He follows my gaze, then tilts his head. “What kind of reminder?”
“Maybe a bracelet. A collar. Something I can wear during the day, even if no one else knows what it means.”
Elijah’s smile is slow and devastating. “You want Daddy to give you something to wear?”
I nod.
He leans in close, his voice low and warm in my ear. “Then Daddy’s gonna find you something perfect. Something that says you belong to me.”
My body shivers, not from fear, but from the calm that comes when something finally clicks. And in that still, quiet morning light, I realize this isn’t a game or a phase. It 's ours. And we’re just getting started.
Chapter fifteen
Ava
Youknowthatfeelingwhen everything is finally falling into place? The store is thriving, the stalker has stopped sending flowers and notes, and my relationship with Elijah—Daddy—is nothing short of perfect. He’s better than any book boyfriend I’ve ever read about. Not a day goes by without him making me feel wanted, cherished. He may not say the words I love you just yet, but I see it in everything he does. And every day, I feel myself getting closer to being able to say them too.
So yeah… things are good. Peaceful. Safe.
Which is exactly when the universe decides to throw a wrench in it.
Because apparently, I can’t have too much happiness without some kind of cosmic slap. And this time? It comes in the form of her.My mother.
Of course she shows up now—right when I’m finally starting to feel like I’m healing. Like I’m whole. Like I can actually see a future that doesn’t hurt to imagine.
It’s like she knows I’m happy and can’t stand it. Like her sole purpose is to undo all the progress I’ve made with Elijah—every soft word, every patient look, every ounce of confidence I’ve fought so hard to build.
One look at her, and I already feel that old familiar tug… the one that tells me I’m not enough.
But not this time. Not if I can help it.
“Well,” my mother says, giving the shop a once-over with her arms crossed and one perfectly arched brow lifted, “it’s cute. A little cluttered. But cute.” Says the woman that In the four years I've owned the store, this is the second time she's set foot in. The first time we weren't even open yet, and it took me weeks to delete or at least muffle her words.
I swallow hard. I’m standing behind the counter, fingers clenched around a damp cloth I didn’t even realize I was still holding. “Thanks,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s been going really well.”
She lets out a soft, pitying laugh that slices right through me. “Of course, darling. But you know these things don’t last forever. These little… projects.”
“It’s not a project, Mom,” I say, jaw tightening. “It’s my business.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she says, waving a hand like she’s brushing away a crumb. “It’s just… you were never exactly a businesswoman. Always better with books than with people.”
That familiar heat flares up in my chest, crawling up my neck like it always does when her voice hits that condescending, sugary tone. Shame. Old and well-practiced.
“And your health,” she adds, dropping her voice in that quiet, loaded way that always lands like a slap.
“I just hope you’re not running yourself into the ground trying to play entrepreneur. You’re not exactly a twenty-something anymore. I hope you're not eating all these pastries you have around here, or the junk food I've seen being sold in this… neighborhood.”
She says, as if this weren't one of the best neighborhoods in the city. It's in the oldest part of the city, where the buildings are art and you can still breathe the beauty of where all the artists used to come together to live and share their talents.
I set the cloth down carefully. My hands are shaking. I'm about to say something, Elijah walks into the shop, I don’t know what to do.
My mother is standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, one of her carefully manicured brows arched as she surveys the space like she’s judging a school project. I haven’t told her anything about our relationship development.
Not really, it's the way her words bruise, how easily her voice can strip away my confidence, leaving nothing but dust.
Now she’s here. And I’m afraid. Afraid that her criticism, the kind that always sounds like concern to everyone else, will make Elijah see me the way she does. And leave.
He’s barely through the door when our eyes meet.
