Chapter 8: A Wound Reopened

Ava's breath was steady, but her mind raced, tangled in the implications of Saira's words. Was it possible that everything she believed about her father had been a lie? The idea sent a chill down her spine, a gnawing unease she couldn't ignore. The truth about her father. The file. The sudden appearance of Nathaniel Graves. It was too much, too fast.

She forced herself to focus, leveling Saira with a glare that could cut through steel. "If you're expecting me to trust you now, you're more delusional than I thought."

Saira didn't flinch. "I'm not asking you to trust me, Ava. I'm asking you to listen."

Ava's jaw clenched. Listening was the last thing she wanted to do. Listening meant entertaining the idea that her carefully built world had been nothing but a facade, that the man she had idolized was more than the disciplined, revered figure she had crafted in her mind.

"You don't get to walk in here after all these years and rewrite my history," Ava spat. "You left. He stayed. That's all I need to know."

Saira sighed, her shoulders tensing ever so slightly, her fingers twitching at her sides as if she wanted to reach for something—or someone—but thought better of it. "You don't have to believe me, but you should be prepared. Because if I found you, others will too."

Ava stilled, the weight of those words settling uncomfortably on her shoulders. "Others?"

Saira hesitated before answering. "Your father's past didn't die with him. And neither did his enemies."

Ava's stomach twisted, but she refused to show it. She had spent years mastering control, and she wasn't about to unravel now.

Instead, she took a step back, her voice devoid of warmth. "Whatever game you're playing, leave me out of it."

Saira watched her for a moment, something flickering behind her eyes. Regret? Sadness? It didn't matter. Ava turned on her heel, eager to escape the suffocating weight of the moment.

But as she walked away, she caught Damian watching her from across the room, his gaze unreadable, an indecipherable mix of curiosity and something else—something that made her stomach twist. Had he pieced something together? Had he seen too much? Or was he simply waiting for her to slip? And maybe he had.

Panic curled at the edges of her thoughts. He had been too close. Had he heard too much? Seen too much?

She couldn't risk it.

Ava pulled her phone from her clutch, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the screen. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and for a split second, she struggled to focus on the letters, her mind racing with too many possibilities, too many what-ifs.

Ava: Liam, I need you to pick me up. Now.

A response came almost instantly.

Liam: You okay?

Ava swallowed hard, her throat dry.

Ava: Just get here. Please.

She didn't wait for a reply. Her fingers hovered over the screen for half a second, a flicker of hesitation she quickly buried. She couldn't afford doubt. Didn't look back at Damian. Didn't dare acknowledge the fear creeping up her spine.

Because for the first time in a long time, she didn't trust herself with anyone—especially him.