The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Ava followed Mark down the hallway, her wedding dress brushing against the floor. Her heart still trying to believe this had happened, that she was finally married.
Mark had said he'd bought them a penthouse, their "first home as a married couple." Of course, he'd used her money to do it.
When he unlocked the door, she expected a cozy new home. Maybe champagne. Maybe flowers. Something romantic. Anything... She wasn't so hard to please.
What she didn't expect was another woman sitting comfortably on her sofa with herlegs crossed and a glass of red wine in her manicured hand.
Ava froze.
It was Celine Davenport, Mark's personal assistant — and she looked perfectly at ease, her shoes off, a movie paused on the TV.
When she saw them, she smiled and stood up slowly.
"Baby, you're back," she said, walking straight toward Mark. "I was beginning to feel lonely."
Ava's stomach dropped. She leaned in and kissed Mark lightly on the lips.
Mark didn't even flinch. He didn't deny it or try to push her away.
"Baby, you're back," she purred again. "I was beginning to feel lonely."
Ava's mouth went dry. Baby?
Mark didn't even flinch. He just set his keys on the counter and loosened his tie.
"Ava," he said smoothly, as if nothing was wrong. "You remember Celine? My... friend?"
Celine laughed softly, sliding an arm around his waist. "A friend, hmm? That's one way to put it."
Ava felt the world tilt under her feet. "Mark, what is this?" Her throat burned. "I thought you swore there was nothing between you and this woman. What..."
"Don't make a scene, Ava."He cut her off sharply. "You knew what this was. A contract. Nothing more."
Her voice trembled. "A contract? You are now telling me this? On our wedding night?"
Celine smirked, still holding onto her husband like she belonged to him. "Mark, don't be too harsh on her. Poor girl still believes in fairy tales."
Ava's fingers clenched around the edge of her dress. Her voice broke.
"This is not what you promised..." Her words trailed off, swallowed by the weight in the room.
"I promised a lot of things," he said flatly, setting his glass down. "None of them real."
"Well, now everything makes sense," Ava said as tears slid down her cheeks. "Well, I am going to take everything back from you, my companies, my money, even this apartment, which you bought with my money."
Mark turned to Celine, and then they both burst out laughing.
"You are crazy, Ava," Mark said. "You signed over the companies to me right after the wedding. Why do you think I married you? As for your money, have you forgotten you transferred everything to me?"
Oh God, I am an idiot. Ava thought.
Mark grabbed Celine and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" she whispered.
"Out," he said simply. "Don't wait up. We'll be back in the morning."
And just like that, they left.
The door clicked shut, and silence swallowed the room. Ava stood there, still in her wedding dress, her chest tight and her hands trembling.
She remained there for a long time, not moving as tears fell from her eyes.
In the two years since their engagement, she had lost everything that had ever mattered.
Her freedom.
Her peace.
Even the inheritance her father had left behind for her.
Now, even her dignity.
Piece by piece, it had all been stripped from her until nothing remained.
She was now Mrs Vaughn. A title she had never wanted in the first place.
The door opened again. She turned her head, thinking he'd come back.
But it wasn't him.
A figure stood in the doorway, dressed in black from head to toe. The barrel of a gun glinted faintly in the intruder's gloved hands.
Her breath froze and she instinctively moved back. "Who are you, what..."
The first shot tore through her chest before she could finish. The impact slammed her back against the sofa. White-hot pain bloomed, stealing the air from her lungs.
She tried to scream, but only a wet gasp came out.
The masked intruder stepped closer, raising the gun. The second shot ended everything.
Her ears rang as the figure walked away without a word.
The pain dulled. The room seemed to twist and bend, the light stretching into long streaks of gold. Her body grew light… until it wasn't there at all.
The sound of the shot still rang in her ears when she jolted upright.
The bright lights above her buzzed loudly, making her head hurt.
The metal chair pressed hard against her back, making it ache.
Somewhere nearby, a phone rang, boots pounded on tile, voices rose and fell in clipped commands.
She blinked, and she saw was a police station, desks cluttered with files and the faint scent of stale coffee hanging in the air.
"What the hell…?"
Her voice was barely audible under the low roar of the station.
A shadow fell across her desk.
"You're late," a gruff voice said, sliding a thick file toward her. "And you look like hell."
Ava blinked up at him, her eyes glassy, not quite focusing.
"What?" Her voice cracked.
He frowned, muttered something under his breath, and stalked off, leaving the file behind.
The flicker of a monitor caught her eye. On the desk a computer screen glowed with a date in the corner.
15 April 20XX.
No, that couldn't be right.
She leaned closer, as if proximity might change it. But the numbers stayed.
Her knees wavered.
April 15th, the day before her engagement to Mark. Exactly two years before her wedding.
She felt a chill creep up her spine. She knew this day. She'd been here with Emily her bestie, in this station, smiling nervously while gathering notes for a college report. Back then, her future had felt… safe regardless.
Now, the memory collided with another the sour stench of a motel room, the muzzle flash, the crushing bloom of pain in her chest.
She shook her head hard, like she could remove the fog out of her brain. But then it hit.
A boom. Not just loud... violent. Like a shotgun going off inside her skull.
The world spun around her. Her knees gave way, and she grabbed her head, screaming. The sound tore from her throat, raw and sharp. The pounding in her ears was so intense that it felt like her brain might burst.
Her back slammed into the wall, cold concrete biting through her shirt. She slid down until she was half-crouched, half-collapsed, gasping like the air had been stolen from her.
Somewhere in the blur of light and shadow, shapes closed in, faces leaning over her, their lips moving, but she couldn't hear a damn thing.
Memories flooded her all at once.
She glanced down at her hand instinctively. No ring.
Slowly, she lifted her head, scanning the sparse crowd around her. Few people standing around her, she caught sight of Emily, her best friend watching her with worry on her face.
What the…
The problem was she died a few months before her wedding.
Where was this?
Is this hell?