Chapter 5

AVA’S POV

I woke the next morning to an empty bed. The sheets beside me were cold, already smoothed out from hours of absence. For a moment, I thought Adrian was in the shower, or maybe in the kitchen grabbing coffee before work. But the house was silent.

Too silent.

I glanced at the nightstand. No note. My heart stuttered. Adrian always left a note when he had to leave early. Just a small thing—a kiss to my cheek, a scribbled Don’t wait up or Have breakfast, don’t skip it. A routine that had been ours since the first month of marriage.

But today, nothing.

A hollow ache spread through my chest. He hadn’t even checked on me.

I pressed my palm against my stomach. “It’s okay,” I whispered to the life growing inside me. “He’s just busy.”

But deep down, doubt gnawed at me. I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in my gut.

***

The voices hit me the moment I descended the stairs.

“You’re finally awake,” Margaret Voss snapped from the living room, her disapproval sharp enough to cut glass. Her graying hair was pulled into its usual tight bun, her eyes pinched with disdain.

Beside her, Marissa lounged on the sofa, scrolling her phone. “Honestly, Mother, I don’t even know why you bother or why Adrian tolerates her. She sleeps all morning like a pampered cat.”

I frowned. “It’s eight-thirty. I came down as soon as I woke up.”

Margaret sniffed. “Excuses. Do you know what a real wife does? She wakes before her husband. She makes breakfast for him, for his family. She cleans the house so it’s spotless before the sun fully rises. Not stumble around like some spoiled brat who thinks she’s above responsibility.”

I bit my tongue. For two years, I’d endured this. Their sharp words, their mocking laughter, their constant reminders that I wasn't worthy of their son. That I didn’t belong here.

Margaret scoffed. “Of course, you wouldn’t know the first thing about being a wife, not to mention a good one. You think this house is some kind of free ride for a charity case.”

The words cut deep, even though I’d heard them a hundred times before. To them, I was nothing more than Adrian’s pity project—a useless, scarred woman he’d foolishly tied himself to.

But today, something inside me snapped. I was done letting them walk all over me. 

“I am Adrian’s wife,” I said softly but firmly. “Not your maid.”

Marissa dropped her phone, finally looking at me. Her eyes gleamed with mockery. “Did you hear that, Mother? The little stray has found her voice.”

Margaret’s lips thinned into a cruel smile. “Oh, is that so? Then you won’t mind if we start treating you as a wife should be treated. Wash our clothes. Mine and Marissa’s. All of them. Including the underwear.”

Revulsion rolled through me. “No. I won’t.”

The room froze.

Margaret’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed into slits. “What did you just say to me?”

Marissa’s mouth dropped open in exaggerated shock. “Did she just—?”

Marissa smirked. “Careful, Ava. Mother doesn’t like being disrespected.”

“I said,” I repeated, my voice trembling but steady, “that I will no longer wash your clothes. Or yours, Marissa. Especially not your underwear.”

Marissa gasped dramatically, as if I had cursed her. “You ungrateful leech!”

Margaret rose from her chair, her face blotchy with fury. “You dare refuse me? In my son’s house?”

Before I could step back, Margaret’s hand flew faster than I expected. The crack of her palm against my cheek rang out in the room. My head whipped to the side, the sting burning hot across my scar.

“Ungrateful wretch! How dare you speak to me that way,” she spat. “We took you in, fed you, gave you a roof. And this is how you repay us? With disrespect? You would be nothing without my son. Nothing!”

I staggered, clutching my cheek. “I never asked for your roof. I never asked for your food. I only wanted to be a wife to Adrian.”

Marissa surged forward, shoving me hard. Her nails scraped my arm. “A wife? Don’t make me laugh. You’re nothing but a curse. You’ll ruin him the way you ruin everything you touch.”

I stumbled against the wall, shielding my stomach instinctively. “Stop—please—”

But Margaret struck me again, fists now, not just her palm. Marissa joined in, their jeers blending into a storm of cruelty.

