A full two days had passed since the Great Library Incident and Ava still hadn't said a word to Zach. Not one syllable. Not a sigh. Not even a dramatically annoyed hair flip in his general direction.
And everyone felt it.
Even the new laundry maid, who'd only been hired a day ago and hadn't even learned who was married to whom yet, whispered to the gardener, "Did Lord and Lady Ford have… a silent divorce or something?"
The tension was so thick, it needed its own chair at breakfast.
Not that Ava showed up for breakfast anyway. No, she stayed in her room like a queen in self-imposed exile. A queen with flawless contour and a vengeance plan.
She had plans today. And those plans did not include any awkward morning eye contact or barely-there goodbye kisses with Zachary "Scarfed Down His Toast Like Nothing Happened" Ford.
He hadn't even reached out to her last night! No note. No knock. No passive-aggressive cough outside her door. So, Ava had decided: no more.
