand on his arm.

"Darling, I'm still a bit shaken. Can we go inside?"

Ethan' s face hardened instantly.

He turned to Chloe, his expression softening. "Of course. Let's get you warm."

He put his arm around Chloe and led her back towards the house, leaving Ava alone in the freezing water.

The brief illusion of his concern shattered, replaced by a despair so profound it was almost a physical weight.

He hadn't changed. He wouldn't save her.

The next morning, one of Ethan's men pulled a barely conscious Ava from the pool.

She was running a high fever, her body wracked with chills.

A doctor was summoned, a grim-faced man Ava didn't recognize.

He examined her perfunctorily.

"Pneumonia, most likely. And severe hypothermia," the doctor stated, his tone detached.

He glanced at Ethan, who stood by, impassive.

"Her constitution is surprisingly weak. Any more of this, and..." The doctor trailed off, but his meaning was clear.

Ava knew it was more than just a weak constitution. It was her heart, struggling, failing.

The doctor gave her an injection, prescribed some pills.

He didn't ask questions. He knew who paid his bills.

He confirmed her deteriorating health but revealed nothing of the true, underlying cause that only Ava and her family knew.

Ethan listened, his expression unreadable.

Did he feel anything? Regret? Satisfaction?

Ava couldn't tell. She could only feel the cold spreading deeper within her.

Later that day, Chloe was scrolling through her phone, a triumphant smile on her face.

She angled the screen so Ava, who was lying weakly on a thin mattress in a small, cold room, could see.

It was a social media post.

A picture of Ethan, looking concerned, tucking a blanket around Chloe who was artfully posed in a plush armchair, a look of delicate suffering on her face.

The caption read: "My hero, Ethan, taking care of me after a little accident. So grateful for his love and protection. #TrueLove #Blessed #MyMan"

Below it, comments poured in.

"Chloe, you're so lucky!"

"Ethan is the perfect boyfriend!"

"Hope you feel better soon! He clearly adores you."

The public display of misdirected affection was another twist of the knife.

Ethan, playing the devoted partner to her tormentor, while Ava, his true victim, suffered in silence and obscurity.

The world saw a loving couple. Ava saw a cruel charade built on lies and her pain.

The irony was a constant, bitter companion.