“Ugly—”

“Leech—”

“Curse—”

I curled in on myself, arms wrapped protectively over my belly, tears spilling unchecked.

Finally, Margaret yanked me by the arm and dragged me to the back door. “Out. You’re not fit to step foot in this house.”

She shoved me onto the patio and slammed the door, locking it behind me.

I collapsed onto the cold stone of the patio, sobs tearing through me. My cheek burned, my arms ached, and all I could think was how careful I had been to shield the life inside me.

Then my phone rang.

I fumbled it from my pocket, my hands shaking. The screen lit with Ethan’s name.

I answered, my voice barely a whisper. “Ethan?”

“Ava.” His voice was tense. “Where are you?”

“At… home.”

“Father wants to see you. Immediately.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “Is something wrong?”

He hesitated, his silence louder than words.

“Ethan?”

“Just come. You’ll see.”

The line went dead.

I wiped my tears, forced myself up, and rushed to the gate.

***

The Sinclair estate was a world away from the Voss mansion. Warm. Elegant. Alive.

I stepped into the dining room to find Father seated at the long oak table, Ethan beside him. Father’s sharp eyes softened slightly when he saw me.

“Ava,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. “It’s been too long. Sit. Have lunch with me.”

I obeyed, my heart hammering. I hadn’t sat across from him in months. My marriage had driven a wedge between us, one I had carved myself by choosing Adrian over his approval.

Plates of roasted chicken and fresh vegetables were placed before us. The smell turned my stomach, but I forced a smile.

Father studied me as I lifted my fork. “How have you been, Ava?”

My throat tightened. The truth screamed inside me—I’ve been humiliated, beaten, unloved. But I forced the lie out. “I’m fine, Father.”

Ethan shifted beside him, his jaw tightening. His eyes cut into me, silently accusing me of cowardice.

Father’s gaze lingered, displeasure flickering in his eyes. “You look pale. Tired. Marriage should not strip a woman of her vitality. Are you certain Adrian treats you well?”

“Yes,” I said too quickly. “He’s just… busy with work.”

Silence settled. Father’s lips thinned, but he didn’t press further. Ethan’s glare, however, burned hotter than ever.

When lunch ended, Ethan rose. “I’ll drive her home.”

“No.” I stood quickly, forcing a smile. “I’ll get a cab. I don’t want to…” cause any more misunderstandings. I thought.

Ethan frowned. “Ava—”

“I’ll be fine.” My voice cracked, but I turned away before either of them could see the tears brimming in my eyes.

***

The house was quiet when I returned. Too quiet.

I stepped into the living room to find Margaret and Marissa waiting, smug smiles plastered across their faces. Their eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.

“Well,” Margaret drawled. “Look who decided to return. Did you enjoy your little outing? Did you beg some rich benefactor for pity this time?”

Marissa snickered. “Probably hoping someone would finally take her off Adrian’s hands. Poor brother, saddled with a leech.”

I stiffened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Save it,” Margaret smirked. She reached into the side table and pulled out a thick envelope. She tossed it at me like trash. “Adrian asked me to give you this.”

Confusion gnawed at me as I tore it open.

Panic shot through me. “That’s not—”

The words blurred as my vision swam.

Margaret’s voice was poison in my ear. “He’s finally realized what you are. A curse. A mistake. And now he’s correcting it.”

“No…” My lips trembled. “He wouldn’t—”

Marissa laughed, her eyes gleaming with cruelty. “Oh, he would. He told Mother to make sure you sign it. Said he doesn’t want you clinging to him anymore.”

My knees buckled. The papers slipped from my hands to the floor.

Adrian. My Adrian.

The man who had once kissed my cheek every morning, who had once held me like I was his world, was now tearing me out of his.

My heart cracked under the weight of it, splintering into pieces too jagged to hold.

Adrian was divorcing me?