Chapter 3

The guest room was small and stuffy, smelling of dust and disuse. Her belongings were piled carelessly in a corner, as if they were trash. A framed photo of her and her parents was face down on the floor.

She knelt and picked it up, wiping the glass clean. She began to sort through her things, packing methodically. She had two suitcases, one for clothes and one for her most important architectural books and tools. She slid them under the bed, out of sight.

Her plan was simple. She would wait until they were asleep, take what was hers, and leave.

She needed money. Half of their joint savings account belonged to her. She opened her banking app. The balance was zero.

A cold fury washed over her. He had emptied it. Every penny.

She was about to go downstairs and confront him when she heard Chloe' s laughter echo from the living room. Ava walked to the top of the stairs and looked down.

Chloe was twirling in the middle of the room, wearing a stunning new dress. A designer dress. One that cost thousands of dollars.

"Do you like it, Ryan?" Chloe asked, striking a pose. "It' s perfect for the gala next week."

Ryan' s eyes were full of adoration. "Anything for you."

Chloe caught sight of Ava on the stairs. A malicious smile played on her lips. "Oh, Ava. Don' t you think it' s lovely? Ryan is so generous."

"He' s spending my money," Ava stated, her voice devoid of emotion.

Ryan' s face hardened. "It' s my money, Ava. I earned it. You were just a stay-at-home wife."

"I was an architect," she corrected him. "I contributed to this household. Half of that money is legally mine."

"You think your little projects paid for this house? For this lifestyle?" he scoffed. "Don' t be delusional."

She remembered how he' d belittled her work, how he' d made her feel small for years. She remembered him asking her to quit her job at a top firm to work for his company, promising her creative freedom he never delivered. The contrast between how he treated her and how he treated Chloe was a chasm that could never be bridged.

She felt a wave of weariness. Arguing was pointless. It was like shouting into a void. She turned to go back to her room.

Then she saw it.

Around Chloe' s neck was a delicate silver necklace with a single pearl. It was a gift from Ava' s mother, passed down from her grandmother. It was the one piece of jewelry she treasured above all others.

"That' s mine," Ava said, her voice shaking with a sudden, raw anger. "Take it off."

Chloe' s hand flew to her neck, her expression one of mock innocence. "This? Ryan gave it to me. He said it was just some old thing he found in a drawer." She looked at the necklace with disdain. "It' s not even real silver, is it? It feels cheap."

"Give it back to me," Ava said, her voice low and dangerous.

"No," Chloe said, a smirk on her face. "I think I' ll keep it."

Something inside Ava snapped. She lunged forward, grabbing for the necklace. Chloe shrieked, stumbling backward. She did it deliberately, a calculated move, twisting as she fell.

The necklace snagged, the clasp broke, and it clattered to the floor. Chloe let out a pained cry, clutching her ankle. "My ankle! Ava, you pushed me! You attacked me!"

Ava stared at her mother' s necklace lying broken on the floor. A wave of grief washed over her, so sharp and intense it felt like a physical pain.

Ryan rushed to Chloe' s side, his face a mask of fury. He didn' t even glance at Ava. He turned on her, his eyes blazing. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin, and shoved her hard against the wall. Her head hit the drywall with a sickening thud. The world swam for a moment.

Pain shot through her arm, and she crumpled to the floor. But Ryan didn' t see it. He was already fussing over Chloe, his voice full of concern. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Let me see."

"She' s crazy, Ryan!" Chloe sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at Ava. "She tried to hurt me! Over that ugly old necklace!"

Ryan looked at Ava, who was now huddled on the floor, cradling her injured arm. There was no pity in his eyes, only cold, hard contempt. "Get out of my sight," he snarled. "And don't think for a second I'm not divorcing you. You' re getting nothing."