---- Chapter 14 Ava and Liam returned from their honeymoon, tanned, relaxed, and deeply in love. They settled into Liam's Brooklyn brownstone, which now felt like their home. Life was quiet, peaceful. Ava threw herself into her architectural work, her designs imbued with a new sense of confidence and creativity. Liam was a steady, supportive presence, his love a warm, comforting embrace. One evening, Ava was playfully trying to steal a bite of Liam's dessert, her laughter echoing in their cozy kitchen. Liam, laughing, dodged her, then pulled her close, his eyes full of affection. He leaned in to kiss her, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of shared joy and deep intimacy. In that moment, Ava realized something. Liam's quiet admiration, his subtle acts of kindness over the years - they hadn't been mere friendship. He had loved her, silently, patiently, for a long time. All those shared glances, those moments of understanding, they clicked into place. The front door burst open. Ethan stood there, his face pale, his eyes haunted. He'd clearly lost weight. His expensive clothes hung loosely on his frame. He stared at Ava and Liam, his gaze fixing on their intertwined hands, the domestic intimacy of the scene. "Ava..." he whispered, his voice hoarse. ---- Liam stepped in front of Ava, his posture protective. "Ethan. What are you doing here? You're not welcome." "| need to talk to Ava," Ethan said, his eyes pleading. "There's nothing to talk about," Liam stated, his voice cold. "She's my wife." "She's my... she was mine!" Ethan's voice rose, cracking with emotion. Ava stepped out from behind Liam. "Ethan, please go. There's nothing left to say." She then turned to Liam, deliberately, and kissed him, a soft, loving kiss. A public display of her affection, her choice. For Liam. And a clear, final message for Ethan. Ethan flinched as if struck. The color drained completely from his face. He looked like he was about to be sick. "No..." he mumbled, shaking his head in denial. "This isn't real Ava felt a flicker of something that might have been pity, quickly extinguished by the memory of his cruelty. He was suffering, yes. But he had brought it all upon himself. She remembered all the times he'd dismissed her pain, her feelings. His current anguish was a direct consequence of his own actions. This was retribution. And it was, in a strange, dark way, satisfying.