Chapter 4

"Ethan, I didn't do anything!" I tried to explain. "The waiter stumbled, she tried to help me-"

He wasn't listening.

His face was a mask of rage.

"You pushed her, didn't you?" he accused, his voice loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

People were staring. Whispering.

Chloe was crying, cradling her ankle. "Ethan, it hurts so much."

"I'm taking you to the hospital," he said to her, his voice suddenly gentle.

Then he looked back at me.

"We'll talk about this later, Ava." His tone was a threat.

He carefully lifted Chloe into his arms.

She winced, but clung to him.

He carried her out of the gallery, pushing through the onlookers.

Leaving me alone.

Humiliated. Falsely accused.

The "later" came that night.

He stormed into the penthouse, his face like a thundercloud.

"How could you, Ava?" he demanded. "She was trying to be nice to you, and you pushed her?"

"I didn't push her, Ethan! I told you!" My voice rose, desperate. "She saved me from getting hit by a glass!"

"Saved you?" He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Chloe is kind. She wouldn't hurt a fly. You've always been jealous of her."

"Jealous?" I was shaking now. "You flaunt her in my face, and you call me jealous?"

"She's an intern, Ava! A sweet girl who admires me!"

"She's your mistress, Ethan! Stop lying!"

His hand came up so fast, I didn't see it.

The crack of his palm against my cheek echoed in the large room.

My head snapped back. Pain exploded on the side of my face.

I tasted blood.

I stared at him, horrified.

He had never hit me before. Not in either life.

His eyes were wild.

"Don't you ever," he hissed, "speak about Chloe like that again."

He grabbed my arm, the same one he'd bruised before.

He dragged me towards my bedroom.

"You're becoming unhinged, Ava," he said, his voice cold and cruel. "Maybe you need help. A private care facility."

He shoved me into the room.

"Stay here. Don't leave this room until I say so."

He slammed the door and locked it from the outside.

I heard the key turn.

I sank to the floor, my cheek throbbing, my body trembling.

This was it. The point of no return.

He was escalating. He was dangerous.

My escape plan couldn't wait. It had to be now.

I waited an hour. Two hours.

The penthouse was silent.

I went to my pre-packed suitcase. My small bag of essentials.

My parents had arranged for a loyal Harrison Mills security guard, Mr. Henderson, to be waiting.

I sent him the coded text message: "The eagle has landed."

It meant I was in trouble and needed extraction.

I heard a faint sound outside my bedroom door.

A soft click.

The door opened.

Mr. Henderson stood there. "Mrs. Davenport. Are you ready?"

I nodded, tears streaming down my face.

He took my suitcase.

We slipped out of the penthouse, silent as shadows.

Down the service elevator.

Out into the New York night.

Freedom.

But the fight was just beginning.

While I was in hiding, at a secure location my parents arranged, my lawyer went to work.

I had told my parents about Ethan' s verbal consent.

Months ago, during a sudden Davenport Global stock crisis, Ethan had been frantic.

He needed to liquidate some joint assets quickly.

I had, with feigned reluctance, brought up revising our prenup terms if he wanted my immediate signature on his emergency measures.

He' d been dismissive. "Fine, whatever, Ava, just sign! You can have your damn 'asset protection' clause for your Harrison Mills shares, just get this done!"

My lawyer had discreetly recorded that conversation.

Now, that reckless verbal consent, combined with a little-known loophole regarding "irretrievable breakdown due to spousal abandonment" (which locking me in my room qualified as), was enough.

The divorce was pushed through quickly. Quietly.

I got a portion of my original assets back. Harrison Mills shares were secured solely in my name.

Ethan was served the papers.

By the time he realized what had happened, I was already on a plane with my parents.

Heading to Los Angeles.

A new life.