Chapter 3

The next day, Liam called me. Not with an apology, or even a hint of remorse. He was on a video call, walking through the penthouse. Sophia' s influence was already apparent, garish, flamboyant touches replacing the understated elegance I' d carefully curated.

"Ava," he said, his tone breezy, "Sophia' s redecorating. She finds some of our old things a bit... depressingly pedestrian."

He panned the camera over a pile of items on the floor – photographs of us, small gifts I' d given him, even the initial, elegant drafts of our wedding invitations.

"Do you want any of this before it goes in the trash? Sophia thinks it' s clutter."

Sophia appeared in the background, a smug smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh, Ava, darling," she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension. "Your taste is just so... simple." She was a few years older than me, and clearly relishing her new position of power.

"Don't call me darling, Sophia," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

Liam' s face darkened instantly.

"Don't be like that, Ava," he snapped. "You're being ungrateful. Petty. Deliberately difficult."

The words were familiar, a well-worn script he used whenever I failed to meet his expectations of silent compliance.

Then, his masterstroke of cruelty.

"Actually," he said, a cold smile touching his lips, "I had an idea. A way to show everyone we' re still moving forward, that this is all just a minor adjustment."

He walked over to a closet and pulled out the wedding gown. It was exquisite, custom-made, a cloud of silk and lace he' d commissioned months ago, during a period when he' d been particularly effusive about our future.

"I' m having this sent to a charity shop," he announced, his eyes glittering with malice. "Sophia thinks it would be a lovely gesture. We' ll even live-stream the donation. Good PR, you know."

My breath hitched. The dress. My dress.

He must have seen the flicker of pain in my eyes because his next words were like a punch to the gut.

"You should remember, Ava," he said, his voice like ice, "you were taken in out of charity. You should be eternally grateful for the mere possibility of becoming Mrs. Bradford, regardless of the circumstances. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

He ended the call, leaving me staring at a blank screen, the image of my wedding dress being given away burning in my mind. The years I' d spent by his side, the loyalty, the quiet sacrifices – they meant nothing. I was, and always had been, expendable. The years of discreetly handling his affairs, the pills, the payoffs, they weren't acts of love or partnership in his eyes, they were just the duties of the charity case.