Chapter 3

The day I was discharged, Ethan came to pick me up.

He had detailed the car until it was spotless, placing a bouquet of champagne roses—my favorite—on the passenger seat.

"Avery, let's go home."

He carefully reached over to fasten my seatbelt.

"I took paid leave. I'll stay home and take care of you the entire month."

"You said you wanted to go on a cabin trip to Oregon. As soon as you heal up, we'll go."

He was desperately trying to paint over the cracks.

Yet, I caught the faint, lingering scent of gardenia perfume in the vents.

Laney's signature scent.

I pulled open the glove compartment.

Empty.

The customized bracelet I had kept in there was gone.

In its place lay an elegant, expensive hair clip.

Ethan followed my gaze. His expression stiffened, and he slammed the compartment shut.

"Oh, that... Laney must have dropped it when I drove her to the clinic."

"Avery, don't read into it."

"I'm not reading into anything."

I stared calmly out the window. "Drive."

The chilling silence rattled Ethan down to his bones.

He would have preferred me screaming, throwing punches, or hurling insults like I used to.

Anything was better than this—sitting beside him like a hollowed-out doll.

We arrived home.

The digital lock didn't recognize my fingerprint.

I pressed my thumb against the sensor three times, only for the robotic voice to repeat: Verification failed.

Ethan offered an awkward laugh. "The system had a firmware update the other day. It must have wiped your data."

He typed in the passcode to open the door.

The moment the door swung open, I thought I had walked into the wrong apartment.

Laney's oil paintings hung along the hallway walls. Laney's plushies cluttered the sofa.

Even the prized orchids I had spent three years nurturing on the balcony had been completely ripped out, replaced by potted gardenias.

Laney emerged from the kitchen wearing my silk pajama set, tied in Ethan's cooking apron, holding a plate of glazed ribs.

Catching sight of me, she flashed a timid, fragile smile.

"Avery, you're back."

"Ethan told me you were being discharged today, so I came over to make you dinner."

"I learned this rib recipe from Ethan. Would you like a taste?"

She welcomed me in like the lady of the house.

Ethan hurried forward, taking the plate from her hands with a scolding, protective tone.

"Didn't I tell you to rest? You burned your fingers earlier, and you're still cooking?"

Then he turned to me with an entirely different demeanor.

"Avery, Laney spent the whole morning bustling around just to make things up to you. She can't stand kitchen grease, but she did it anyway. For the sake of her good intentions, don't give her the cold shoulder."

I looked at the slightly charred ribs.

Back in our academy days, after I won the state kickboxing championship, Ethan had rewarded me by cooking this exact meal in his cramped ten-by-ten rental using a cheap cooker.

Back then, he had smiled and promised, "Avery, I'll cook you ribs for the rest of our lives."

Now, that exact dish had become another woman's weapon to mark her territory.