Crossing the red line

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Tao Yaoyao

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

Modern Parenting Ex-wife Drama

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Ava's POV

"Ava, if you keep glaring at your laptop like that, it's going to file an official complaint."

I don't even glance up. Lila's voice drips with amusement, and if I make eye contact, she'll just get more dramatic.

"I'm not glaring," I mumble, my fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. "I'm concentrating."

"On what? The blinking cursor? Maybe if you stare long enough, it'll write your article for you."

With a groan, I push my chair back from the desk and grab the nearest pillow. Lila ducks just in time, and it smacks harmlessly against our dorm wall.

"You're impossible."

She grins, tucking her legs beneath her on her bed. "And you're avoiding. Big difference. What's the deal this time?"

I press my lips together, debating whether to admit it, but Lila's my best friend. She'd find out eventually.

"The paper editor just called," I mutter. "I've been assigned to cover Crescent Heights University's basketball season."

Her reaction is instant. She gasps so dramatically you'd think I told her tuition was canceled. "No. Way."

"Yes way," I say grimly.

She clasps her hands like she's about to burst into applause. "This is perfect!"

"For who? Definitely not me."

"For everyone! Ava, come on-you're going to have the best seat in the house. Interviews, game passes, maybe even road trips. This is like journalist gold."

I shoot her a glare. "This is torture. I don't do sports. I do features, profiles, human-interest stuff. Not sweaty guys chasing an orange ball across polished wood."

"Correction: sweaty, very attractive guys. And one in particular-"

"Don't you dare." I point a finger at her.

Her grin widens. "Ethan Cole."

I groan and let my head fall against the desk. "Every girl on this campus practically faints when he breathes in their direction. He's arrogant, cocky, and the last person I want to waste my time on."

"Strong feelings. You sure this isn't the beginning of an enemies-to-lovers thing?"

I snatch another pillow and hurl it at her. She laughs, catching it this time.

"This isn't a romance novel, Lila. It's journalism. Objective reporting. No matter how infuriating the subject is."

"Uh-huh," she says, unconvinced. "What did Andrew say, exactly?"

I sit up straighter and put on my best imitation of Andrew's chipper voice. "'Reynolds! You're going to love this assignment. Big games, star players, drama, rivalries-think of all the stories. You've got the writing chops, and the coach already trusts you-'"

"Because he's your dad," Lila supplies.

"Exactly. But Andrew calls it 'convenient access.'" I roll my eyes. "He wants my first piece on his desk by Friday. And he specifically said, "I need to start with an interview with Ethan Cole."

Lila's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Tomorrow is going to be the best day of my life."

"Tomorrow is going to be the worst day of mine."

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