Chapter 113

Ava's POV

"Lilian, what is going on? Why are you crying?"

Isabella's voice cut through the fog of despair that had consumed me. Her hands gripped my shoulders, trying to steady me. I could barely see through the tears blurring my vision, but I didn't need to look to know what had shattered me. The words I'd overheard echoed like a cruel drumbeat in my mind: "Ava Pierce means nothing to me."

I should have known. Every tender word, every promise of something real—it was all a facade, a well-crafted illusion to keep me tethered while he clung to the contract that bound me to him, never truly free. I had been blind, foolish, and now I was paying the price.

"Lilian! What the hell happened? Did Grayson do something?" Isabella's voice was sharper now, tinged with anger. I could hear her turning toward the house, ready to confront him.

I reached out, my trembling hand catching her arm, stopping her. My voice was a whisper, thick with sobs. "Can you please call Rickon? Ask him to help us get Jeremy. He has resources… He can help…"

Isabella's gaze searched mine, her expression shifting from concern to confusion. "What happened in there?" she demanded.

I couldn't meet her eyes. Shame, anger, and hurt choked me. "Please," I pleaded, "just call him. Tell him what happened. I don't care about Grayson, just please… ask him to help Jeremy."

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. Silently, she pulled out her phone and called Rickon. I turned away, gazing at the looming estate. It used to feel like home, a sanctuary, but now it felt like a prison.

He didn't even come after me. Not when I walked away. Not when I needed him most.

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. My resolve hardened. I couldn't stay here. Not anymore. Never again.

Moments later, Isabella reappeared. Her eyes were softer, but her voice held determination. "He said he'll handle it. Jeremy's going to be fine. But… Lilian, please tell me what happened."

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold my heart together, but the pieces slipped through my fingers. "I just want to go. Can we please just go?" I choked out.

She nodded, gently pulling me toward Ivan's car, but I stopped, shaking my head. "No. I don't want anything from him. Please… call a cab."

Isabella didn't argue. She called a cab. The silence was deafening, heavy with the unspoken. Her concern was evident, but she respected my space as we reached the gates.

The cab arrived quickly. As we drove away, I gazed out the window, watching the scenery blur. The world spun, and all I wanted was to escape the ache inside me. Grayson's words echoed relentlessly: "I mean nothing to him."

Chapter 118

Finally, Isabella broke the silence. "Come on, I'm dying here. What happened?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. Grayson's voice, cold and detached, played in my head. "He said… he said he was going to ask me to leave because I mean nothing to him. That I'm nothing."

Isabella gasped, placing a comforting hand on mine. "Oh, honey…" she whispered.

I shook my head vehemently. "I can't believe I was this stupid. He's been gaslighting me from the very start, and I looked past it. I made excuses for him, for everything. I let him manipulate me. And now I'm paying for it… again. I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of repeating the same mistakes."

The words tumbled out, raw and honest, as I wiped away tears.

I turned to the cab driver. "Sorry, but we're not going to my place. Take us to [address of bar]."

Isabella looked concerned. "I don't think this is a good idea. Maybe you should come to my place and rest."

But I was resolute. "No. We're going to the bar."

Isabella sighed, accepting my decision. "Okay. I'll stay with you."

The bar's neon sign flickered. It was the kind of place where no one cared to ask questions.

I didn't wait. I walked inside, the low hum of conversation wrapping around me. I sat at the bar and signaled to the bartender.

"What can I get you?" he asked.

"Something strong," I replied.

Isabella sat beside me. "I know you're hurting, but I don't think this is the right way to handle it."

I ignored her, fixing my eyes on the drink. I took a long sip.

Minutes turned into hours. With each drink, the pain blurred, until I felt numb. The anger, the betrayal—they seemed far away.

A man slid onto the stool beside me.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

Isabella's gaze snapped toward him. "She's not interested," she said sharply.

But in my foggy state, I turned to him, smiling recklessly. "Actually, I am interested," I said.

The man smiled. I didn't care. I was done caring.

Isabella's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

I waved her off. "I have a better idea," I muttered, grabbing the man's hand and leading him to the dance floor.

The music pulsed. He pulled me close, and I didn't resist.

He leaned in. "Do you want to come home with me?" he asked.

For a moment, I hesitated. But I shut it down. I didn't care.

In a reckless motion, I kissed him. Pulling away, I whispered, "Yes."