My Success Is The Best Revenge, Darling

Ava POV

I needed air. The walls of the ballroom felt like they were closing in on me, shrinking with every beat of the music.

I found a quiet terrace on the second floor. The night air was crisp and cool.

I leaned against the rough stone railing, breathing in the sharp scent of rain and pine, trying to steady my heart.

I wasn't crying. I was past that. I was just tired. Bone-deep tired.

The sound of footsteps startled me. Voices followed.

I instinctively moved into the shadows of a large pillar, pressing my back against the cold stone. I didn't have the energy to talk to anyone.

"You were brutal back there," a male voice said. It was Mark, Ethan's old college roommate.

"She needed to learn her place," Ethan's voice replied, smooth and unbothered.

I froze.

"Dude, she looked like she didn't care," Mark said, sounding hesitant. "I think she's actually over it."

"Please," Ethan scoffed.

I heard the metallic clink of a lighter, followed by the hiss of a flame.

"It's all an act. Ava is dependent on me. She has no life outside of us."

"I don't know, man..."

"Listen," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial purr. "It's a game, Mark. Step one: break her confidence. Make her feel worthless."

He took a drag, exhaling slowly.

"Step two: give her a glimmer of hope. Maybe a text next week saying I miss her dog or something. Step three: she comes crawling back, grateful for the scraps."

My blood ran cold. The damp night air suddenly felt freezing.

"You want her back?" Mark asked, confused. "What about Chloe?"

"Chloe is fun," Ethan said dismissively. "But she's high maintenance. Ava is... useful. She manages my life. I just need to reset her. Make her understand who is in charge."

I slapped a hand over my mouth to stop the bile from rising in my throat.

It wasn't just falling out of love. It was a calculation. A strategy.

I was a utility to him. An appliance that had malfunctioned and needed to be kicked to work again.

"That is messed up," Mark muttered.

"It's strategy," Ethan laughed darkly. "She'll be back in my bed by next month. I guarantee it."

I couldn't listen to another word.

I slipped away, silent as a ghost, fleeing back into the house.

I made a beeline for the guest room where the coats were kept. I needed to leave. Now.

My hands shook as I grabbed my purse. Inside was the plane ticket I had bought that morning. One way. To Portland.

It was a fresh start. A job offer I had been too scared to accept a week ago.

I spun toward the door and slammed into a hard chest.

Ethan.

He filled the doorway, blocking my only exit. He looked down at me, the charm gone, replaced by the cold stare of a predator looking at trapped prey.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked.

"Move, Ethan."

"What's the rush?"

He reached out, faster than I could react, and snatched my purse from my shoulder.

"Give it back!"

He ignored me, popping the clasp open. He rummaged through it, his fingers brushing against the envelope before pulling out the ticket.

He read it, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Portland?" he laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "You're going to Portland? With what money? With what courage?"

"It's none of your business."

"You're running away," he sneered, waving the ticket in my face. "Because you can't handle seeing me happy."

"I am leaving because you are toxic," I spat, my voice trembling with rage.

His expression darkened.

"You aren't going anywhere."

He held the ticket up high, his fingers tightening on the paper. He looked like he was going to rip it in half.

That ticket was my freedom. It was my sanity.

I didn't think.

I lunged.