Chapter 5
Ava POV:
I walked past Jaxon' s bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. I heard muffled voices from inside. My steps slowed. Jaxon' s voice was sharp, laced with irritation.
"Why are you still working at that coffee shop, Ivory?" he demanded. "I told you to stop. I transferred more than enough money."
I heard a soft, pleading reply from Ivory, too quiet to make out. I didn't care what she said. My head throbbed relentlessly. It was past midnight, and a fever was setting in. I needed to go downstairs for some Tylenol.
I crept down the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible. As I passed the living room, I saw them. Jaxon and Ivory. They were on the sofa, wrapped in each other's arms. Jaxon' s hand was tangled in her blonde hair.
"Promise me, Ivory," Jaxon said, his voice a low rumble. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself. Eat properly. Don't push yourself so hard."
"I promise, Jaxon," she whispered, her voice husky. "And I'll spend all your money. Just like you want me to."
She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"And I'll always love you," she added, her voice a little louder. Then, a hint of insecurity crept into her tone. "But… Jaxon, I'm just… a mistress. You still wear your wedding ring."
Jaxon scoffed. A cold, dismissive sound. He pulled the wedding ring from his finger, the platinum band gleaming under the dim light. He tossed it casually. It landed with a soft clink in the wastepaper basket beside the sofa.
"Better?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied now?"
A wave of nausea hit me. My head swam with a sudden surge in temperature. My stomach churned. The sight of his discarded ring, the casual way he threw away our vows, was a punch to my gut. I stumbled back, my hand flying to my mouth. I needed to get away.
I practically ran back up the stairs, fumbling with my bedroom door, pushing it shut with a muffled thud. I collapsed onto my bed, clutching my chest. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The tears came, hot and stinging, blurring my vision. I hated that I still felt anything for him. I hated that I still hoped. But some emotions, I realized, were beyond my control.
I lay in bed, the fever burning through me, a self-inflicted punishment for my weakness. I drifted in and out of consciousness, caught between the agonizing present and the ghost of a happier past.
I was back in college, in the romantic haze of our early relationship. Jaxon, younger, softer, knelt before me on a moonlit bridge. He held my hand, his eyes full of adoration.
"Ava Sexton," he said, his voice earnest, "I promise to love you forever. I swear on the moon, I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky."
He slipped a silver ring onto my finger. It was a simple, beautiful promise.
I woke up with a gasp, the hospital room stark and white. The antiseptic smell filled my nostrils. The dream vanished, leaving only the crushing weight of reality.
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