Chapter 1

Ethan Miller stared at the divorce papers on his mahogany desk.

His lawyer had emailed them an hour ago.

"Just sign, Ethan," Chloe, his sister, had said over the phone from London. "End it."

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But a cold knot of something – habit, maybe even a twisted, dying strand of hope – held his hand back.

Years.

Years he' d poured into Ava Harrison, his wife.

Years of trying to reach her, to make her see him, truly see him.

He picked up his phone, not to call the lawyer, but Chloe again.

She was the only one who understood, the only one who didn' t look at him with pity or, worse, that polite confusion society reserved for men who couldn' t "keep" their beautiful, wealthy wives happy.

"You still there, staring at them?" Chloe' s voice was crisp, no nonsense.

"Yeah," Ethan admitted, his voice rough. "It' s...final."

"It was final a long time ago, Ethan. You just didn't want to see it."

He knew she was right.

He thought back to the countless nights spent alone in their king-sized bed, the space beside him cold.

Ava always had a reason.

A foundation meeting.

A charity gala.

Her "meditation" in the soundproofed music room, her sanctuary.

He' d respected her need for space, her dedication.

He' d admired her public image – serene, pious, a secular saint.

He' d loved that image, or maybe the idea of it.

The calls for intimacy, gentle at first, then more desperate, were always met with a soft refusal, a headache, a vague promise of "later."

Later never came.

His finger hovered over Chloe' s contact again, but he stopped.

He needed to do this himself.

One last look around the penthouse, their home.

His prison.

He walked towards the music room.

The door was slightly ajar.

Strange. Ava was meticulous about closing it.

He heard a sound.

A soft, rhythmic sigh.

His heart hammered.

He pushed the door open.

Ava wasn' t meditating.

She was on the chaise lounge, eyes closed, a sleek silver toy in her hand, moving rhythmically.

On the small table beside her, fanned out, were photographs.

Not of them.

Not of her charity work.

Childhood photos of Liam.

Her adopted younger brother.

And as Ethan watched, frozen in the doorway, Ava whispered a name.

"Liam."

A name breathed out on a wave of pleasure so intense it made Ethan' s stomach churn.

This wasn't the first time he'd found her like this.

The memory seared him.

Weeks ago, the same scene.

He' d stumbled back then, horrified, confused.

He' d tried to rationalize it. Stress. A strange way to cope.

He' d even tried to talk to her about their intimacy issues, gently, carefully.

She' d dismissed it. "I'm just not in the mood, Ethan. Don't pressure me."

Now, seeing it again, the rationalizations shattered.

The truth was a raw, gaping wound.

He remembered the charity gala in New York where they first met.

Ava Harrison, an ethereal vision in white, surrounded by admirers.

He, the successful software developer, was instantly smitten.

She seemed untouchable, a prize.

He pursued her relentlessly. Grand gestures, flowers, surprise trips.

His love language.

She' d been polite, distant, but eventually, she' d agreed to date him.

Chloe had warned him. "She' s like an ice sculpture, Ethan. Beautiful, but you' ll freeze your hands trying to hold her."

He hadn' t listened.

He thought he could melt the ice.

Then came the proposal.

Hers, not his.

Over a sterile dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

No romance, no bended knee.

"Ethan," she' d said, her voice calm, almost business-like. "I think we should get married."

He' d been stunned, then elated.

He thought he' d finally broken through.

He' d said yes, of course.

The wedding was a society event, lavish, impersonal.

Their wedding night was a polite kiss on the cheek before she retreated to her separate dressing room.

"I'm tired," she' d said.

The marriage remained unconsummated.

For years.

Now, standing in the doorway of her "sanctuary," watching her, hearing Liam' s name on her lips, everything clicked into place with horrifying clarity.

The marriage wasn't a culmination of love for her.

It was a shield.

A desperate attempt to "normalize" herself, to suppress her illicit, obsessive love for her adopted brother.

Ethan was the "safe" choice.

The respectable husband.

The fool.

He felt a tear, hot and unexpected, trace a path down his cheek.

Then another.

He didn' t make a sound.

He just backed away slowly, pulling the door almost shut.

The image of her, the toy, the photos, Liam' s name – it burned into his brain.

His love for Ava, the persistent, hopeful, romantic love he' d nurtured for so long, withered and died in that moment.

He walked back to his desk.

The divorce papers didn' t look so daunting anymore.

They looked like an escape hatch.

He picked up the pen.

Ava emerged from the music room an hour later, her serene mask perfectly in place.

She wore her antique silver locket, a family heirloom, a symbol of her supposed purity.

She glanced at him, a cool, appraising look.

"You're still up?" she asked, her voice devoid of any real interest.

"Just finishing some work," he said, his own voice flat, unrecognizable.

He didn' t look at her. He couldn' t.

She nodded, then drifted towards her bedroom.

"Don't stay up too late," she said, a parting remark that meant nothing.

He waited until he heard her door click shut.

Then, he signed the papers.

His hand was steady.