Chapter 3

The devastation was a physical weight, crushing my chest.

But beneath it, a cold, hard fury began to burn.

He wanted me unstable? He would see unstable.

While Ethan was busy crafting his public image as the grieving husband, I moved.

In the hospital bathroom, I fumbled for the burner phone Marcus had "confiscated" but which I knew he' d let me keep, a tiny seed of his true loyalty I hadn't understood until now. Or perhaps it was just another part of Ethan's plan, to make me look like I was hiding something.

No, Marcus was my father' s man. This was a lifeline.

My fingers trembled as I dialed a number I had memorized years ago, a number for emergencies.

It connected to a discreet art residency in Switzerland, a place my father' s connections had secured for me, a standing invitation I' d never thought I' d need.

"This is Ava Thompson," I whispered. "I need to accept the residency. Immediately."

The voice on the other end was calm, efficient. "It will be ready for you, Ms. Thompson. When will you arrive?"

"Two days," I said. "I need a flight booked. Discreetly."

"Consider it done."

One small step. One tiny act of defiance.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

I would not be his victim.

I would not be broken.

I would survive this, and then I would make him pay.

Ethan thought he was in control, that I was his pawn.

He had no idea what was coming.

He was so sure of my weakness, my submission.

That was his biggest mistake.

Ethan brought me back to our penthouse, a gilded cage.

His mother, Eleanor Maxwell, was there, perched on the sofa like a vulture.

And Chloe Vance, the influencer, the mistress, was right beside her, practically purring.

"Ava, darling," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with false sympathy that didn't reach her cold eyes. "You poor thing. So... damaged."

Chloe smirked, her eyes flicking over me with undisguised contempt.

"Ethan, you must be exhausted," Chloe cooed, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. "Let me get you a drink."

Ethan made a weak protest, "Chloe, not now."

But his eyes followed her, a flicker of something ugly in them. He enjoyed this, her fawning, my humiliation.

My mother-in-law launched into a tirade.

"Honestly, Ethan, I told you about her family. Old money, they said. Old and dusty, more like. No connections that matter anymore. Chloe here, she's vibrant. She has followers. She's what you need."

I stood there, swaying slightly, the world a blur of pain and anger.

This was my home, and I was an intruder.

They wanted me gone. They were already celebrating my demise.