Chapter 5

Liam' s face hardened instantly.

"What did you do, Ava?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger.

Cassandra clung to his arm, feigning distress. "It was an accident, Liam, darling. She just... bumped into me."

Ava opened her mouth to explain, to deny, but then she saw the flicker in Liam' s eyes.

Was it... expectation? Did he want her to fight, to protest her innocence?

Or was it jealousy, the old, possessive Liam surfacing for a moment?

She misread it. Or perhaps, she simply chose the path that would push him further away, reinforce his narrative of her worthlessness.

"I was just admiring her dress," Ava said, a bitter, provocative edge to her voice. "It looked like it needed a little... color."

Liam' s expression turned to ice.

The flicker of whatever emotion she thought she saw vanished, replaced by cold disappointment.

"You find this amusing?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

He picked up an unopened bottle of champagne from a nearby ice bucket.

"Since you're so fond of redecorating, Ava," he said, his eyes glinting. He handed her the bottle and a glass. "Pour this. Over your own head."

The nearby guests gasped, then fell silent, watching.

Ava stared at him, her heart a cold stone in her chest.

This was a new level of cruelty. Public. Degrading.

She looked at Cassandra, who was watching with barely concealed triumph.

Ava took the bottle. Her hands trembled.

Slowly, deliberately, she poured the champagne into the glass, then lifted it and tipped it over her head.

The cold liquid streamed down her hair, her face, soaking her cheap dress.

Laughter rippled through some of the guests. Others looked away, embarrassed or disgusted.

Liam watched, unmoved.

"All of it," he commanded.

Ava emptied the bottle over herself, champagne stinging her eyes, the sticky sweetness cloying.

She stood there, dripping, shivering, the object of public ridicule.

"Now," Liam said, his voice cutting through the sudden silence. "Go stand at the bow. And don't move until I tell you to."

He turned and walked away, Cassandra on his arm, not giving Ava a second glance.

Ava walked to the bow of the yacht, into the biting wind coming off the Hudson.

She stood there for hours, soaked and freezing, as the party continued behind her.

Her body ached. The ALS symptoms flared – muscle cramps, a deep, unshakeable chill.

She was alone, a spectacle of shame.

Later, much later, the party began to wind down.

Ava saw Liam stumble. He looked pale, feverish. He collapsed onto a deck chair, clearly unwell.

Despite everything, a pang of concern shot through Ava.

She hesitated, then moved towards him.

The old instinct to care for him, the love she couldn' t kill, was too strong.

She found a blanket, gently covered him. She felt his forehead. He was burning up.

She stayed with him through the night, tending to him, fetching water, murmuring soothing words he wouldn't remember.

She was exhausted, her own body racked with fever from the exposure, but she pushed through.

Just before dawn, Cassandra found them.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra demanded.

"He was sick," Ava whispered, her voice hoarse. "I just... made sure he was comfortable."

She quickly added, "You should take the credit. He'll be happy to see you when he wakes properly."

Ava slipped away, her own strength failing.

She collapsed on a deserted section of the lower deck, unconscious from exhaustion and her own raging fever.

When she finally came to, hours later, Liam was standing over her.

He looked better, the fever lessened, but his eyes were hard.

"Who took care of me last night?" he asked.

Ava' s heart pounded. She couldn' t let him know. It would make her vulnerable. It would give him another weapon.

"It wasn't me," she lied, pushing herself up. "I was... with one of the crew members." She tried to make it sound sordid.

His face contorted with rage and disgust.

He grabbed her, pushed her against the bulkhead, his assault swift and brutal.

"You never learn, do you?" he snarled.