Chapter 3

A few days later, when Ava could barely stand, Ethan came to her room.

His face was a cold mask.

"Get dressed," he ordered. "We're going out."

Ava looked at him, a sliver of dread coiling in her stomach. "Where?"

"You'll see."

He threw a simple, dark dress at her. It was ill-fitting, cheap.

He wanted her to visit the resting place of his parents.

A pilgrimage of pain, orchestrated for his satisfaction.

She had no choice but to obey.

The drive was silent, heavy with unspoken accusations and Ava's mounting fear.

She knew this wouldn't be a simple visit. It would be another stage for her torment.

They arrived at a secluded cemetery.

The air was damp and cold.

Ethan led her towards a section with older graves.

He stopped before two modest headstones.

His parents.

Then he pointed to the path leading up to them. It wasn't paved.

It was covered in jagged, fist-sized stones, clearly recently laid.

"You will walk to them," Ethan said, his voice flat. "Barefoot."

Ava stared at the stones, then at him, horrified. "Ethan, no..."

"You will atone for what your father did. Every step you take, think of the pain my parents endured because of him."

Chloe, who had accompanied them, watched with gleeful anticipation.

Ava looked at the sharp, uneven surface. It would be agony.

But the look in Ethan's eyes told her there was no escape.

Slowly, trembling, she removed her thin shoes.

The first step was a shock of pain, sharp edges digging into the soles of her feet.

She cried out, stumbling.

Ethan watched, unmoved.

"Continue."

Each step was a fresh wave of agony. The stones cut into her skin, drawing blood.

The smell of damp earth mingled with the coppery scent of her own blood.

She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, a slow, torturous progression.

Her heart hammered in her chest, protesting the strain, the pain.

As Ava struggled along the path of stones, her feet bleeding, her body trembling, Ethan and Chloe stood a little way off.

Chloe leaned into Ethan, whispering something in his ear.

He smiled. A genuine smile, something Ava hadn't seen directed at her in so long.

Then, he leaned down and kissed Chloe, a long, tender kiss.

Right there, in front of Ava, as she endured his sadistic punishment.

The display of affection was a deliberate act of psychological torment.

It emphasized her isolation, her degradation.

He was showing her that Chloe was cherished, loved, while Ava was nothing, a vessel for his revenge.

The pain in her feet was immense, but the pain in her heart, watching them, was a deeper, colder agony.

Humiliation washed over her, hot and shameful.

She stumbled, falling to her knees on the sharp stones.

Tears of pain and despair welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of torture, Ava reached the graves.

Her feet were mangled, bleeding, every nerve screaming.

She knelt, not out of respect, but because she could no longer stand.

Ethan approached, Chloe clinging to his arm.

He looked down at Ava, then at his parents' headstones.

His voice, when he spoke, was directed at the cold stone, yet meant for Ava to hear, loud and clear.

"Mom, Dad," he began, his tone soft, almost reverent. "I'm here. And I've brought someone."

He gestured vaguely at Ava.

"My revenge is almost complete. The man who caused your suffering is broken. His family is ruined."

He then turned to Chloe, his eyes full of a twisted kind of love.

"And this," he said, pulling Chloe closer, "is Chloe. The woman I love. The woman who stood by me, who helped me see this through."

He kissed Chloe again, lingeringly, in front of the graves, in front of Ava.

"We'll build a new life, Mom, Dad. A life you would have been proud of."

He then looked at Ava, his eyes cold once more.

"Say your apologies to them," he commanded.

Ava, trembling, could barely speak. The words wouldn't come.

What could she say? Sorry my father was a doctor? Sorry you believe he wronged you?

Her silence seemed to anger him further.

Ethan didn't wait for Ava's apology.

He turned away with Chloe, their arms linked.

"Let's go, Chloe. We're done here."

They walked back towards the car, leaving Ava kneeling by the graves, her feet a bloody mess.

As they reached the cemetery gate, the sky opened up.

A cold, driving rain began to fall, soaking Ava to the bone in seconds.

She watched them get into the car and drive away, abandoning her.

Alone. Injured. In the pouring rain.

The cemetery was isolated, miles from anywhere.

She had to get back. But how?

The rain plastered her thin dress to her body, and she shivered uncontrollably.

The cold seeped into her wounds, making them throb even more.

She pushed herself up, wincing as her lacerated feet took her weight.

Each step back down the path of stones, now slick with rain, was a new torment.

But she moved. She had to.

Her resilience, born of enduring unimaginable pain, was all she had left.

The journey back was a blur of pain, cold, and a desperate will to survive.

When Ava finally, hours later, managed to limp back to the house, soaked, shivering, and on the verge of collapse, Ethan was waiting.

He showed no surprise, no concern at her state.

"You took your time," he said, his voice flat.

He then handed her a thick binder.

"Chloe's birthday is next week. I want you to plan a party for her. The grandest party this city has ever seen."

Ava stared at him, incredulous.

A party? For Chloe?

He wanted her, Ava, to orchestrate a celebration for her tormentor.

"It needs to be perfect," Ethan continued, oblivious to her shock. "The best food, the best music, the most beautiful decorations. Everything she deserves."

Ava remembered the plans she'd once made.

For her own wedding to Ethan.

A beautiful garden ceremony, her favorite flowers, a string quartet.

He was asking her to recreate her stolen dreams, but for Chloe.

It was a new level of psychological cruelty, twisting her past hopes into a weapon against her.

The pain was a deep, resonant ache, far beyond the physical.

Later that night, a maid, one of the few staff who showed her any sliver of pity, silently left a small jar of antiseptic ointment and some bandages outside Ava's door.

Ava knew it must have been sent on Ethan's orders.

A token gesture. Perhaps to ensure she was well enough to plan Chloe's party.

She picked up the jar.

The ointment was cool, and would likely soothe the burning pain in her feet.

She looked at her reflection in the small, cracked mirror in her room.

Her face was pale, her eyes haunted. Her feet were a disaster.

She thought of Ethan's coldness, Chloe's triumph, the party she was forced to plan.

A wave of profound hopelessness washed over her.

What was the point of healing these wounds, only to endure more?

To prolong this suffering, under his terms?

She opened the window and threw the jar of ointment out into the darkness.

It landed with a soft thud in the garden below.

It was a small act of defiance. A silent refusal.

She wouldn't make it easier for them.

If she was to suffer, let it be complete.

Her resignation was a cold, quiet thing, settling deep in her bones.