Chapter 3

A new favorite appeared.

Chloe.

Young, an aspiring influencer, all wide eyes and calculated naivety.

Marcus was smitten.

He paraded her around like a new trophy.

At a high-roller event, the air thick with cigar smoke and expensive perfume, Marcus decided to teach me a lesson.

Or perhaps, impress Chloe.

Mr. Russo was there, a rival casino owner, sleazy, with wet eyes that lingered too long.

Marcus smiled, a cruel twist of his lips.

"Ava, be a dear. Get Mr. Russo and Chloe a drink."

His tone was light, but the order was clear.

I was to be humiliated.

Chloe giggled, a high, false sound.

Russo leered. "Make mine a double, sweetheart. And hurry."

I met Marcus' s eyes.

His were cold, challenging.

I played the part of the scorned woman.

My face tightened, a flicker of hurt I didn' t feel.

I turned, fetched their drinks, served them like a cocktail waitress.

Chloe watched me, a smug little smile on her face.

Russo' s hand brushed mine as I gave him his glass.

I ignored it.

Inside, I was ice.

This was nothing.

I remembered a night, years ago.

A setup.

A supposed attack on Marcus by a rival gang.

I had "saved" him, a dramatic, bloody affair.

All staged by me.

It cemented my legend.

Ava, the fearless protector.

The woman who would die for Marcus Thorne.

That legend was useful.

This public degradation, it served a purpose too.

It made me look weak, losing my grip.

It fed into the narrative I was carefully crafting.

The narrative of a woman on the edge.

A woman consumed by jealousy.

Later, Chloe would use this.

Eleanor Thorne would use this.

And I would use them all.

My fury was a cold, patient thing.

Hidden deep.

Waiting.

Russo said something vulgar.

I smiled, a tight, brittle thing.

"Of course, Mr. Russo."

Let them think they had broken me.

Their arrogance would be their undoing.