AVA MONROE'S POV
I didn't sleep. Not even for a moment.
The storm had passed sometime before dawn, leaving behind a
silence that felt almost sacred. But inside me, thunder still rolled.
I sat in the reading nook of the bedroom with my knees to my
chest, watching the sun rise behind Kingsley Manor's stone turrets.
The light kissed the ivy-covered walls, the marble balcony rail, the winding gardens where secrets had been buried long before I arrived.
Ethan's door never opened. Not once. I wasn't sure if that
made me feel better, or worse.
By nine a.m., Diane knocked.
"You have an appointment," she said. "Styling. Ethan's mother wants you at a charity gala tonight.
The Kingsley Cancer Initiative."
Of course she did. Nothing said family unity like a forced photo op.
I didn't protest. I simply nodded and let myself be taken.
The stylists arrived in droves, parading gowns and heels and
glittery things I didn't care about.
