Chapter 3

"Get out," Ava said, her voice dangerously quiet. The shock had receded, replaced by a cold, hard anger that solidified in her chest. She looked at the woman who had been her friend, now a twisted caricature of envy and malice.

Chloe laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Get out? This is just as much my house as it is yours. I' ve spent more happy hours here with Mark than you ever have." She walked over to the fireplace mantel and picked up a framed photo of Ava and Mark on their wedding day, her manicured nail tracing over Ava' s smiling face. "You want to know the truth, Ava? He never loved you. He married you because it was expected. You were the convenient, small-town girl. But he desired me."

"You' re delusional," Ava shot back, the words sharp.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and Mark walked in, his face a mixture of anxiety and anger. He saw Chloe standing there, the atmosphere thick with tension, and his eyes immediately went to her, a silent question passing between them. He completely ignored Ava.

"Mark, thank God you' re here," Chloe cried, her entire demeanor changing in an instant. Tears welled in her eyes as she rushed to his side. "Ava is having some kind of breakdown. She recorded our private conversation, and she' s threatening to... I don' t know what she' s planning to do with it! She' s been saying the most horrible things."

Mark turned on Ava, his face a mask of fury. "What the hell is your problem? You record people now? You' re acting like a psychopath!" He didn't even ask if what Chloe said was true. He just believed her, instantly and completely. He stood in front of Chloe, shielding her, as if Ava were the one who posed a threat.

"My problem?" Ava' s voice rose, incredulous. "My problem is that my husband and my best friend have been carrying on an affair behind my back! My problem is that you' re both standing in my house, lying to my face, and trying to make me feel like I' m the one who' s crazy!"

"Lower your voice," Mark commanded, his tone icy. "You' re embarrassing yourself."

The sheer injustice of it all made Ava feel dizzy. She had been wronged in the most profound way, and yet she was the one being shamed, the one being told to be quiet. She felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion wash over her, a deep, soul-crushing weariness. She couldn' t fight them both. Not like this.

She walked past them, her movements stiff, and went upstairs to the bedroom. The room she had shared with Mark now felt alien, contaminated. She pulled a suitcase from the top of the closet and threw it on the bed, her hands moving with a numb, mechanical purpose. She started pulling clothes from the drawers, not caring what she grabbed. T-shirts, jeans, sweaters. She just needed to get out.

A few minutes later, Mark appeared in the doorway. Chloe was gone. He leaned against the frame, watching her pack. His anger seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a strange, almost placid expression.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I' m leaving," she said, not looking at him. "I can' t be here anymore."

"Ava, don' t be so dramatic," he said with a sigh. "Okay, look. Things have gotten out of hand. I admit that. But leaving isn' t the answer. We can... we can work through this."

Ava stopped packing and finally looked at him, her eyes searching his for any sign of genuine remorse, any hint of the man she thought she married. She found nothing. Just emptiness. "Work through this? You want to work through your affair with my best friend? How, Mark? Are we all going to go to therapy together?"

"I' ll end it with Chloe," he said, the words coming out too easily, too quickly. "If that' s what it takes. We can go back to how things were."

"How things were?" Ava let out a bitter laugh. "You mean with you not touching me for years while you screwed her on the side? No, thank you. I' m done." She snapped the suitcase shut. The sound was final, like a gavel falling.

She started to wheel the suitcase toward the door, but he moved to block her path. His expression shifted again, becoming something more complex, something she couldn' t quite read. "Don' t go, Ava. We have history. We have this house. Don' t throw it all away over a mistake." The plea felt hollow, a strategic move rather than a heartfelt one. She suspected he wasn' t afraid of losing her, but of the complications a divorce would bring to his carefully constructed life.

"The only mistake was me trusting you," she said, her voice flat. She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm.

"I' m not letting you leave like this," he said, his grip tightening.

Suddenly, Ava' s phone began to ring, shrill and insistent. She glanced at the screen. It was her father. She hadn't spoken to him in months. Their relationship had been strained for years, ever since her mother' s death. He had always been distant, critical, and she knew he' d never fully approved of Mark.

Before she could answer, a notification popped up on her screen. It was a news alert from a local gossip blog. Her heart stopped. The headline read: "Renowned Architect Ava Green' s Public Meltdown? Sources Claim Hysterical Outburst and Wild Accusations Against Husband Mark Peterson and Friend Chloe Davis."

The article was short but vicious. It painted a picture of an unstable, jealous wife coming unhinged. It quoted "anonymous sources" who were "worried for her mental state." Ava knew, with a sickening certainty, who those sources were. Chloe hadn' t wasted a moment. While Mark was upstairs delivering his false peace offering, she had been on the phone, planting the seeds of Ava' s public destruction.

Ava looked from the phone screen to Mark' s face. He let go of her arm, a flicker of something-guilt? pity?-crossing his features before it was gone. He was in on it. He had let Chloe do this.

As she stood there, paralyzed by this new, public level of betrayal, she heard a noise from downstairs. A faint scratching sound at the back door. Then, the distinct click of a lock being picked. A cold dread, sharp and terrifying, washed over her. It was Chloe. She had come back. And this time, Ava had the terrifying feeling that she wasn' t just here to talk.