It’s not about being okay yet. It’s about choosing to move forward.
And she’s doing that—on her own terms, in her own time.
I couldn’t be prouder.
Ava
I sit back in my chair, the fork still halfway to my mouth. The room feels quieter now, softer, like the storm inside me has calmed—if only for a moment.
I’ve been carrying so much weight. Not just from what happened, but from the fear of telling it wrong, of being judged, or worse, misunderstood. For so long, I thought I had to tell everything perfectly or not at all. But hearing them—Elijah,Sebastian, Gabriel—remind me that I don’t have to spill every dark secret, that I can protect myself while still being honest… It feels like someone’s finally given me permission to breathe.
I glance at Elijah. His hand still rests lightly over mine, steady, reassuring. I don’t say it, but inside, I’m thankful he’s here. Not just for what he did, but for who he is now—the man who holds my broken pieces without trying to fix me all at once.
I close my eyes for a second, letting the memories come and go without judgment. The foggy blur after the shooting, the cold sweat of panic, the ache of betrayal—it’s all there, but it’s not defining me anymore.
Maybe I’m not ready to tell every detail. Maybe I don’t have to relive every nightmare out loud. Maybe healing can be quieter, slower.
When I open my eyes again, the knot in my chest has loosened just a little.
I nod to Sebastian. “I think I can do this.”
It’s not a promise that everything will be easy. But it’s a start.
And for now, that’s enough.
Chapter forty-nine
Ava
SebastianandGabriellefta while ago. Talking to them helped more than I expected. For a little while, it felt like life was inching back toward normal—like I could breathe again without checking over my shoulder.
But now, in the quiet that follows, another kind of longing rises in me.
Not just for safety. For connection. For the part of our relationship that used to make me feel powerful, seen, cherished in a way that had nothing to do with words. I miss the closeness, the dynamic that grounded me even in chaos.
So I do the only thing I know will tell him—without speaking—that I’m ready. That I need him.
I kneel beside his favorite chair, completely bare. Vulnerable, but not afraid. I want him to see all of me, like he always has.
When the bathroom door opens, I lift my head, heart beating in my throat. Our eyes meet—and whatever doubt I had evaporates in that instant.
There’s a shift in him, subtle but unmistakable. His gaze darkens, sharpens, not just with desire—but with love, protectiveness, reverence. I see the man who saved me, who held me through nightmares, who never asked for more than I was ready to give.
Now, I am.
His eyes sweep slowly over me, and I feel it—heat blooming low in my belly, nerves alive with anticipation. His silence says everything.
I don’t just want him. I need my Daddy.
And from the way he’s looking at me, I know he needs me too.
He doesn’t say a word at first. He just watches me.
That intense, steady gaze wraps around my body like a touch, and I feel the weight of it—how much he wants me, how much he’s holding back to be sure this is real.
“Daddy,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath.
It’s all he needs.
