Chapter 2 Chapter 2

The pain in my head was a dull throb, a faint echo of the sharp agony from that night. Donovan hadn't bothered to call a doctor. He'd just looked down at me, his face twisted in disgust.

"Chloe only has a scratch on her arm from a fall, but you look like you're dying. Always so dramatic."

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into the flesh, and hauled me to my feet. The room spun.

"Get up," he ordered, his voice devoid of any warmth. "You're going to go to Chloe's place and apologize."

I didn't fight him. I didn't say a word. In my mind, a countdown was running. Twenty-four hours. Just twenty-four more hours of this, and then I would be gone. I could endure anything for one more day.

We arrived at Chloe's luxurious penthouse. The moment she saw me, she flinched, shrinking back against the cushions of her sofa like a frightened rabbit. She had a small bandage on her forearm.

"Donovan, why did you bring her here?" she whimpered, her eyes wide with fake terror. "I'm scared."

Donovan immediately went to her side, wrapping a protective arm around her. "It's okay, Chloe. I'm here. She's going to apologize."

He shot me a look, a clear command.

I ignored him and looked directly at Chloe. My voice was steady, devoid of emotion. "What exactly am I apologizing for?"

Chloe's eyes filled with tears. "For... for threatening me. For saying you wished I would disappear so you could have Donovan all to yourself."

She turned her tear-streaked face to Donovan. "I know she loves you, Donovan. I know it's hard for her, seeing us together. But I never thought she would be so cruel."

The performance was flawless. She was the victim, the fragile flower, and I was the wicked, jealous wife.

Donovan's face hardened. He was completely hooked by her act. "Ava. Apologize. Now."

I looked at his furious face, then at Chloe's triumphant smirk hidden behind her trembling hands. It was pointless to argue. It was always pointless. The truth didn't matter in this world, only power and preference. And Donovan's preference was clear.

So I did it. I swallowed the lump of ash in my throat.

"I'm sorry, Miss Sanders," I said, my voice a flat monotone. "I was wrong."

Donovan wasn't satisfied. "You'll stay here and take care of Chloe until she feels better. Cook for her. Make sure she takes her medicine."

It was another humiliation, another turn of the screw. But the clock was ticking. I was so close.

"Fine," I said.

For the next few hours, I was a servant in my rival's home. I watched Donovan feed Chloe soup, fluff her pillows, and whisper comforting words in her ear. He treated her like she was made of spun glass. He treated me like I was the dirt on his shoe.

I moved through the apartment with a strange sense of detachment, as if I were watching a movie. I cleaned the kitchen, prepared a meal I knew she wouldn't eat, and brought her water. I was a perfect, silent automaton.

One of the maids in Chloe's building saw me. She whispered to another staff member, loud enough for me to hear.

"That's Mrs. Blackwood. Look at her. Her own husband makes her wait on his mistress. She must love him to death to put up with this."

Donovan, who was walking out of the bedroom, heard it too. He paused, his gaze falling on me. I saw a flicker of something in his eyes again-confusion, maybe. He looked at me, truly looked at me, for the first time in a long time.

He was re-evaluating me, trying to fit me into the box of a tragic, lovesick wife. Let him. His misunderstanding was my shield.

Later, Chloe was feeling better. Donovan announced they were going out for a drive to get some fresh air.

"You stay here," he told me. "Don't go anywhere. Don't cause any more trouble."

I simply nodded. The moment the door closed behind them, a wave of relief washed over me. I was alone. I could breathe. I started quietly packing the few personal items I had brought with me. My departure was imminent.

Hours later, I was scrolling through my phone, a habit I'd picked up to pass the long, empty evenings. A news alert popped up. A celebrity gossip site. The headline was splashy: "Billionaire CEO Donovan Blackwood and socialite Chloe Sanders rekindle their romance on a romantic getaway."

There was a picture. Donovan and Chloe, laughing together on a yacht. He was looking at her with an expression of pure adoration, an expression I had never seen on his face.

I looked at the picture, at the man who was my husband, at the woman who had made my life a living hell.

And I felt nothing.

I swiped the notification away and continued reading my book.