Love's Obsession, Her Freedom

Love's Obsession, Her Freedom

Gavin

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My name is Ava Hayes, and according to the little gold-embossed placard next to the painting, I was the artist. But tonight, my real title was "trophy," paraded at the Vance Gallery, a glittering cage built by Ethan Vance. He' d bought my family' s gallery, swooping in like a vulture when my father' s business teetered on the edge of bankruptcy. Then, my younger sister Lily got sick, a rare autoimmune disease with astronomical medical bills. Suddenly, Ethan wasn' t just a bitter ex-fiancé; he was the only lifeline, holding Lily' s future-and mine-in his cruel hands. He made me beg for it, forcing me into a contract: his "protégé," his grateful, reclaimed stray. I was trapped, my art and my soul enslaved, all to save Lily and my father' s legacy. He wanted to break my spirit, to own the one thing that had walked away from him. Today, he pushed me too far, forcing me to play servant at his lavish party, publicly humiliating me. He paraded Lily on his arm, giving her the diamond necklace I had desired, right in front of my face. Watching Lily' s fragile adoration for him, her innocence twisted into a weapon against me, something inside me snapped. If he wanted to destroy me, I would burn my own life to the ground and make sure he was standing in the middle of the fire with me.

Introduction

My name is Ava Hayes, and according to the little gold-embossed placard next to the painting, I was the artist.

But tonight, my real title was "trophy," paraded at the Vance Gallery, a glittering cage built by Ethan Vance.

He' d bought my family' s gallery, swooping in like a vulture when my father' s business teetered on the edge of bankruptcy.

Then, my younger sister Lily got sick, a rare autoimmune disease with astronomical medical bills.

Suddenly, Ethan wasn' t just a bitter ex-fiancé; he was the only lifeline, holding Lily' s future-and mine-in his cruel hands.

He made me beg for it, forcing me into a contract: his "protégé," his grateful, reclaimed stray.

I was trapped, my art and my soul enslaved, all to save Lily and my father' s legacy.

He wanted to break my spirit, to own the one thing that had walked away from him.

Today, he pushed me too far, forcing me to play servant at his lavish party, publicly humiliating me.

He paraded Lily on his arm, giving her the diamond necklace I had desired, right in front of my face.

Watching Lily' s fragile adoration for him, her innocence twisted into a weapon against me, something inside me snapped.

If he wanted to destroy me, I would burn my own life to the ground and make sure he was standing in the middle of the fire with me.

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On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news. He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city. The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.” For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets. My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me. So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts. He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked. He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree. He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.

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