Chapter 3

That night, Julian didn’t come home.

Instead, Sienna Voss reactivated her U.S. social media account for the first time in years—and posted a single update.

A photo of a candlelit dinner.

The man beside her wasn’t shown, only his wrist visible.

The pale band where a wedding ring once sat stood out starkly against his tanned skin.

It was Julian.

I gave her exactly what she wanted—I liked the post.

Then I powered off my phone and packed the last of my belongings.

Early the next morning, Hank Dawson, Julian’s assistant, delivered the gown for that evening’s gala.

I opened the box and glanced inside.

It was last season’s discontinued design—discarded, forgotten.

By the time I arrived at the Gallagher Ranch estate that night, Leo Gallagher had just finished his welcome speech.

He announced that all joint ventures between the Gallagher and Voss families would now be placed entirely under Sienna’s control.

A murmur of envy rippled through the crowd.

Everyone praised her luck—two of Texas’s most powerful young men, both devoted to her.

The moment I stepped into the grand hall, the room fell silent. Every eye turned toward me, hungry for drama.

Julian was deep in conversation with the heads of rival oil dynasties, too occupied to notice me.

So Sienna took it upon herself to play hostess.

She led me up to the second-floor terrace, away from prying eyes.

The moment we were alone, her mask dropped.

Her smile twisted into something venomous—mocking, cruel.

“Ava Reilly,” she sneered. “After all this time, you’re still useless.”

“For three years, I’ve lived like a queen in the Caribbean—all thanks to your husband. Did you really think he married you out of love? Let me be clear: if it weren’t for that peace agreement needing your signature, he wouldn’t have spared you a single glance.”

“You’re nothing but a joke, Ava.”

Rage surged through me.

Without thinking, I slapped her—hard.

Her head snapped back, but instead of flinching, she smirked.

Then, deliberately, she stumbled backward—and threw herself down the stairs.

Screams erupted from the ballroom below.

Julian reached her first, cradling her in his arms like she was made of glass.

He looked up at me, his eyes blazing with fury I’d never seen before.

“Ava Reilly—what the hell are you doing? Are you insane?”

“Sienna welcomed you into our home, and you push her? You promised to let the past go! What is this tantrum about?”

My voice came out ice-cold, empty of feeling.

“Me throwing a tantrum?”

“Julian… don’t you owe me an explanation for what really happened three years ago?”

His brow furrowed. For a split second, panic flickered in his gaze.

“Explanation for what? She’s already paid for it! What more do you want?”

“Past or present—none of it excuses you letting her manipulate you like this!”

“Ava. Apologize. Now.”

Before I could speak, Sienna buried her face in his chest and began sobbing.

“Don’t… don’t make her apologize. It’s my fault. I’m the one who wronged her…” Her voice trembled with false humility. “If she hates me so much… maybe we shouldn’t see each other again. I don’t want to cause you trouble.”

My nails dug into my palms until blood welled beneath them.

As they walked away—him shielding her like she was precious—I knew it was over.

The Gallagher ranch hands escorted me out without ceremony.

Two hours later, Julian’s text finally arrived.

› Sienna’s fragile right now. Don’t blame her. I needed you to apologize—for the Gallaghers’ sake.

›

› I’ll be home soon. Remember that gift I promised? I’ll make it up to you. Don’t be upset.

But I knew the truth.

This performance wasn’t for the Gallaghers.

It was for me.

He’d played the devoted husband for three years.

Now, the curtain was falling.

I sat in our Austin condo with the severance declaration in hand, waiting until dawn.

He never came.

Instead, I saw the headlines online: *Harlan Heir Halts Oil Negotiations to Rush Fiancée to Hospital.*

Sienna had only minor bruises—but Julian had summoned every top surgeon in Houston, cashing in decades of family favors.

In the photos, he held her gently, his eyes soft in a way I’d never seen—not even on our wedding day.

At sunrise, I called him.

He didn’t answer right away. In the background, he was barking orders at Hank.

“Are you sure about transferring the South Padre Island Resort to Ms. Voss? That’s over a hundred million in assets!”

“Just do it. It’s what I owe her. And draft another contract—transfer fifty percent of our Galveston Bay Casino shares to her name.”

Only after Hank left did Julian remember the call.

“Ava? Sorry—I got tied up. I’m heading home now. What did you need?”

I stared at the document in my lap.

“Nothing. You’re busy. I won’t keep you.”

“Good. Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”

I didn’t wait.

I signed the declaration.

Grabbed my suitcase.

And walked out of the home I’d shared with him for three hollow years.

Before leaving, I mailed a copy of the forged peace agreement—the one he’d tricked me into signing—to his office at Harlan Tower.

By the time my flight lifted off from DFW International, he’d just received it.

For twenty-four hours, I stayed gone.

He didn’t return home either.

My phone’s countdown hit zero the moment I boarded the plane.

Then his message popped up:

› Ava, I sent the gift home. Why isn’t anyone answering?

›

› Still mad?

›

› Don’t sulk. I’m coming back. Be good.

I opened Sienna’s latest post.

A photo from Dallas General Hospital.

A man—his wrist bare, his posture tender—was feeding her congee from a spoon.

I didn’t reply.

When the confirmation text arrived—*Your identity cancellation request has been processed*—I deleted every trace of him from my phone.

At that same moment, Hank Dawson burst into Julian’s hospital suite, face pale, clutching a courier envelope.

“Sir—it’s bad. Mrs. Reilly… she found the forged agreement from three years ago. I can’t reach her anywhere!”