Chapter 5

The taxi ride back to our apartment felt like a bad dream. Every red light lasted forever. The driver kept looking at me in his mirror. I probably looked like a woman running from a crime scene—which, in many ways, I was.

The apartment that once meant everything I wanted now looked like a tomb. The marble floors that seemed fancy before now felt cold as death under my feet. The quiet was too loud after the sounds I heard—sounds that would probably haunt me for the rest of my life, however long that might be.

I stumbled to the bathroom. My body finally gave in to the shock. My stomach hurt badly, but there was nothing to throw up. When did I last eat? Marcus told me to skip lunch before Sophia's party. He said he didn't want me looking "fat" in the photos. Even my hunger was something he controlled.

The truth hit me like a punch: I had been slowly disappearing for three years, piece by piece, meal by meal, choice by choice, until I became a ghost in my own life.

My hands shook as I made myself eat whatever I could find in the kitchen—crackers, fruit, anything to steady my blood sugar and clear my head. I needed to think smart now. The inheritance papers were still in my purse, along with what the private detective found. But I needed legal help. Real help.

My phone buzzed with a text from Maya, my college roommate who became a powerful lawyer. We stayed friends even though Marcus tried to keep me away from everyone who knew me before him.

"Coffee tomorrow? You sounded weird in our last call."

Perfect timing. Maya always thought Marcus was suspicious, though she was too polite to say so. I typed back fast: "Actually, I need a favor. A big one. Can you come over tonight? I need to talk about divorce."

There was a long pause before her answer: "On my way. And Ava? Whatever happened, we'll handle it."

While waiting for Maya, I did something I hadn't done in months—I went into Marcus's private office. The room was like a shrine to male success: dark wood, leather chairs, walls covered with awards and photos of Marcus with politicians and famous people. But tonight, I wasn't there to admire his success. I was there to understand what I was fighting against.

His laptop needed a password, but I knew Marcus better than he thought. His passwords were always about his achievements—dates he won awards, money he made, big moments in his career. After three tries, I was in.

The emails I found showed a picture of total financial control. Joint bank accounts that weren't really joint, investments made in my name that I never said yes to, and worst of all—letters about the inheritance I just learned about, like Marcus knew about it before I did. They had been watching my grandmother's health, waiting for this chance.

I took pictures of everything with hands that had stopped shaking. Anger, I found out, was remarkably steadying.

Maya arrived within the hour. She took one look at my face and immediately went into crisis mode. She brought a bottle of wine and her emergency legal kit—a briefcase with everything needed to handle whatever disaster her friends might find themselves in.

"Tell me everything," she said, sitting on the couch with the focused intensity that made her one of the city's most feared lawyers.

The inheritance that put a target on my back. The insurance policies that would make Marcus rich when I died. And finally, the conversation I heard between my husband and sister.

Maya's face got darker with each truth. By the time I finished, she was pacing the living room like a caged animal.

"Ava, this goes beyond cheating and emotional abuse. What you're describing is money fraud, maybe attempted murder. We need to be very careful about how we move forward."

"I just want out, Maya. I want a divorce, and I want to disappear before they can hurt me."

Maya sat back down, her lawyer brain already working through the problems. "Here's what we're going to do. First, we're going to secure your inheritance before Marcus can get his hands on it. Second, we're going to document everything—every money problem, every piece of evidence you've found. Third, we're going to file for divorce, but we're going to do it smart."

She pulled out her laptop and started typing. "I'm writing divorce papers tonight. We'll say irreconcilable differences at first—keep it simple until we have all our evidence organized. But Ava, you need to act completely normal until we're ready to move. Can you do that?"

The thought of pretending everything was fine, of continuing to smile and cook and play the loving wife while knowing what I knew, made me sick. But I nodded.

"I have to. It's the only way to stay safe long enough to get out."

Maya worked until almost midnight, explaining the legal details of divorce with complex money and possible criminal activity. When she left, she pressed a business card into my hand.

"My private investigator. He's quiet and thorough. If Marcus is planning something, we need evidence that will work in court."

As I watched her car disappear into the night, I felt something I hadn't experienced in years: hope. Not for fixing things or healing, but for escape.

The next morning, I woke early and made Marcus's favorite breakfast—the same fancy spread I'd made countless times, each dish prepared with careful attention. Every flavor perfectly balanced, every presentation perfect. It would be one of the last times I'd do this ritual of devotion.

When Marcus walked through the door in the morning, he carried white lilies—my supposed favorite flowers, though he'd never bothered to learn that I actually liked wildflowers. The lilies had always been Sophia's choice, but Marcus never noticed the difference.

"Ava?" His voice carried surprise as he found me calmly setting the table. "I brought you flowers. About last night... I think we need to talk."

I accepted the lilies with a calm smile, putting them in a vase without a word. Marcus froze, clearly expecting tears, accusations, or screaming. My calm was making him nervous, exactly as Maya said it would.

"I've been thinking about last night," I said quietly, not looking up from arranging the flowers. "You're right. I overreacted."

Marcus's relief was obvious, but it was mixed with confusion. This wasn't the script he expected.

"Well, yes, I... I'm glad you can see that. The whole situation was unfortunate."

I served his meal with the same attention I'd always shown, but this time I was studying him with new eyes. Every gesture, every expression, every casual dismissal of my feelings—all of it was data now, evidence to be remembered and used.

"Actually, Ava, there is something I need you to do," Marcus said between bites. "Sophia was quite upset by the... incident. The poor thing was practically in tears. You really need to apologize to her properly."

The nerve was breathtaking. He wanted me to apologize to the woman he was sleeping with, for catching them together.

"Of course," I replied smoothly. "I wouldn't want Sophia to think poorly of me. Family harmony is so important."

Marcus nodded approvingly. "Exactly. I knew you'd understand. Perhaps you could take her to lunch tomorrow? Somewhere nice. My treat, naturally."

Naturally. He wanted me to pay for the privilege of apologizing to his mistress with his own money—money that included profits from selling my blood.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," I said, already imagining how I'd use that lunch to gather more evidence. "I'll call her this afternoon."

"Perfect. And Ava?" Marcus reached across the table to pat my hand like I was a child. "I'm proud of you for being so mature about this. It shows real growth."

Growth. As if my pain was a character flaw to be fixed rather than a natural response to betrayal.

He ask again “are you sure you will apologize to her”