From Ashes: The Unwanted Wife's Return

Ellie Gilbert POV:

In the days that followed, Jace avoided me completely, holing himself up with Fallon in the master suite. The penthouse became a fortress of their shared guilt and my silent condemnation. The media, however, was not so easily placated. The story of my "compromised" state had leaked, and the narrative Jace had so carefully constructed began to crumble.

Public opinion, once firmly on his side, turned viciously. He was no longer the hero; he was the man who had sacrificed his wife. Fallon was no longer the damsel in distress; she was the homewrecking viper. The Sharpe Foundation's pristine image was tarnished overnight.

"This is a disaster!" Fallon shrieked from behind the closed doors of their room, the sound of something smashing against a wall. "My reputation is ruined!"

Jace's voice was placating, but strained. "I'll fix it, Fallon. I promise."

Later that day, he came to my room. He stood in the doorway, unable to meet my eyes. "The board is calling for my resignation," he said, his voice tight. "The sponsors are pulling out. This has to stop."

He finally looked at me, his eyes pleading. "I need you to make a statement. A press conference. Tell them it was all a misunderstanding. That you went willingly to create the diversion, that you were never in any danger."

He was asking me to lie for them. To stand in front of the world and absolve them of their sins, to paint myself as a willing participant in my own degradation.

I looked at him, at his desperate, handsome face, and felt nothing but a vast, cold emptiness. I saw the gears turning in his head, the selfish calculation. He was cornered, and he was once again turning to me to solve his problem.

Fallon appeared behind him, her eyes red from crying. She put on a show of self-flagellation. "Jace, no. You can't ask her to do this. It's my fault. I'll go public, I'll tell them everything..." Her words were a lie, a carefully crafted performance designed to make Jace see her as noble and me as the obstacle.

"No, Fallon," Jace said, his voice firm as he pulled her into a protective embrace. "I won't let you. This is my responsibility. Ellie owes us this."

Owes us. The words echoed in the silent room. I was not a person to him, but a debt to be collected. A tool to be used.

A bitter smile touched my lips. The hate that had been simmering inside me began to crystallize, sharpening into a single, pointed purpose. Revenge.

"Alright," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

Jace looked at me, stunned by my easy compliance. "You'll do it?"

"Yes," I said. "But on one condition."

"Anything," he said, relief flooding his face.

"I choose the time and place," I said. "Tomorrow. Noon. At the entrance to the Sharpe Tower. I want the world to be watching." I needed to ensure the press conference was public, inescapable.

He barely considered it. "Done," he agreed, so eager to salvage his reputation that he didn't see the trap I was laying. He was a fool. A desperate, arrogant fool.

The next morning, the area outside the Sharpe Tower was a media circus. Reporters and camera crews from every major network jostled for position. Jace and Fallon stood on the steps, a united front, their faces grim and composed.

"My wife, Ellie, will be here shortly to clear up these vicious and unfounded rumors," Jace announced to the sea of microphones. "She will confirm that she is safe and well, and that the events of that night have been grossly misreported by those who wish to tarnish my family's name."

He looked at his watch, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. I was late.

Meanwhile, I was standing on the curb a block away, not dressed for a press conference, but in simple jeans and a sweater, a single duffel bag at my feet. My fifteen days were up.

A sleek, black sedan, its windows tinted to an impenetrable darkness, pulled up silently beside me. The back door opened.

As Jace's car, the one sent to collect me, turned the corner, I stepped into the black sedan without a backward glance.

The car pulled smoothly into traffic, heading not towards the press conference, but towards the airport, towards a new life. I was leaving Jace to face the firestorm alone. My escape was my statement. My absence was my revenge.