Chapter 3They Killed Me To Bring Her Back

Every eye in the room swiveled to me.

“Whatever you say I did,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion, “I’ll admit to it.”

Ethan clutched his chest as if he’d been shot, his voice weak. “Ava… why?” He looked utterly heartbroken, a man betrayed to his very core.

I let out a soft sigh. Without touching a single thing in the room, I slid off the bed and walked toward the door.

“Stop!”

The command was a chorus of voices. The crowd of onlookers, now my self-appointed jury, blocked my path.

“Ava,” Ethan pleaded, dropping to one knee. He held up a ring. “Just admit you were wrong. Tell the world you’ll have nothing more to do with this man, and we can go back to how things were. Please.”

I glanced at the ring. It was a cheap, tinny band, the kind you’d find in a gumball machine.

A real laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips this time.

“Get out of my way.”

I pushed through the crowd and walked away, the sounds of their curses and disgust trailing behind me like a bridal train. Ethan’s theatrical sobs were the last thing I heard.

The video of the “cheating scandal” was already trending online. The entire internet was calling for my head.

I went back to the house I had shared with Ethan.

When I gathered all my belongings, they barely filled a small carry-on suitcase.

Clink.

A crystal picture frame, perched on the highest shelf of a closet, fell to the floor. It was a photo we’d taken on our third day together, one I had insisted on.

In the picture, my smile was radiant. Beside me, Ethan gazed at me with an expression of pure adoration.

He had said then, “Being with you is the greatest honor of my life.”

My eyes, now hollow, stared at the photo. Through the glass, I could see faint writing on the back of the print.

To my wife, Chloe: In memory of a time that should have been.

The handwriting was unmistakably his. The words “my wife” were blurred, as if stained by tears.

A wave of nausea rolled through me.

I took the photo and every other thing that had ever belonged to me and set them on fire in the backyard fireplace. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows, and as they consumed my past, I felt a strange sense of release.

My body had carried me this far, but it had nothing left to give. Before I could even make it out the front door, the world went black.

I don’t know how long I was out. The faint, muffled voices of Ethan and my parents slowly pulled me back to consciousness.

“Should we add more fuel to the fire? I feel like it’s still missing something,” Ethan said, a note of worry in his tone.

My parents chuckled. “Being a slut isn't enough to make everyone truly hate her,” my mother said. “But a heartless, exploitative capitalist? That, they will despise.”

My head throbbed.

When I came to, I was tied to a bed. They were taking no chances.

I struggled slightly, and the creak of the bed frame alerted them. They came into the room, their faces falling in disappointment when they saw my eyes were open. The mask of sorrow was gone, replaced by unconcealed loathing.

“Ava, I thought you just didn’t love me,” Ethan said, his voice dripping with righteous condemnation. “But now I see. You’re not just unloving. You’re evil.”

He tossed a phone onto the bed in front of me, thoughtfully untying one of my hands so I could use it.

The screen was filled with headlines about me. My "dark history."

Charity Foundation Exposed: Founder Ava Walker Embezzles Millions in Donations.

Hayes Corp Insider: Walker Docked Employee Salaries, Fired Staff with Crippling Severance Penalties.

The Devil Wears Red: Walker Allegedly Crippled a Designer to Use Blood to Dye a Gown.

One accusation after another, each painting a portrait of a monster.

“If you want to condemn someone, you can always find a reason,” I murmured. “But fine. You want a villain?” I looked them in the eye. “I’ll give you one.”

With my free hand, I grabbed the fruit knife from the nightstand.

I smiled as the blade plunged, straight and true, into my own heart.