Chapter 3

A month later, an embossed invitation arrived. The annual Hayes Ranch Charity Gala. It was a mandatory event. My parents, a doctor and a lawyer often traveling for work, were major donors and close friends of Ethan' s parents. Not attending was not an option.

Mr. and Mrs. Hayes were old-money ranchers, kind and decent people who had always treated me like a daughter. The thought of seeing them was the only thing that made the evening bearable. The thought of seeing Ethan and Brooke made my stomach tighten.

I chose a simple, elegant black dress. No flash, no drama. I wanted to be invisible.

The ranch was lit up like a Christmas tree, hundreds of Boulder' s elite mingling under a massive tent. I found Mrs. Hayes near the silent auction tables.

"Chloe, dear!" She enveloped me in a warm hug. "I' m so glad you came. We' ve been so worried. What happened with Ethan... it' s all such a mess."

Her eyes were full of genuine sadness. She knew the history, the years of me trailing after her son like a shadow.

"I' m fine, Mrs. Hayes. Really."

Before we could say more, a commotion started near the centerpiece of the auction-a large, gaudy bronze sculpture of a bucking horse. It was the talk of the event, an expensive piece commissioned by Ethan.

And of course, Ethan and Brooke were standing right beside it.

As I tried to navigate the crowd to get a drink, Brooke suddenly stumbled backward, directly into my path. I sidestepped to avoid her, but my elbow bumped a waiter' s tray. A full glass of red wine went flying, arcing through the air and splashing directly onto the wall behind the sculpture.

It happened so fast. A collective gasp went through the crowd.

But that wasn' t the main event. In the chaos, Ethan, with a dramatic lunge, "knocked into" the pedestal holding the sculpture. The bronze horse wobbled, then crashed to the floor with a sickening thud, one of its legs snapping off.

Silence.

Then, Ethan pointed a trembling, bandaged finger at me.

"You!" he roared, his face a mask of theatrical rage. "You did this on purpose! You couldn' t stand to see me happy, so you had to ruin this! That sculpture was for the charity auction! It' s worth two hundred thousand dollars!"

The crowd started murmuring, heads turning, eyes full of accusation. I was the cold-hearted friend, the jealous ex. It was a perfect narrative.

Brooke rushed to Ethan' s side, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Oh, Ethan, I' m sure she didn' t mean to," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "She' s just... hurting."

She made it sound like I was pathetic and vindictive.

Ethan wasn' t finished. He strode towards me, his face inches from mine. "You' re going to pay for this, Chloe. Every single cent."

Then, Brooke let out a little shriek. "Ethan, no!" She stumbled again, this time towards me, making it look like I had shoved her.

It was the final piece of their little play.

Ethan' s hand flew up. The slap was loud, cracking through the stunned silence of the gala. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging.

The crowd gasped again. I was now not only a vindictive saboteur, but also a violent one. They had me.