AVA'S POV
The night after the confrontation at the gala lingered in my mind like a bruise beneath silk.
It was the kind of evening that changes something fundamental inside you, where every glance, every word, becomes a storm you have to survive.
I hadn't seen Ethan since the limousine ride home. He hadn't
returned to the penthouse that night, and I didn't bother asking where he'd gone. For once, I didn't care. Or at least, I told myself that.
But the silence? That was louder than any argument.
The morning sun poured through the glass walls of our high-rise, bathing the kitchen in gold. I sat alone at the breakfast table,
dressed in a pale robe, fingers wrapped around a mug of untouched coffee. Dianebhad texted me earlier, something vague about press damage control and a
scheduled appearance. I hadn't replied.
The click of shoes on marble floors broke the quiet.
Ethan.
