So Swoon-Worthy, a Fragile Facade

Ava's heart clenched sharply, a sudden, agonizing tightness, as if an invisible, icy hand had reached into the depths of her chest and squeezed, compressing her very essence. A cold, stark chill, like the breath of a winter wind, ran down her spine, and for a brief, disorienting moment, she felt as fragile as a delicate glass ornament, teetering precariously on the edge of a high, dusty shelf, threatening to shatter into a thousand glittering pieces. She yearned—no, ached with a raw, visceral intensity—to speak the words buried deep within the chambers of her heart: "Let's not get divorced, okay? Let's find another way." But just as her lips trembled on the verge of forming those precious, fragile syllables, Augustus's voice, cold and distant, echoed like a cruel, spectral whisper in the recesses of her mind.

"He chose me only because I look like Sophia. Just a stand-in. A substitute that anyone with a similar face could replace."