Chapter 3

The sound of the party died behind Ethan as he slammed the door to his study. He sank into his mother's leather chair, the scent of her perfume still faintly clinging to the upholstery. He reached for the bottle of scotch on the desk, his hand shaking, and poured a generous amount into a glass.

The liquid burned its way down his throat, but it couldn't touch the cold, hollow ache in his chest.

He had won. He had humiliated her, destroyed her, cast her out. He had avenged his mother.

So why did he feel like he was the one who had been executed?

His brothers, Mark and David, burst into the room.

"What was that, Ethan?" Mark demanded, his face flushed with anger. "Publicly humiliating your wife? Announcing your engagement to Chloe? Have you lost your mind?"

"Ava is not my wife anymore," Ethan slurred, taking another long drink. "She's a murderer. And Chloe is carrying my child. My heir."

"I don't believe it," David said, shaking his head. "I don't believe Ava would ever hurt your mother. Or cheat on you. We've known her for years. It doesn't make any sense."

"You didn't see what I saw!" Ethan roared, slamming his glass down on the desk. "I saw her hand on the plug! And Chloe was there. She saw it too."

"Chloe," Mark scoffed. "The girl who has been obsessed with you since we were kids? The girl who conveniently appears just as your marriage falls apart? You're a fool, Ethan."

"Get out," Ethan growled. "Both of you. Get out!"

His friends looked at him with a mixture of anger and pity before turning and leaving him alone with his bottle.

The silence of the house was deafening. He kept seeing Ava's face. Not the defiant, cold mask she wore tonight, but her face when he first told her he loved her. Her face on their wedding day. Her face when she would laugh at his stupid jokes.

He hated her. He had to hate her. It was the only thing that kept the grief from swallowing him whole.

Chloe came in later, her victory party dress now looking garish in the dim light of the study. She wrapped her arms around his neck from behind.

"They're all gone," she purred. "It's just us now."

She tried to kiss his neck, but he flinched away.

"Don't," he said.

Her arms stiffened. "What's wrong, Ethan? We won. She's gone forever."

"Is she?" he asked, staring into his glass.

Chloe had been his friend since they were five. They'd shared scraped knees and secrets. After his father died, she was the one who sat with him for hours, not saying anything, just being there. He had always felt a sense of responsibility for her, a protective instinct. When his mother died, and Chloe was there, pointing the finger at Ava, it was easy to believe her. It was easier to direct his rage at Ava than to face the void his mother had left.

"I hate her so much," Ethan said, the words tearing out of him. "I hate her."

"I know, baby," Chloe soothed.

"Then why can't I stop thinking about her?" he whispered, the question hanging in the air between them. "Why does it hurt so much?"

Chloe's face hardened. She pulled away from him. "Because you're weak," she said, her voice suddenly sharp. "She got under your skin. But I'll fix that. I'll make you forget her."

He looked up at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he saw a flicker of something cold and calculating in her eyes. But he was too drunk, too lost in his own misery, to question it.

He just drained his glass and reached for the bottle again.

"You can't forget her, can you?" Chloe's voice was a low hiss. "Even now, when she's gone, she's still here."

He didn't answer. He just stared at the portrait of his mother on the wall. She was smiling, her eyes full of the same fire he used to see in Ava's.

"I can't," he finally admitted, his voice breaking. He buried his face in his hands. "God, I can't."

Chloe slapped him. The sound echoed in the quiet room.

He looked up, stunned.

"Then I will make you," she said, her eyes blazing.

He was too drunk to fight, too tired to care. He let her lead him from the room, his mind a fog of whiskey and regret. He knew, on some level, that he was walking into another cage, but it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered without Ava. And he hated her for it. He hated her for leaving him with this unbearable emptiness.