AVA MONROE'S POV
The next morning, I woke to a message slid beneath my door.
A white envelope, pristine and unmarked, but unmistakably Ethan's doing.
Inside was a printed schedule, our first appearance as a married couple for a charity gala downtown. Six o'clock. Black tie. Mandatory.
No note. No explanation. No apology for how he left things last night.
By noon, I'd spent too much time staring at the dress Diane
delivered, a midnight blue satin gown with a plunging back and a neckline that dared people to underestimate me. Paired with diamonds I didn't own, and heels
I could barely walk in, it was the kind of ensemble that screamed control.
And maybe that was the point.
"You're glowing," Diane said when she stopped by to check on me.
"I'm simmering."
She laughed softly, but I didn't. Because I couldn't forget the look in Ethan's eyes when he said, 'If I let you in, you'll only want more.'
He wasn't wrong.
