From Pawn to CEO Queen

The phone rang, splitting the quiet of my father's funeral home. It was Mark, my boyfriend of three years, who was supposed to be here holding my hand.

"Ava," he rushed, "I can't make it. Chloe's having another panic attack."

The air in my lungs turned to ice. Chloe Davis, a friend of a friend, always "fragile," always needing Mark. My voice broke as I whispered, "Mark, I have no one right now but you." He called me strong, an excuse to abandon me at my weakest.

Later that night, he finally came home, exhausted from comforting Chloe. He looked at me with cold eyes.