"Ethan," Ava said, my name strange on her lips, her green eyes complex with emotions I could feel but not quite parse.
"Yes?" I replied, tilting my head slightly.
"You're the scariest one," Ava said quietly, her voice steady despite the fear I felt thrumming through the bond. "The others, they're violent, possessive, unpredictable. But you're worse. Because you understand exactly what you're doing."
I smiled, a real smile, rare and genuine, curving my lips. "Thank you, Ava. That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." She shuddered, turning and leaving without another word, her footsteps quick on the hardwood floor.
I watched her go, then turned back to my tablet, adding new notes to her file. Accepted journal and schedule. Initial resistance followed by cautious acceptance. Responded positively to honesty about methods. Shows signs of beginning adaptation.
Progress.
I pulled up the surveillance feeds, watching her make her way to the kitchen, where Leo was indeed making pancakes, flour dusting his black t-shirt as he flipped one with theatrical flair. She paused in the doorway, clutching her new possessions, her expression guarded but curious.
Leo said something, I couldn't hear what through the silent feed—and she almost smiled. Almost. I noted it down. Positive response to Leo's humor. Recommend continued light interaction to build rapport.
The others thought my approach was cold. Clinical. Perhaps it was. But coldness was just another tool, and clinical precision got results. I would break her down and build her back up, piece by piece, until she fit perfectly into the space we'd carved for her in our lives.
It wasn't cruelty. It was love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AVA
Three years earlier
The night I ran, there was a party.
One of David Harper's endless gatherings, all cigars and whiskey and powerful men pretending they weren't criminals. I'd been dreading it for weeks. Not because of the party itself, but because of what I knew was coming after. My mother found me in my room, staring at the dress laid out on my bed like it was a death sentence.
"You don't have to do this," she said quietly, closing the door behind her, her voice barely above a whisper even though we were alone. "You know that, right? You have a choice."
"Do I?" I turned to face her, and I knew my eyes were red from crying. "They've made it pretty clear what they expect. What everyone expects." She crossed the room and took my hands in hers. Her fingers were cold. Trembling slightly.
"Listen to me, Avalon," my mother said, her voice fierce despite its softness, her eyes locked on mine with an intensity I'd rarely seen. "I didn't raise you to be someone's possession. I didn't raise you to give up your life because a bunch of Alphas decided you belonged to them."
"But David?—"
"David Harper doesn't own you," she cut me off, her grip tightening on my hands. "No one owns you. Not unless you let them." I stared at her. My mother had always been careful around the Harpers. Polite. Deferential. I'd assumed she wanted this match as much as everyone else seemed to.
"I thought you wanted me to accept them," I whispered, confusion and hope warring in my chest.
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I want you to be happy," she said, reaching up to cup my face, her thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "I want you to have a life you chose, not one that was chosen for you. If that life includes the Harper boys, fine. But it should be your decision. When you're ready. Not because four possessive Alphas and their father decided it was time."
"They'll never let me go," I said, the words breaking on a sob. "You've seen how they look at me. How they watch me. Mason said tonight they want to discuss the future."
"Then we make sure you're not here for that discussion," my mother said simply, her jaw set with determination.
I blinked. "What?"
She released my hands and moved to my closet, pulling out a duffel bag I didn't recognize. "I've been planning this for months," she said, setting the bag on the bed and unzipping it to reveal clothes, cash, documents. "Just in case. Ever since you presented and I saw the way they started circling you like wolves."
"Mom..."
"There's a car parked three blocks east," she continued, pulling items from the bag and laying them out methodically. "Paid cash, registered under a name that doesn't trace back to us. There's enough money here to get you started somewhere new. And these—" She held up a small orange bottle, pills rattling inside. "Suppressants. Enough for six months. After that, you'll need to find a doctor willing to prescribe more without asking too many questions."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. My mother had been planning my escape while I'd been drowning in despair, convinced there was no way out.
"You go to the party tonight," she said, her voice steady even as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You let them see you. Dance with Mason. Talk to the others. Make them think everything is normal. Then, when the moment is right, you slip out the service entrance and you don't look back."
