Chapter 5

“Mr. Spark has asked you to come to the dining room,” Mary Bennett, the housekeeper, called from outside.

I glanced at my phone—48 hours left on the countdown.

In the dining room, Matthew sat at the head of the table, with Sophie to his right—the seat that had once been mine.

Ella sat beside her, eating breakfast.

“Come here, Ava,” Matthew pointed to the seat on his left.

I sat down.

On the table lay a delicate breakfast Sophie had prepared.

“Tomorrow is Ella’s welcome party. I’m really looking forward to it,” Matthew said as he sliced into his omelet.

“It’s the official moment to welcome her into our family.”

Our family?

I glanced at Ella.

She was undeniably pretty, with features that did carry some trace of Matthew’s.

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

Matthew looked slightly surprised.

“You really mean it?”

“Of course.” I turned to Ella.

“Ella, I’ll throw you the most special welcome party you’ve ever seen.”

Ella glanced at me timidly before diving into Sophie’s arms.

Sophie stroked Ella’s hair softly..

“Don’t be afraid, baby. Mama’s here,” she cooed as her eyes challenged me.

“Oh, right, Ava,” Matthew added suddenly.

“Sophie’s luggage is still at the hotel. Could you go with her to pick it up? She’s going to stay here for a while.”

Stay here?

I stood. “I’ll pack my things.”

“Ava.” Matthew stopped me. “Aren’t you having breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Back in the guest room, I took out my phone and called Kathleen.

“Is the backdrop ready?”

“Ms. Vanguard. It’s being made exactly to your specifications. But this photo…”

“Is there a problem?”

“No… It’ll be ready on time, Ma’am. I promise.”

I hung up and walked out to the yard.

The rose garden blazed crimson in the morning light.

The same ones that Matthew promised would live for his love for me.

What a joke.

From the tool shed, I took a can of gasoline and poured it, bucket after bucket, over the rose bushes.

“Mrs. Spark, what are you doing!” The gardener ran toward me in alarm.

“Burn them,” I said calmly.

“But Mr. Spark had planted them himself!”

“I said burn it.”

The gardener didn’t dare stop me and stepped back, trembling.

I lit the lighter and tossed it into the rose bushes.

Flames leapt up instantly; crimson petals writhed in the fire, blackened, and crumbled into ash.

Thick smoke rolled upward, stinging my eyes with tears.

“Ava! Are you insane?”

Matthew rushed out, trying to put out the fire, but it was too late.

The entire rose garden was ablaze.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” He seized my shoulders and shook me.

“I know.”

I pushed him away. “Just as you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“What do you mean?”

I didn’t answer. I turned and walked back into the house.

In the living room, I began gathering every photograph—wedding portraits, travel snapshots, moments from daily life—pulling each from its frame and piling them on the floor.

“These are all photos of you and Mr. Spark,” Mary murmured.

“I know.”

I carried the photos into the yard and threw them into the fire.

The flames roared higher.

Matthew stood to the side, his face dark in the shadows cast by the flames.

“That’s enough, Ava!”

“Hardly,” I said as I went back inside and hauled out every gift he had ever given me—bags, jewelry, clothes—and tossed them all into the fire.

“That Chanel is a limited edition!” Sophie screamed.

“Then go fetch it,” I said.

Sophie started forward, but Matthew held her back.

I stood before the blaze, watching five years of memories go up in flames.

“Ava…,” Matthew came over, his voice soft.

“What’s wrong with you? Is it because of Sophie? I can have her move out.”

“No need for that.”

I turned to look at him. “Do you remember what you said about the roses? For as long as they loved, your love for me would never fade.”

He froze.

“Now the roses are dead.” I smiled faintly.

“So your love should die too.”

At that moment, Sophie walked over and slipped her arm through his.

“Matthew, I feel a little dizzy.”

He immediately steadied.

“Was it because last night was too exhausting?” he asked.

Last night?

They exchanged a knowing smile, the kind of tacit intimacy that stabbed into my eyes.

I took out my phone and messaged my assistant: [Sell all the stocks under my name. Convert everything to cash.]

Then I checked the time—forty-six hours left.

That night, Matthew couldn’t sleep.

He stood at the window of his study, staring at the scorched earth in the yard.

I had burned more than just roses—I had burned my past with him.

He thought about talking to me. His hand was already on the doorknob when he heard my muffled sobs in the guest room.

His hand froze midair.

“Matthew?” Sophie’s voice called out from behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

He turned to see her wearing my pajamas. A wave of irritation rose in his chest. “Nothing.”

“Are you worried about Ava?” Sophie stepped closer.

“I think she’s just throwing a tantrum—”

“Enough,” Matthew cut her off. “Go back to the room.”