Rising From Ashes: The Betrayed Fiancée's Comeback

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one I'd practiced in the mirror until it felt more real than my own reflection. My hand

Vanity Fair* gushed. "You two are

e smooth as a hundred-year-old whiskey. "I adore this woman. I respect her. Our life isn

. "Oh, Ethan," a banker's wife murmured, her eyes gleaming with envy. "Ava, y

had become more frequent, or the faint, unfamiliar scent of perfume clinging to his shirts when he came

ovement was second nature, honed over eight years of standing by his side. It was as natural as turni

rehead. The gesture was for the cameras, but it was still warm. "Darl

t just enter a room; he consumed it. I picked up a flute of champagne, the bubbles doing nothing to

er to me. "Mrs. Miller," he whispered, his eyes darting around. "Mr. Hayes for

David. I'l

ush carpet. I gave the attendant our ticket, and she returned

ocket. My fingertips brushed against something stiff,

knew the three-Michelin-star restaurant, of course. We'd talked a

s addressed to a "Ms. Vance" and detailed a char

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A girl barely out of college who looked at Ethan with an unnerving, predatory hunger. I shook my he

at are y

ritation, came from directly behind

ught to keep my own voice level, smooth, perfect. "Ethan, what i

my fingers, his movements casual. "Oh, this." He barely glanced at it. "It's a surprise for my mother's birthday

ted, a subtle edge of accusation creeping in. "Why were you going

ng and waving. The pressure of their gaze was a physical weight, forc

familiar mask sliding into place. I felt a hot flu

s pocket, his authority restored. He

t from a wall sconce caught the

roat. My vision narrowed

eipt, was a faint but unmistakable smu