Chapter 2

"A conflict zone? Ava, are you serious?" Dr. Evans, the head of her architecture firm, stared at her from across his large mahogany desk. "You're one of our most promising young talents. You have a brilliant career ahead of you here. Why would you throw that away to go build shelters in a warzone?"

Ava met his gaze, her own expression calm and resolute. "Because I need to build something that matters," she said, her voice steady. The words tasted like freedom. For seven years, her life had been about building a future for Jake, a future that was never hers to begin with.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me here, Dr. Evans," she continued, "but this is something I have to do. For myself."

He sighed, seeing the unshakeable determination in her eyes. "I can't say I understand it, but I respect it. The door will always be open for you here, Ava."

"Thank you," she said, standing up.

A few days later, the email with her travel itinerary arrived. A one-way ticket. She was scheduled to leave in one week. On Jake's thirtieth birthday.

The irony was not lost on her. The day she had dreamed of for so long, the day he was supposed to publicly claim her, would now be the day she disappeared from his life forever. A strange, bitter satisfaction settled in her chest.

The week passed in a blur of packing and quiet goodbyes. She told the Stones she was taking a special work assignment abroad, a chance of a lifetime. They were proud, if a little sad to see her go. Jake was busy with his own birthday preparations and barely seemed to notice.

The night before her flight, Ava stood under the scalding spray of the shower, scrubbing at her skin until it was red and raw. She felt tainted, desperate to wash away the scent of him, the memory of his touch, the seven years of lies that clung to her like a second skin.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through her lower abdomen, making her gasp and double over. She clutched her stomach, a wave of dizziness washing over her. She stumbled out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself, her body trembling. The pain was intense, a deep, cramping ache that stole her breath.

She managed to crawl into bed just as she heard the faint sound of her window sliding open. Her heart seized with a familiar, sickening dread.

Jake.

He slipped into the room, silent as a shadow. He saw her pale face, her form huddled under the blankets.

"What, are you trying to get my attention by playing sick?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement. He thought this was a game, another one of her ploys for his affection.

The thought that he couldn't even recognize her genuine pain was another shard of glass in her heart. In his world, she was not a person with her own feelings or suffering. She was just a reflection of his own needs. A supporting character in the grand drama of his life.

"I'm not feeling well, Jake," she managed to say, her voice weak.

"I can make you feel better," he murmured, moving toward the bed. His intentions were clear. He saw her vulnerability not as something to be tended to, but as an opportunity to be exploited.

"Please, not tonight," she begged, shrinking away from him. The cramping in her stomach intensified.

He stopped, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome features. "What's gotten into you lately, Ava? You've been acting strange all week."

The question, so devoid of any real concern, snapped something inside her. "Strange?" she repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I'm just wondering, Jake. What are we? What happens after your birthday?"

He sighed, the sound heavy with impatience. It was a conversation he clearly didn't want to have. "I already told you. Everything is going according to plan. Just be patient."

"Patient for what?" she pressed, fueled by a desperate need to hear him say it again, to confirm the lie one last time. "For you to finally be with me? Or for Chloe to finally be ready for you?"

The name hung in the air between them, sharp and ugly. His eyes narrowed. Before he could answer, his phone buzzed on her nightstand where he' d left it. He glanced at the screen.

Chloe's name glowed back at him.

His entire demeanor shifted. The irritation vanished, replaced by a look of genuine concern. "I have to take this," he said, his voice soft in a way he never used with Ava.

He snatched the phone and walked to the other side of the room, turning his back to her. "Chloe? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Ava watched him, a cold, hard clarity settling over her. She was a secret. Chloe was a priority. It was that simple.

He was gone in less than a minute. "Chloe needs me," was all he said before he disappeared back out the window, leaving her alone in the dark with her pain.

The cramping in her abdomen became unbearable. A wave of nausea hit her, and she barely made it to the bathroom before she was violently ill. Another wave of pain, sharper this time, made her cry out. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

She crawled back to her bed, her hand shaking as she reached for her own phone. She had to call for help. Her vision was blurring at the edges. She dialed the first number she could think of.

Jake.

It was a stupid, instinctual act. A final, desperate plea to the man who was the source of all her misery.

He answered on the second ring, his voice sharp and impatient. "What is it, Ava? I'm busy."

"Jake, I need help," she gasped, the pain making it hard to form words. "I think I need to go to the hospital. Something's really wrong."

There was a pause. Then, she heard him speak to someone else. "Just a second, Chloe. It's nothing."

He came back on the line, his voice a low, angry hiss. "Are you fucking kidding me? Tonight? Chloe just fell down the stairs. I'm on my way to the hospital with her. I don't have time for your games."

Through the phone, she could hear Chloe's faint, plaintive voice in the background. "Jake, who is that? Is it that girl who's always following you around?"

"It's no one, baby," Jake's voice cooed, filled with a tenderness that made Ava's stomach churn. "Just a nuisance. I'll handle it."

The line went dead.

He had hung up on her. He had called her a nuisance and hung up on her while she was in agony, to comfort the woman he was choosing over her.

The pain was a white-hot fire, but it was nothing compared to the absolute, soul-crushing despair that washed over her. She was utterly and completely alone.