Chapter 2

• Ava's POV
• There was a smug little secret shining in Emma's eyes. I knew that look way too well. For five years, the face she wore—so innocent—dragged me down, inch by inch.
• She’d say in front of Lucas, 'Lucas, I don’t think Ava likes me very much… Did I do something wrong?'
• Then Lucas would come at me, saying, 'Emma’s so sweet. Why are you always picking on her?'
• On my birthday, she’d 'accidentally' knock over the cake and then cry while apologizing.
• Lucas would say, 'Forget it. Emma didn’t mean it. I’ll buy you another one.'
• But he never did, not even once.
• When my heart was acting up, she’d text Lucas, 'Lucas, I’m feeling down today. Can you keep me company?'
• Then Lucas would say, 'Ava, you’re being dramatic. I’m going to check on Emma first.'
• That night, I ended up in the ER alone.
• And Lucas? He was at Emma’s apartment, cooking her a late-night snack.
• I looked at Emma standing there. I wasn’t angry. Just this deep, choking loathing I couldn’t even name.
• “Emma. You’re right,” I told her.
• “Marrying the wrong man really is terrifying.” I gave it more emphasis than she did.
• “So, this time, I kept my eyes wide open and picked the right one.”
• I heaved a sigh. “As for you and Lucas…”
• I glanced over at Lucas, who was a few steps away, his face twisted in a scowl.
• “I hope you two end up together for good. Never break up,” I wished.
• Nodding my head, I said, “I’ll have the keys sent over.”
• Then I tilted my head to the side. “You can keep the furniture in that place. Consider it my housewarming gift to you.”
• Emma’s face fell.
• She knew exactly which place I meant—the apartment Lucas bought for me.
• I lived there for three years. She 'visited' more times than I could count.
• Every time she showed up, Lucas would say, 'Emma’s exhausted from work. Let her rest.'
• And I’d have to go wait outside.
• I found myself in my own home, making room for another woman.
• I used to swallow it.
• But not anymore… Not starting today…
• I turned and headed for the door.
• Lucas’s voice snapped behind me. “Ava! Stop right there!”
• I didn’t.
• I stepped inside the elevator the moment it opened.
• My phone buzzed.
• A message from Arthur.
• Have you picked a style for the wedding photos? I sent three options. If you don’t like them, I’ll have them redo it.
• I stared at the message, the corner of my mouth lifting on its own.
• The elevator doors slid shut. Outside, Lucas’s face disappeared in the narrowing gap.
• ...
• It was eleven at night. I’d just gotten out of the shower when my phone rang—Lucas’s number. I picked up. His voice slurred through the line, soaked in booze.
• “Ava, I had too much,” he told me. “Same place. Come pick me up.”
• He sounded so casual. Just like a thousand nights over the past five years.
• When he got drunk, he’d call me. And I’d crawl out of bed, grab a cab to the bar, haul his drunk ass into a car, and take him home. Wipe his face. Tucked him under the sheet.
• Then he’d wake up the next day and say, 'Ava, thanks for last night.' Like I was his damn nanny.
• “Ava, why aren’t you talking?” His tone turned impatient. “Hurry up and come get me. I’m at the Blues Bar.”
• I held the phone and went quiet for two seconds.
• “I’m not coming,” I said and hung up.
• I lay back down, staring at the ceiling, feeling oddly calm.