Chapter 4

Chloe' s sobs were theatrical, perfectly timed. "I was just trying to help!" she wailed into Ethan' s chest. "I wanted to see if it was fixable, and now... now you're looking at me like I'm some kind of villain! I made it worse!"

She buried her face in his shirt, her shoulders heaving. It was a masterful performance of guilt and fragility, designed to make her the victim.

Ethan held her tightly, stroking her hair. He glared at me over the top of her head, his eyes cold and full of accusation.

That's when I noticed we weren't alone. Ethan's friends, Sarah and Mark, were standing in the doorway. They must have come up with Chloe. Their faces were a mixture of pity and disapproval, all of it directed at me.

"Ava, come on," Mark said, his voice gentle but chiding. "She was just trying to make things right. It was an accident."

"Yeah, don't be so hard on her," Sarah added, moving to rub Chloe' s back. "She feels awful. Can't you see that?"

They saw a crying girl and a silent, stony-faced woman. They didn't see the years of subtle sabotage, the constant emotional erosion, the deliberate destruction of something sacred. They saw what Chloe wanted them to see. I was isolated, the designated bad guy in a play she had written and directed.

My gaze locked with Ethan' s. I was waiting, hoping for a flicker of recognition, a shred of loyalty. I found none.

"Look what you've done," he hissed at me, his voice low and furious. "You've completely upset her. This is exactly what my mother was talking about. You're being dramatic and cruel. It was an accident. Now, for God's sake, just apologize to her so we can move on."

Apologize. He wanted me to apologize. To the woman who had deliberately, piece by piece, destroyed the last physical thing I had of my brother. To the woman who was stealing my fiancé, my future, my life.

Something inside me didn't just break; it turned to dust and blew away.

I said nothing.

I just stood there, my hands clenched at my sides, and stared at him. I let the silence stretch, filling the room with a weight far heavier than Chloe's fake tears. I watched the confusion in his eyes turn to anger, then to frustration. He didn't understand. He didn't understand that he was looking at a stranger. The Ava he knew, the one who would have cried or yelled or fought for him, was gone.

The silence was my answer. It was my resignation from this relationship. It was my declaration of war.

Finally, defeated by my stillness, Ethan guided the still-sniffling Chloe and their friends toward the door. He paused on the threshold, turning back to me one last time.

"We will talk about this tomorrow," he said, his voice dripping with authority, like a father scolding a child. "You need to get your attitude straight before this wedding goes any further. I'm serious, Ava."

He didn't wait for a reply. He just closed the door, leaving me alone in the wreckage.

I stood there for a long time, surrounded by the scent of his roses and the ghost of Chloe's perfume. Then, I looked at the crushed remains of the watch on the floor. A small, bitter laugh escaped my lips. It wasn't a sound of amusement. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated realization.

Get my attitude straight. That's what he had said.

I was not his partner. I was not his equal. I was a problem to be managed, an obligation to be fulfilled. He wasn't marrying me; he was acquiring me.

The last flicker of doubt, the last whisper of hope that we could fix this, was extinguished. My plan to leave wasn't just about escaping pain anymore. It was about survival.