Page 151 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“Ava?” His voice carries down the hallway.

I’m still standing in his bedroom, holding the evidence of his betrayal, when he appears in the doorway. His expression shifts from surprise to alarm when he sees what’s in my hands.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice unnaturally calm.

I hold up the folder, my hand shaking. “I think I should be asking you that.”

He takes a step forward. “Where did you find that?”

“In your desk.” My cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and fury. “Were you ever going to tell me, or just wait until my gallery opening to spring this on me?”

Confusion crosses his face, then a flash of realization. “Ava, it’s not what you think.”

“Really?” I flip open the folder, my voice rising. “Because what I think is that you’ve been working with Blackwell from the beginning. What I think is that you planned to humiliate me professionally at the exact moment my career should be taking off.”

He reaches for the folder. “Those documents were created as counter-intelligence. We needed to feed Blackwell a believable narrative.”

“Counter-intelligence.” I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Funny how these emails are dated before we supposedly knew about his investigation.”

Something flickers across his face. He’s caught, and he knows it.

“These documents were created to appear authentic,” he says, but his usual confidence wavers.

“Created.” I feel sick. “So you admit you deliberately crafted a plan to destroy my artistic credibility? The one thing in my life I’ve fought for against all odds?”

“Ava, you don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly.” My throat tightens as memories of my stepfather flood back. “Another man using his power to destroy my future.”

I glance around the room, suddenly seeing all my paintings on his walls through new eyes. The ones he supposedly loved. The ones he hung inplace of his precious Rothkos and de Koonings.

Just like my stepfather. Just another man pretending to support me while planning to undermine me all along.

“Take them down,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the hurricane inside me.

“What?”

“My paintings.” I gesture at the walls. “Take them down. I’ll buy them back from you when the settlement comes in. They don’t belong with you.”

His face pales. “Ava, please listen—”

“No.” I throw the folder onto his desk. “I’ve listened enough. I trusted you. Just like I trusted my stepfather, and look how that turned out.”

He steps toward me, reaching out. “Let me explain—”

I step back. “Don’t. Just... don’t.”

The hurt in his eyes almost breaks me. Almost makes me stay to listen. But I’ve been here before, believing a man’s excuses while he systematically undermines everything I’ve worked for.

Not again. Never again.

I walk past him, my shoulder brushing his as I head for the door. The brief contact burns like fire, and I hate myself for still wanting him despite everything.

“Where are you going?” His voice is rough, almost desperate.

“Out.” I grab my purse from the hallway table. “I need air. I need space.”

“Ava, please—”

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