I Faked My Death After His Mistress Killed Our Daughter

## CHAPTER 7: SHADOWS IN DAYLIGHT

The boardroom of West Industries gleamed in the pale dawn light, a monument to success that now felt like a mausoleum. Six months had passed since my supposed death, but I could see Nate hadn't escaped our ghosts. Through the café's television screen, I watched him—my husband, my tormentor—addressing shareholders with practiced composure.

His suit was impeccable as always, that navy Armani he reserved for damage control. But even through the pixelated broadcast, I could see the hollowness beneath his eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he adjusted his tie.

"These quarterly losses represent innocent mistakes in judgment," he was saying, his voice carrying that authoritative timbre that once made me feel safe. "West Industries remains fundamentally sound."

I wondered if he heard it too—the echo of Ava's final scream beneath his words. If he tasted it like I did, bitter and metallic, every time he spoke of innocence.

The barista nudged me. "You okay, Ava? You've been wiping that same spot for five minutes."

I startled, forcing my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile. "Sorry, Miles. Just tired."

Ava. My daughter's name, now mine. Sometimes I still turned, expecting to see her when someone called for me.

I'd been in Seattle for nearly five months now, building my new life piece by painful piece. The café job paid little, but the manager hadn't asked too many questions when I'd applied with my forged documents. Cash tips meant survival without leaving a paper trail.

"Did you hear about that CEO?" A customer at the counter nodded toward the television. "Harper Industries or something. Stock's in freefall."

My hand froze mid-wipe, pulse thundering in my ears.

"West," I corrected automatically, then bit my tongue. "I think it's West Industries."

The man shrugged, uninterested. "Whatever. Rich guys always land on their feet."

If only he knew. If only anyone knew.

---

Rebecca Sloan hummed as she carried another labeled box into what had once been my bedroom. "Ethan's Belongings," read the precise handwriting—her handwriting—on the side.

I didn't need to be there to see it. I could picture her perfectly, moving through my home like she'd always belonged there, her fingertips trailing possessively over furniture I'd chosen, walls I'd painted.

She'd be sorting through my closet now, examining my designer dresses with that slight curl to her lip, deciding which to donate, which to alter for herself. The Valentino I wore to our anniversary dinner. The emerald silk from Ethan's school awards night.

In the hallway, she'd be replacing family photographs one by one. Out would go the evidence of my existence—Ethan and me building sandcastles, Nate and I on our wedding day, Ava's first steps with my hands supporting her tiny waist. In their place would come carefully curated images: Rebecca with her arm around my son's shoulders. Rebecca at Nate's side at charity galas. Rebecca belonging where I once stood.

My son's face would be solemn in these new photographs. Did he still ask about me? Or had Nate and Rebecca's poison finally convinced him I was the monster they painted me to be?

---

"Large americano for James!"

I called out the order, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. The customer approached—salt-and-pepper hair, kind eyes, Harper Industries lanyard partially visible beneath his jacket.

My pulse raced as I set the cup on the counter. Had he recognized me? Was this coincidence or something more sinister?

"Thanks," he said, dropping a dollar in the tip jar. "Heading back to Chicago tonight. Can't get decent coffee there."

I forced a laugh. "Seattle's spoiled you."

"True enough." He glanced at my nametag. "Have a good one, Ava."

Ava. Not Evelyn.

I watched him leave, fighting the urge to run, to pack my meager belongings and disappear again. Six months of careful anonymity, of looking over my shoulder, of jumping at shadows. Six months of nightmares where Nate found me, where Rebecca's triumphant smile was the last thing I saw.

But I couldn't run forever. Somewhere in Chicago, Nate was beginning to unravel. And when he did, I needed to be ready.

Because Evelyn Harper might be dead, but Ava Emerson was just beginning to live.