Chapter 6

I watched him, this man I had once loved, as he fussed over Brooke. He was a stranger. A dangerous, manipulative stranger.

"She hit me first," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. I pointed a trembling finger at Brooke. "She stole from me. And she insulted my dead mother."

My head was clear, even as my cheek throbbed with a fiery pain. The fog of love and grief had finally lifted, leaving behind a hard, sharp clarity.

Harrison finally looked at me, his eyes briefly registering the swelling bruise on my face. A flicker of something-guilt? concern?-crossed his features before being replaced by annoyance.

"Ava, don't be ridiculous," he snapped, his attention already returning to Brooke.

I ignored him and spoke calmly to the 911 operator, giving my name and address.

"You can't be serious!" Harrison exploded when I hung up. "You're calling the police? On Brooke? Do you have any idea how this will look? The scandal could ruin her career!"

His concern was only for her. Her reputation. Her future. I was just collateral damage.

"Should I have just let her hit me?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Should I have thanked her for stealing my father's memory and spitting on my mother's grave?"

He had no answer. He just stared at me, his jaw tight.

Brooke, ever the actress, let out a low moan. "Harrison, I don't feel well. The baby..."

That was his cue. He scooped her up into his arms, his movements gentle and protective. He carried her towards the door, pausing to glare back at me.

"I'll deal with you later," he snarled.

I watched him go, cradling her as if she were made of glass. He left me standing in the wreckage of our life, bleeding and alone, without a second glance. The despair was a physical weight, pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

The police arrived, followed by paramedics. They patched up my face while a uniformed officer took my statement.

"The security camera in the hallway should have everything," I told him.

He came back a few minutes later, his expression apologetic. "I'm sorry, ma'am. The feed seems to be corrupted. The footage from the last hour is gone."

Of course, it was. Harrison would have thought of that. He would have erased the evidence to protect her.

"We spoke to Mr. Phelps at the hospital," the officer continued. "His statement contradicts yours. He claims you were the aggressor."

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Of course, he did."

"Given his position, and the lack of evidence," the officer said, clearly uncomfortable, "it's your word against his. And hers. It will be very difficult to press charges."

"So, he's a hero, and I'm a liar," I said, the words tasting like ash. "Is that it?"

"I'm not saying that, ma'am. But Mr. Phelps is a highly decorated federal agent."

I smiled, a cold, humorless expression. "Don't worry, officer. I'm not his wife. We're not married. In fact, we have no legal relationship whatsoever."

I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"He's a witness who is personally and professionally compromised," I stated, my voice firm. "And he is an accessory after the fact for tampering with evidence. I want this investigated. Fully."

The officer promised he would look into it and left. I knew it was a hollow promise. Harrison's power and influence would crush any real investigation.

He returned later that evening, carrying a takeout bag from my favorite restaurant. A pathetic peace offering.

I felt a chill as he entered the room. It was like watching a predator try to mimic human emotion.

"You deleted the security footage," I said. It wasn't a question.

He had the grace to look momentarily guilty before his mask of self-righteousness slipped back into place. "Brooke was distraught. She didn't mean to hit you. She's pregnant, Ava. Her hormones are all over the place."

He was defending her. Again.

"You betrayed your oath, Harrison," I said, my voice shaking with a cold fury. "You obstructed justice. For her."

He had the audacity to look offended. "I was protecting my family! And you've done nothing but try to tear it apart since she came back!"

I threw the bag of food at him. It hit his chest with a dull thud, spilling sauce all over his pristine shirt.

"That box," I screamed, my control finally snapping. "That was my father's! I told you what it meant to me! And you gave it to her?"

"She liked it!" he yelled back. "I was going to get you another one!"

"And my mother's necklace? Was that just another trinket you were going to replace?"

He left, promising to give me space, promising to "make it right." Liar.

I knew then that I couldn't rely on the system. The system was designed to protect men like him. If I wanted justice, I would have to take it myself.

My head pounded. The full weight of his betrayals settled on me, a crushing, suffocating burden. He wasn't just a narcissist. He was a monster, capable of profound, calculated cruelty.

The phone rang, and I flinched, my heart pounding. It wasn't Harrison. It was my brother, Dustin. His voice was tight with a barely controlled panic.

"Ava," he said, his voice cracking. "It's Dad's old unit. There's been an incident. They need you."