Chapter 1

The air in the conference room was thick and heavy, the kind that settles before a storm. I stared at the blueprints on the table, but the lines blurred into a meaningless web. All I could see was Mark' s face from this morning.

Six years. An engagement ring on my finger. A future we designed together, just like the buildings we drafted. All of it was erased with a few simple words.

"It's not working, Ava. I'm with Chloe now."

I gripped the edge of the heavy oak table, my knuckles turning white. I needed to get away from him, away from this office that held every memory of us.

I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the polished floor. Every head in the room turned toward me.

I walked straight to Mr. Davenport, the firm's senior partner.

"Mr. Davenport, I need to request a transfer."

My voice was steady, a carefully constructed wall hiding the shaking inside. I needed to move to our Chicago office. I needed an entire city between me and Mark.

Mr. Davenport looked up, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked from me to the empty chair beside me, Mark's chair.

"A transfer? Ava, you and Mark are our lead team on the Sterling Tower project. This is a critical phase."

He adjusted his glasses, his expression a mix of confusion and professional concern. "Is there an issue? You two have always been our star duo."

I needed to clarify. This wasn't a professional request. This was personal. This was survival.

"My request has nothing to do with the Sterling Tower project. I want to transfer to a different team... in a different city."

Before I could say more, the conference room door swung open.

Mark walked in. He looked perfect, as always, in his tailored suit, a confident smile on his face. He didn't look like a man who had just shattered someone's life.

He looked at me, then at Mr. Davenport, his smile tightening slightly.

"A transfer? Ava, what is this about?"

His tone was light, but his eyes held a warning. He was trying to control the narrative, to make this look like a professional disagreement, a small tiff.

"You can't be serious about leaving the Sterling project. We've been working on this for over a year."

He walked closer, placing a hand on the back of my chair. It was a gesture he' d made a thousand times, a gesture of possession. Today, it felt like a brand.

I flinched away from his touch.

Mark' s mind was a fortress of his own making. He genuinely believed that my entire world revolved around him. My career, my ambitions, my future-he saw them all as extensions of his own. The idea that I would choose to leave, to build a life entirely separate from him, was not just insulting to him; it was impossible. He thought this was a tantrum, a dramatic gesture to get his attention. He was already calculating how he would "forgive" me later.

Mr. Davenport tried to intervene, sensing the thick tension. "Mark, let's hear what Ava has to say."

But Mark cut him off, his eyes locked on me. He wasn't listening. He never really did.

"Whatever this is, we can talk about it later. Don't make a scene in front of our boss."

His voice was a low command, laced with the casual arrogance of a man who was used to being obeyed. He still thought I was his to command, his to manage. He had no idea that the Ava who would have backed down, who would have apologized to keep the peace, had died this morning in our apartment.