Chapter 2

A wave of nausea hit Ava, doubling her over.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, a sharp, cramping pain stealing her breath.

She managed to make it to the bathroom just in time, her body wracked with spasms.

The cancer was progressing, its symptoms more aggressive each day.

She rinsed her mouth, staring at her pale reflection.

The vibrant woman she once was seemed like a ghost.

Ethan found her leaning against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, her face ashen.

"What's wrong with you now?" he asked, his voice devoid of concern, laced with its usual irritation. "Hungover from another one of your parties?"

Ava straightened, forcing a neutral expression. "Just a bit of an upset stomach."

He scoffed. "You always have an upset stomach. Drama queen."

He didn't see the way her hand trembled, or the fear in her eyes.

He only saw what he wanted to see: the wife he despised.

He had no idea the "upset stomach" was a symptom of the disease eating her alive, the same ailment he used to fuss over when they were in love.

The irony was a bitter pill.

A few days later, Ethan made his next move in their twisted game.

He moved Chloe Davis into their shared penthouse.

Ava walked into the living room to find Chloe lounging on the sofa, a smug smile on her face, surrounded by her designer luggage.

"What is she doing here, Ethan?" Ava asked, her voice dangerously calm.

"Chloe's moving in," Ethan stated, not looking at her, his attention on a stock market feed on his tablet. "She needs a place to stay."

"This is my home," Ava said, her voice rising slightly.

Chloe stood, stretching languidly. "Oh, Ava, darling. Don't be like that. I'm just helping Ethan out. Taking him off your hands, you could say. You clearly don't want him."

Her eyes gleamed with malicious triumph.

Ava looked from Chloe's triumphant face to Ethan's indifferent one.

The humiliation was a fresh wound.

He was deliberately provoking her, rubbing Chloe's presence in her face.

Ava turned away, a strange calm settling over her.

Her fight was leaving her. Or perhaps, her priorities were shifting.

The penthouse, the city, Ethan... it all felt distant, unimportant.

All she wanted was peace.

Ethan watched her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

He'd expected a storm, a screaming match.

Her quiet resignation was unnerving, not the reaction he'd hoped to provoke.

Chloe, however, was not one for subtlety.

She found Ava in her dressing room a few days later.

Ava was holding her mother's vintage Patek Philippe watch, a delicate gold timepiece with a barely visible inscription on the back: "My dearest Ava, always find your time. Love, Mom."

It was Ava's most treasured possession, a tangible link to the mother she'd lost too soon.

Chloe leaned against the doorframe, a predatory smile on her lips. "That's a pretty watch. Old, though, isn't it?"

Ava ignored her, carefully placing the watch on her velvet-lined jewelry tray.

Chloe sauntered in. "Ethan says you're obsessed with old things. Your mother, this watch... stuck in the past."

"Get out, Chloe," Ava said, her voice low.

"Or what?" Chloe taunted, stepping closer to the dressing table.

Her eyes fixed on the watch. "You know, Ethan thinks you hold onto these things because you have nothing else."

In a swift, deliberate movement, Chloe's hand shot out.

She "accidentally" knocked a heavy perfume bottle off the table.

It landed directly on the Patek Philippe, the crystal shattering, the delicate hands bending.

A sharp cry escaped Ava's lips.

She stared at the ruined watch, her mother's watch, her heart constricting.

"Oh, clumsy me!" Chloe exclaimed, her voice dripping with false concern. "I am so sorry, Ava."

Ethan walked in, drawn by the noise. "What happened?"

Chloe immediately put on a distressed face. "Ethan, I'm so sorry. I accidentally knocked over her watch. It was an accident."

Ava was still staring at the broken timepiece, tears welling in her eyes.

She couldn't speak.

Ethan looked from the watch to Ava's tear-streaked face, then to Chloe's feigned remorse.

He aimed to provoke Ava further, to see if any fight was left in her.

"It's just a watch, Ava," he said, his tone dismissive. "I'll buy you a new one. A better one. Something modern."

Ava finally looked up, her eyes blazing with a pain so profound it momentarily silenced him.

She had rarely cried in front of him during their war, always maintaining a strong facade.

This public display of raw grief was new.

He saw her vulnerability, and a tiny, unwelcome pang of something he couldn't name pricked at him.

He quickly suppressed it. "Stop being so dramatic. It's an object."

His offer of a replacement, so callous, so utterly missing the point of the watch's sentimental value, was like another blow.

He still didn't understand.

He never would.