Chapter 4

Back at the waterfront house, Ava felt a strange sense of detachment as she packed the last of her few personal belongings.

Most of her life was tied to Dominic, to the organization. There wasn' t much that was solely 'hers.'

She found a red dress tucked away in the back of the closet, a vibrant crimson silk she' d bought years ago on a whim, for a future celebration with Dominic that never came.

He' d always preferred her in dark, practical clothing, fitting her role.

On impulse, she stripped off her jeans and t-shirt and slipped into the red dress.

It fit perfectly, a stark contrast to her usual attire, a splash of defiance in the muted tones of her past.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back was someone Dominic had never truly seen, or perhaps, never wanted to.

Just then, the bedroom door burst open. Chloe stood there, her eyes widening at the sight of Ava in the dress.

"What do you think you' re doing?" Chloe shrieked, her composure cracking. "That' s... you can' t wear that! Dominic would hate it on you!"

Ava merely raised an eyebrow. "Really? I think it rather suits me."

Chloe' s face contorted with rage. "You' re still trying to compete, aren' t you? Pathetic! He' s marrying me!"

She lunged at Ava, nails outstretched.

Ava, honed by years of combat, sidestepped Chloe' s clumsy attack easily, catching her wrist and twisting it just enough to make her yelp.

"Don' t be stupid, Chloe," Ava said calmly, releasing her.

Chloe stumbled back, cradling her wrist, tears welling in her eyes.

Suddenly, her expression shifted to one of calculated victimhood.

"Help! She' s attacking me!" Chloe screamed, just as Dominic' s footsteps pounded down the hall.

Dominic burst in, taking in the scene: Chloe cowering, Ava standing tall in the red dress.

"What the hell is going on?" Dominic roared.

"She attacked me, Dommy!" Chloe sobbed, running to him. "Just because I told her to hurry up and leave! She' s jealous of us!"

Dominic looked at Ava, his eyes lingering for a moment on the red dress, a flicker of surprise, maybe something else, quickly suppressed.

Then his face hardened. He turned fully to Ava, his expression menacing.

"You lay a hand on her again, Ava, and I swear..." He took a step towards her, raising his hand.

Ava braced herself, but didn' t flinch. The man she loved, or thought she loved, was about to strike her for the sake of a manipulative newcomer.

He stopped, his hand still raised, perhaps seeing the utter lack of fear in her eyes, or perhaps the crimson dress gave him a moment' s pause.

"Get your things and get out," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Now."

Ava felt her ankle throb where she' d twisted it slightly dodging his implied kick as he' d advanced.

He pulled Chloe into his arms, cooing at her, stroking her hair, all his attention focused on comforting the woman who had instigated the entire scene.

Ava looked at them, at Dominic' s blatant favoritism, his complete disregard for her side of the story, for ten years of loyalty.

This was it. The final nail.

Later that evening, as she was about to leave the house for good, Dominic found her in the kitchen.

He looked conflicted, a rare expression for him. He held a small bottle of antiseptic and some bandages.

"Your ankle," he said, his voice softer than it had been all day. "Chloe told me you twisted it when you... slipped."

A blatant lie, covering his own near assault.

He knelt, gently taking her foot. His touch, once a comfort, now felt repulsive.

"Ava," he said, dabbing at a small scrape she hadn' t even noticed. "I' m sorry about earlier. Chloe... she' s young, a bit dramatic. And seeing you in that dress... it just threw me."

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a practiced remorse.

"I still love you, Ace. You know that, right? This thing with Chloe, it' s complicated. It' s for the business, to keep Eli off our backs. Once he' s dealt with, I' ll divorce her. Then it' ll be us, like I always promised."

He handed her a glass of milk. "Here, drink this. You look exhausted. It' ll help you sleep."

Ava looked at the milk. She' d developed a high tolerance to most sedatives over the years, a side effect of chronic stress and the occasional need to stay alert when others might try to incapacitate her.

She could smell the faint, tell-tale bitterness of a strong sedative mixed in.

He wasn' t trying to comfort her. He was trying to drug her, to keep her quiet, manageable.

She met his gaze, a slow, sad smile playing on her lips. "You always knew how to take care of me, Dom."

She took the glass and drank it down, pretending to be lulled by his false promises, his feigned affection.

She would play his game, one last time.