Chapter 1

The flashbulbs were blinding, even for New York City.

It was our anniversary, Ethan' s and mine, and he' d thrown this massive charity gala.

He loved the attention, my husband, Ethan Maxwell, the real estate king.

I just wanted the night to end.

I smiled for the cameras, my arm linked through his, the perfect society wife.

He squeezed my hand, a public show of affection that meant nothing.

Later, as we were leaving, the chaos started.

A dark van, men in masks.

They grabbed me.

I screamed Ethan' s name, but the world went black.

I woke up disoriented, my head throbbing, my dress torn.

Then, more flashes, but these were paparazzi.

Ethan was there, his face a mask of concern, holding me.

"Ava! My God, Ava! Are you alright?" he yelled, loud enough for every microphone.

He was playing the hero, his voice choked with fake emotion.

He insisted on a public hospital, "the best care," he said.

I knew, even then, it was for the show.

The emergency room entrance was a mob scene, reporters shouting questions.

My shame was a spectacle, just as he planned.

In the back of Ethan' s Bentley, speeding through the city, I kept my eyes closed.

I pretended to be unconscious, my body limp against the leather.

Ethan was on the phone, his voice low, urgent, but I heard every word.

He wasn' t talking to the police.

He was talking to Marcus Miller, his head of security, who was driving.

"Is it done?" Ethan asked, his voice cold, businesslike.

"Yes, Mr. Maxwell," Marcus replied, his tone flat. "Everything as arranged. The footage is secure."

"Good," Ethan said, a sigh of relief. "Chloe will be pleased. This will make the divorce cleaner. No one will believe a word she says after this. And that old fool Thompson won't be able to interfere with the Henderson deal once his precious daughter is ruined."

My father. He was talking about my father.

Chloe. His mistress.

Divorce. Ruin.

The words hit me, one by one.

He had done this to me. My husband.

My stomach churned.

The world tilted, not from the drugs, but from the horror of his words.

Ethan, the man I loved, the man I married, had orchestrated my abduction, my assault.

To destroy me. For his socialite whore and a business deal.

Bile rose in my throat.

I pressed my hand to my mouth, fighting it back.

The gentle, submissive Ava he thought he knew was shattering.

Inside, something cold and hard started to form.

He thought I was weak.

He had no idea.

He had underestimated me.

He had underestimated my family.

A wave of nausea washed over me, so strong I almost couldn't contain it.

I wanted to scream, to claw at him, but I stayed still, breathing shallowly.

The monster beside me, stroking my hair, murmuring comforting lies.