Chapter 1

The lawyer, Sarah Jenkins, slid a final document across the polished mahogany table.

"Sign here, and it's done. Summer Reed, welcome to your new life."

I picked up the heavy pen, its cool weight a strange comfort in my hand. The ink flowed smoothly, tracing a name that felt both foreign and deeply right. Summer Reed. The letters were a promise. A new season, a clean slate.

There was a quiet finality in the click of the pen as I set it down. A sense of relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy. It was the first clean breath I had taken in months.

Sarah gave me a small, professional smile, but her eyes were kind. "The flight is booked for tonight. A car will be waiting downstairs at nine."

I nodded, unable to speak just yet. The name on the paper, my new name, was a shield. Behind it, Ava Hayes was disappearing, and with her, the ghost of Ava Miller, the girl she used to be.

The world knew me as Ava Hayes, the wife of Mark Thompson.

To them, our story was a fairytale.

Every magazine and gossip blog told the same version of the story. Mark Thompson, the tech wunderkind who built a billion-dollar empire from his college dorm room, and his ballerina wife, Ava. They called us the perfect couple. He was the brilliant, charismatic visionary, and I was his graceful, artistic muse.

They loved the narrative of how he' d found me. Ava Miller, a gifted dancer from a broken home, struggling to make ends meet after her mother' s disastrous second marriage. They painted a picture of a girl with immense talent but a fragile spirit, weighed down by a difficult past.

And then came Mark, my knight in shining armor.

He had swept into my life at a charity gala I was performing at. He saw me on stage, and he was relentless. He pursued me with a single-minded focus that was both flattering and overwhelming. He said he saw the real me, the strength beneath the surface. He promised to give me a world where I would never have to worry about anything but my art.

He rescued me. That was the public story, and for a long time, I believed it too. He took me away from the constant tension of living with my mother and my stepsister, Chloe. He provided a beautiful home, funded my training, and sat in the front row of every performance, his eyes shining with pride. He made me feel safe, cherished, and seen.

I remember our wedding day, standing under an arch of white roses overlooking the ocean. The sun was warm on my skin. Mark' s hands were steady as he held mine.

His vows were a masterpiece of public devotion.

"Ava," he' d said, his voice carrying across the silent, watching crowd. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. You are light and grace and passion. Before you, my world was black and white code. You brought the color. I promise to be your rock, your shield, and your greatest champion. I will protect you from every shadow and support every dream. Forever."

The words were so perfect, so exactly what I needed to hear. They were a balm on the old wounds of my childhood. I leaned into him, believing every syllable. I became Ava Hayes, and I let the dependent, scared Ava Miller fade away.

In the public eye, Mark never faltered. He was the perfect husband, always by my side at events, his hand protectively on the small of my back. He' d gush about my talent in interviews, his face lit up with what everyone saw as genuine love.

"She' s the real genius in the family," he told a reporter once, a wide, charming smile on his face. "I just move ones and zeroes around. She creates magic."

People ate it up. They saw a man utterly devoted to his wife, a man who adored her not just for her beauty but for her soul. The perfect man. The perfect husband. The perfect life.

It was all a beautiful, intricate lie.

And I was the last one to know.