Chapter 2

Just as Ava was about to call building security, the door swung open. She didn't have time to register the face of the person standing there before something hard slammed into the side of her head.

Pain exploded behind her eye, sharp and blinding. The world tilted, a dizzying wave of nausea washing over her. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her temple, her ears ringing with a low, persistent hum. Through the swimming spots in her vision, she saw a young woman, maybe early twenties, standing in the doorway. The woman was holding a heavy art book-one of Ava's own-like a weapon.

"Who the hell are you?" the young woman shrieked, her voice high and panicked. "I'm calling the cops! You're trying to break in!"

Ava' s head throbbed, but through the pain, something else snagged her attention. Tucked into the young woman' s messy blonde hair was a delicate, handcrafted silver hairpin, shaped like a gingko leaf. Ava' s breath caught in her throat. She had bought that pin for herself in a small artisan shop in Kyoto on a solo trip years ago. It was one of a kind. It was hers. Seeing it on this stranger felt like a second, more intimate blow.

Pushing past the pain and the woman's panicked shouts, Ava staggered into her apartment, and the world fell away from her feet.

It wasn't her apartment anymore.

Her carefully curated space, a testament to her architectural philosophy of minimalist elegance with cool tones of grey, white, and deep blue, was gone. It had been replaced by a nightmare of vibrant pinks and fluffy textures. Cheap, garish posters of pop stars covered the walls where her original abstract paintings used to hang. Her custom-made Italian leather sofa was gone, and in its place sat a lumpy, pink monstrosity covered in glittery pillows. The air smelled cloyingly sweet, a mix of cheap perfume and burnt sugar.

It was a violation. A complete desecration of the space she had poured her heart and soul into creating.

"Get out!" the young woman, Chloe, screamed, grabbing Ava's arm. "This is my home! Liam will be back any minute!"

Ava shook her off, her mind reeling. Liam. The name was a key, and it unlocked a torrent of horrifying possibilities. She stumbled towards her home office, the room that was the heart of her professional life. The door was open, and she stopped dead, a gasp escaping her lips.

It wasn't an office anymore. It was a makeup room. A vanity table cluttered with palettes, brushes, and half-empty bottles of foundation stood where her large oak drafting table had been. Her high-end architectural software and computer were gone. Frantically, she looked around and saw the closet door slightly ajar. She pulled it open.

There, shoved in a dark corner on the floor, was a stack of her design portfolios and original blueprints. A dark, ugly stain spread across the top pages, and the sharp, unmistakable smell of mildew hit her. These were her life's work, years of creativity and relentless effort, treated like garbage. Tucked behind them, crumpled and stained with what looked like spilled coffee, was a garment bag. With trembling hands, she unzipped it. Inside was the antique lace wedding dress that had belonged to her mother, a priceless heirloom she was keeping safe. A dark, wine-colored splotch marred the delicate fabric on the bodice.

Her gaze fell on the wastebasket. Peeking out from under some tissues, she saw the corner of a photograph. She pulled it out. It was a picture of her and Liam, smiling on a beach in Greece. It had been torn in half. She rummaged through the trash and found more of them-dozens of their shared memories, ripped to shreds and discarded. The life they had built together, or that she thought they had built, was literally in the garbage.