Chapter 6

"Of course, I'll apologize to Sophia," I replied, watching Marcus's face brighten with satisfaction. He believed he'd successfully tricked me back into submission, never guessing that I was now the one pulling the strings.

"Perfect. better still, I'll invite Sophia and a few colleagues over for dinner tomorrow night. You can prepare that fancy spread you're so good at—the one that always impresses my business friends. I'm sure once Sophia sees how gracious you can be, she'll forgive the misunderstanding."

Misunderstanding. The word sat between us like a poisonous flower, beautiful on the surface but rotten underneath.

The breakfast ended with me pushing food around my plate, my appetite destroyed by the image of Marcus and Sophia wrapped together in our bed. Every bite tasted like ash, every sip of water felt like swallowing glass.

"Oh, I almost forgot," I said, standing to get a beautifully wrapped box from the side table. "I never got to properly give you your birthday present."

Marcus's eyes lit up with real pleasure as he took the gift, pulling me close for a kiss that felt like a betrayal of my own lips. "You're so thoughtful, Ava. This is why I married you—you always know exactly what I need."

What he needed. Never what I needed, what I wanted, what I dreamed of. Always his needs, his wants, his dreams.

"I'll open it after I clean up," he said, tucking the box under his arm as he headed upstairs.

I followed at a distance, my heart pounding as I positioned myself just outside our bedroom door. Through the crack, I watched Marcus unlock his phone and call a familiar number.

"Baby, you don't need to worry about anything," his voice was honey-smooth, nothing like the dismissive tone he used with me. "Ava's completely under control. She even gave me a birthday gift—probably another boring tie or watch. You know how predictable she is."

The casual cruelty in his voice made my chest tight. Three years of carefully chosen gifts, each one selected with love and attention to his preferences, reduced to "boring" and "predictable."

"I'm hosting a dinner tomorrow night. You and a few others from the office. Ava will cook everything—just text me what you want to eat and I'll make sure she prepares it exactly how you like it."

I watched in horrified fascination as he opened my gift—a custom photo album I'd spent weeks creating, filled with pictures from our happiest moments, each page written with my memories of our life together. He looked at it for maybe three seconds before tossing it into the back of his closet like thrown-away trash.

"After dinner tomorrow, I'll send Ava away on some errand. Then we can have the whole apartment to ourselves. I want to celebrate our love properly, in our space."

Our space. Our bed. The bed where I'd held him through nightmares, where I'd nursed him back to health, where I'd whispered my dreams of our future. He was planning to ruin it with Sophia while I was sent away like unwanted help.

I backed away from the door, my vision blurring with tears that felt like acid on my cheeks. Every corner of this apartment held memories of who I used to be—the woman who'd believed in love, in marriage, in the possibility of happiness. Now those memories felt like exhibits in a museum of my own foolishness.

That night, I barely slept. Marcus snored peacefully beside me, occasionally saying Sophia's name in his dreams. Each whispered sweet word felt like a knife between my ribs.

Dawn came like a reluctant witness to my change. I lay there watching Marcus sleep, remembering the man I thought I married—the charming businessman who'd swept me off my feet, who'd made me feel chosen, special, worthy of love. Had that man ever existed, or had he always been a carefully built lie?

The inheritance documents were still hidden in my purse, along with Maya's business card and the private investigator's contact information. My escape route was planned, my evidence gathered, my legal team ready.

While Marcus showered, I quietly packed a single suitcase with essentials—documents, jewelry that had been gifts from my grandmother, a few photographs from my life before Marcus. Everything that truly mattered could fit in one bag. Everything else was just props in a play I was finally ready to stop performing.

I left the suitcase hidden in the storage closet. The irony wasn't lost on me—my entire future hidden among the belongings of the woman who'd helped destroy my past.

"Ava?" Marcus called from the bedroom. "I'm sending you a list of dishes for tonight. Make sure everything is perfect. This dinner is important for my career."

His career. Always his career, his reputation, his success. I'd been the invisible foundation holding up his achievements, and he'd never even noticed.

I got my phone to find a text with a fancy menu—Sophia's favorites disguised as "client preferences." Each dish would take hours to prepare, requiring me to spend the entire day in the kitchen while Marcus worked and probably texted his lover about their plans for tomorrow night.

"Of course," I called back. "I'll make sure everything is perfect."

And I would. One final performance of the devoted wife, done with such perfection that no one would suspect it was also my goodbye.

While Marcus dressed for work, I made a call to Maya.

"It's time," I said quietly. "Tonight, after his dinner party. I'll be ready to disappear."

"Are you sure about this, Ava? Once we start this process, there's no going back."

I looked around the apartment that had never truly been my home, at the life I'd built on the foundation of someone else's lies.

"I'm sure. The woman who lived here is already gone. I'm just making it official."

The day passed in a blur of cooking and preparation. I created each dish with careful attention, knowing it would be the last time I performed this ritual of service. Every sauce was perfectly seasoned, every presentation flawless. If this was to be my final act as Marcus's wife, I would ensure it was memorable.

As evening approached, I dressed carefully in a simple but elegant dress—nothing that would draw attention, nothing that would suggest this was anything other than an ordinary dinner party. I styled my hair the way Marcus preferred, applied my makeup with practiced precision, and put on the pearl necklace he'd given me for our first anniversary.

The pearls felt like a collar around my throat.

The guests began arriving at seven—Marcus's colleagues from the firm, a few clients, and of course, Sophia, stunning in a red dress that cost more than most people's monthly salary. She greeted me with air kisses and false sympathy.

"Ava, darling, you look tired. I hope you're not still upset about yesterday's little misunderstanding."

Little misunderstanding. As if catching her in bed with my husband was like a minor scheduling mistake.

"Not at all," I replied with a smile that could have graced a magazine cover. "I'm just grateful we're family and can work through these things."

The dinner was flawless. Every dish received compliments, every wine pairing was perfect, every conversation flowed smoothly with me playing the gracious hostess. I moved through the evening like a dancer who'd rehearsed these steps for years, which in many ways, I had.

As the evening wound down and guests began discussing dessert, Marcus caught my eye across the room.

"Ava, we're running low on wine. Could you run to the cellar and bring up a few more bottles? Take your time—choose something special."

The dismissal was so smooth, so practiced, that none of the guests noticed anything unusual. They probably thought I was simply doing my wifely duties.

"Of course," I said, already moving toward the door. "I'll find something perfect."

I walked to the elevator, pressed the button for the parking garage instead of the wine cellar, and stepped inside. As the doors closed behind me, I caught my reflection in the polished steel—a woman in pearls and a perfect dress, looking every inch the successful businessman's wife.

It was the last time I would see that woman.

My suitcase was already in the trunk of the car Maya had arranged. My new identification documents were secured in a hidden compartment. The bank accounts Marcus didn't know about were accessible from anywhere in the world.

As I drove away from the building that had been my prison for three years, I didn't look back. There was nothing behind me worth seeing.

Above me, in the apartment, Marcus was probably just discovering that the wine cellar door was locked, that the building's security cameras had mysteriously broken, and that his wife—his obedient, predictable, boring wife—had vanished without a trace.

By the time he realized I was truly gone, I would be a ghost. A memory. A warning story about what happens when you mistake kindness for weakness and love for stupidity.

The rain had stopped, and the city lights sparkled like diamonds scattered across black velvet. For the first time in three years, I was driving toward my own future instead of someone else's dream.