Chapter 1

Ava Chen stared at the peeling paint on her Brooklyn walk-up's ceiling.

Five years.

Five years of being just Ava, the quiet admin assistant.

She picked up her phone.

Her fingers dialed a number she knew like her own heartbeat.

"Mom, Dad," she said, her voice steady.

"It's Ava."

A pause, then, "I'm coming home."

Another beat of silence on her end.

"The experiment... it's over."

Relief, warm and palpable, flowed through the line from San Francisco.

Her mother's voice, thick with emotion, "Oh, Ava. We're ready."

Her father's deeper tone, "Whenever you are, sweetheart. AuraSphere is waiting."

Ava felt a pang for the life, the love, she thought she was building here.

But resolve hardened her gaze.

This chapter was closing.

Later that week, the city hummed with its usual Friday night energy.

Ethan had booked a table at "The Velvet Hour," a place where whispers cost more than the cocktails.

He was charming, his hand resting lightly on her back as they navigated the dim, crowded room.

Ava played her part: quiet, observant, a faint smile her primary expression.

Ethan' s friends, Skip and Trip, were already there, sprawled in a plush booth, radiating entitlement.

"Ava, darling," Ethan said, his smile dazzling. "You remember Skip and Trip."

She nodded. "Of course."

Ava excused herself a few minutes into their chattering.

"Powder my nose," she murmured to Ethan, a phrase she'd picked up that seemed to fit her persona.

She didn't go to the restroom.

Instead, she lingered in the shadows near their booth, partially obscured by a large potted fern.

Ethan's voice, usually modulated for her benefit, was different now – sharper, more business-like.

"So, the Parker merger is a definite go," Skip said, his voice low but carrying.

"Finalized the terms yesterday," Ethan confirmed.

Trip snorted. "About time. What about... the gallery girl? Still part of the portfolio?"

Ava' s breath caught. Gallery girl. That was her.

"Just a minor asset to be divested," Ethan said smoothly. "Low risk, low yield. Time to cut it loose."

"Chloe Parker won't tolerate any overlaps in the new corporate structure," Skip added, a smirk in his voice. "She' s more of a hostile takeover type."

Ava, sole heiress to AuraSphere, a multi-billion dollar private equity firm, understood their coded language perfectly.

Merger. Divestment. Hostile takeover.

They were talking about her as if she were a failing stock.

Ethan chuckled, a sound that sent a shard of ice through Ava.

"Don't worry about Ava," he said, his tone dismissive.

"I'll handle her. A gentle letdown. She's simple, she'll be fine. Probably find another struggling artist to dote on."

Ava felt the blood drain from her face.

Her hand, resting on the fern's pot, tightened.

Simple. He thought she was simple.

Earlier, when they' d arrived, Ethan had been all affection.

He' d held her hand tightly.

"You look beautiful tonight, Ava," he' d whispered, his eyes full of what she' d mistaken for love.

"My Ava."

The words now echoed with a sickening hypocrisy.

He was trying to manage her, keep her docile until the Parker deal was sealed.

Skip, noticing her return to the table a moment later, made a lazy gesture with his drink.

"So, Ava, still cataloging dusty paintings for a living?"

Trip chimed in, "Don't think your state college education prepared you for this level of financial discourse, did it, sweetie?"

He used an obscure term from some Ivy League secret society, winking at Ethan.

They both laughed, assuming she was out of her depth.

Ava simply smiled faintly.

Fools, she thought, the word a silent bomb in her mind.

This 'discourse' is kindergarten stuff.

AuraSphere board meetings, where we discuss shifting global markets and multi-billion dollar acquisitions, are tougher.

The reader, if they could hear her thoughts, would now glimpse the steel beneath the quiet admin assistant.

The woman who deliberately suppressed her natural acumen for business strategy.

A memory surfaced, unbidden.

Their first anniversary.

A picnic in Central Park, cheap wine, slightly burnt hotdogs Ethan had insisted on grilling himself on a tiny, illicit hibachi.

He' d looked at her then with such open adoration, his usual polish stripped away by smoke and genuine happiness.

"You're real, Ava," he'd said. "That's what I love."

The contrast between that sun-drenched memory and the cold, calculating man in the booth was a physical blow.

Disillusionment, cold and complete, settled in.

She looked at Ethan across the table.

He was smiling at her, that charming, practiced smile that had once made her heart flutter.

Now, it just looked predatory.

A decision formed, clear and sharp, in Ava's mind.

This is done. I am done.

A strange sense of empowerment, of liberation, washed over her.

As they were preparing to leave, a man with thoughtful eyes and a quiet demeanor approached their group.

He looked directly at Ava.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice polite but firm. "You look incredibly familiar."

Ethan stiffened beside her.

"Were you at the Global Youth Economics Forum, about... ten years ago?" the man continued, his gaze unwavering on Ava. "Ava... C?"

Ava's mind raced. Julian Mercer. From the summer program. She' d used a shortened version of her name then.

Ethan was looking from Julian to Ava, a frown creasing his perfect forehead.

"Do I know you?" Ethan asked, his tone already proprietary.

Ava felt a new kind of tension, a near-exposure she hadn't anticipated tonight.