Chapter 2

The world returned not with a bang, but with a dull, persistent ache. For days, Ava was a ghost in her own body, her mind numb. The physical pain was a distant hum compared to the gaping void where her heart used to be. The doctors spoke of recovery, of physical therapy, but she heard none of it. Her spirit was shattered. There was nothing left to heal.

She forced herself through the motions, nodding at the right times, swallowing the pills, allowing the nurses to tend to her wounds. But inside, she was gone. The brilliant, resourceful investigator had been replaced by a hollow shell. Her five years of devotion, her sacrifice, her love-it had all been a lie she told herself. Marcus' s words from his office played on a loop in her head: desperate woman... would have fired her years ago.

A week later, still bandaged and moving stiffly, she attended the firm's annual gala. It was a command performance, a way for Marcus to show his clients that everything was under control, that his top agent was fine. She wore a simple black dress, the fabric hiding the bandages but not the exhaustion in her eyes.

She stood by the bar, nursing a glass of water, when Marcus approached her. He wasn't alone. Celeste was clinging to his arm, her red dress a stark, aggressive slash of color in the elegant ballroom.

"Ava, you look... well," Marcus said, his voice holding a strange note of forced cheerfulness.

Celeste's smile was pure acid. "A bit pale, don't you think, darling? You really should get more rest. Pushing yourself so hard isn't good for anyone."

Ava said nothing. She just looked at them, her expression blank. The silence unnerved them.

"Look, Ava," Marcus began, his tone shifting to one of condescending concern. "Celeste and I have been talking. We think you need to take a real break. A long one. You're clearly not yourself. This... obsession... it's unhealthy."

He was doing it right there, in the middle of a crowded room. Publicly shaming her, painting her as unstable, all while his new partner looked on with triumph in her eyes. He was erasing her, invalidating every feeling she ever had.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to rage. But the numbness held her in place. She just felt tired, a deep, soul-crushing weariness. She turned to leave, her body screaming in protest with every step.

"Where do you think you're going?" Celeste's voice was sharp, and she stepped forward, blocking Ava's path. "Marcus is talking to you. It's rude to walk away."

"Get out of my way, Celeste," Ava said, her voice low and devoid of emotion.

She tried to step around her, but Celeste moved again, her body intentionally bumping against Ava' s injured shoulder. An involuntary cry of pain escaped Ava' s lips. She stumbled back, her hand flying up to push Celeste away from her, to create space.

It was a defensive gesture, nothing more. But Celeste was a performer. She let out a theatrical gasp and staggered backward, her stiletto heel catching on the plush carpet. She fell to the floor in a heap of red fabric, looking up with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Marcus!" she cried, her voice trembling. "She pushed me!"

The room went quiet. All eyes were on them.

Marcus rushed to Celeste's side, his face a mask of fury directed entirely at Ava.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled, his voice low and menacing as he helped a sobbing Celeste to her feet.

"She's been like this for weeks," Celeste whimpered, burying her face in his chest. "So aggressive. It scares me."

"I didn't push her," Ava stated, her voice flat. The lie was so blatant, so ridiculous, but she knew it didn't matter.

"I saw it, Ava!" Marcus's voice rose, filled with righteous anger. "Everyone saw it! Look at her, she's terrified. And look at you. Cold. Uncaring. I don't know what's happened to you, but this isn't the woman I hired." He cradled Celeste protectively, stroking her hair. "Celeste would never hurt a fly. She's gentle. Kind. Maybe you could learn something from her."

The injustice of it was staggering. He was comparing her to this manipulative woman, holding Celeste up as a paragon of virtue while painting Ava as a monster. The man she had saved, the man she had loved, the man she had nearly died for, stood there believing the worst of her without a second's hesitation.

A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. Two years ago, during a stakeout, a suspect had lunged at her with a knife. Marcus, who had been nearby, had thrown himself in front of her, taking a shallow cut on his arm that was meant for her. Later, as she stitched him up, he had looked at her with such intensity. "I'll always protect you, Ava," he had said. "Always."

That memory, once a source of comfort, now felt like another betrayal. A lie built on a foundation of other lies.

She didn't try to argue. There was no point. She just turned and walked away, the stares of the crowd feeling like physical blows against her back. She pushed through the double doors and out into the cool night air, each step an agony.

She was leaning against the stone balustrade, trying to breathe, when a small voice cut through her despair.

"Ava?"

She looked down. It was Leo. He was supposed to be with his nanny, but he had slipped away. He was holding a small paper plate with a slightly squashed piece of chocolate cake on it.

"I saved this for you," he said, holding it up to her. "It's your favorite."

He looked at her with wide, innocent eyes, full of a simple, uncomplicated love that she had been so starved for. He saw her bandaged arm, the pain in her face, and his own small face crumpled with concern.

He carefully set the plate down and wrapped his small arms around her waist, burying his face in her dress.

"Are you sad, Ava?" he whispered. "Don't be sad. I'm here."

For the first time in days, a genuine emotion broke through the numbness. A wave of profound sorrow washed over her. She knelt, ignoring the searing pain in her side, and hugged the little boy back, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had completely dissolved around her. His small, warm body was a temporary anchor in the storm.