---- Chapter 6 Ava POV: | leave the party, walking aimlessly through the city streets. My mind is numb. The constant barrage of Ethan's cruelty has finally flattened all my emotions into a dull, gray landscape. My feet carry me to a small, independent bookstore in the Village. It was our spot. The place Ethan used to take me when he was still pretending to be a poet and not a monster. The lights are still on. Ben, the kind, older owner who used to be one of his family's Soldiers before retiring, sees me through the window. He gestures for me to come in. He must see the despair on my face. He hands me a cup of tea without a word. "He left this here, years ago," Ben says softly, pulling a worn, leather-bound journal from behind the counter. "I always meant to give it back to him." It's Ethan's old poetry journal from college. | open it, my hands trembling. The pages are filled with his familiar scrawl, poem after poem about me. About my eyes, my smile, his all- consuming love for me. It's beautiful, passionate, and utterly convincing. And | realize, with a sickening lurch, that this was just another part of the act. The sensitive artist was a role he played, a ---- carefully crafted routine designed to win over the innocent girl from a rival family. It was never real. None of it. The tears finally come, hot and furious. I'm crying for the death of Ava Miller, the Caged Canary who sang so sweetly because she believed the bars of her cage were made of love. | take the journal with me. When | get back to the apartment, the door is unlocked. Ethan and Chloe are on the couch, watching a movie. He has a mocking smile on his face, a clear challenge. | walk past them without a word, go straight to the kitchen, and drop the journal into the garbage can. | bury it under coffee grounds and leftover takeout. A symbolic funeral for a man who never existed. The Caged Canary is dead. My new name is Olivia Carter. A few days later, an email from the building management pops up in my inbox. A lease renewal notice. Our lease is up at the end of the month. | forward it to Ethan with a simple note: "What should | do about this?" His reply is instant. "Don't renew. I've already made other arrangements." My blood runs cold. | do some digging through shared accounts and discover the truth. He's moving in with Chloe. And he'd put the deposit down on their new place weeks ago, long before his "amnesia" even started. His plan was always to leave me homeless, to discard me like trash once he was ---- done with his game. The cruelty of it solidifies my resolve. | use the last of my secret funds to rent a small, furnished apartment on a month -to-month basis. My safe house. The day before | plan to leave, | find myself drawn to the botanical garden, to the cherry tree where he proposed. | need to see it one last time, to say goodbye to the ghost of the happy girl who once stood there. As | approach, | hear voices. Ethan and Chloe. They're standing under the very same tree. And they're rehearsing. "And then I'll touch your face," Ethan is saying, demonstrating on Chloe. "And I'll say, 'Ava... | remember.' You'll cry, you'll be so happy, and you'll fall right back into my arms." "It's perfect," Chloe gushes. "She'll be so grateful she won't even ask about us." "Exactly," Ethan says, a smug grin on his face. He pulls her close. "And don't you worry. Even after we're married, you'll still be my girl. My little secret." He promises her that even with the political marriage to me, she can remain his underground lover, a flagrant mockery of everything his world stands for. They kiss, a long, passionate kiss, and then start talking about me. About how naive | am, how easy | am to manipulate. They talk about me like I'm a doll, a piece of property to be played with and put back on the shelf. ---- | hide behind a large rhododendron bush, my body rigid. But | feel nothing. No pain, no anger. Just a vast, empty calm. The final emotional cord has been severed. His depravity, his bottomless capacity for betrayal, has set me free. My escape is no longer a plan. It's a biological imperative. | am an animal chewing off its own leg to get out of a trap. | back away slowly, silently. | don't look back. There's nothing left to see.