Chapter 211

I’m terrified of talking to people, even writing this feels weird. If I could use emojis, I’d add a laughing one—my Chandler Bing move. Except I'm not funny, so it just comes off awkward. Anyway… thanks to everyone reading. Seriously, I appreciate it. Starting—and sticking with—a long book is tough. I pour my heart into it, but I'm not perfect and the comments section terrifies me. I cry easily, so go easy on me (laughing emoji!).

I'm still learning. I strive for realism, but I’m far from perfect. Every correction is a gift (after the crying). I started this book wanting a story I’d want to read. Length didn't matter, just quality. Ava and Grayson's drama? Exhausting! Sometimes I want to scream at them both. But every word serves a purpose; I don’t just fill space. It’s about investing your time, making it worth it. I love these characters! I wouldn’t want to ruin their story for the sake of word count. And if I could, I'd steal Grayson from Ava… but that's beside the point.

Thank you. Whether you read every chapter or just peeked, I appreciate you. A good book means nothing without readers. I'm truly grateful.

-Ava’s POV-

“Is your mom… hot?” Isabella asked.

I swatted at her head. She dodged, laughing. “Seriously, Ava! Everyone’s staring.”

“Don’t push it,” I growled.

Isabella rolled her eyes. “Wish you would.”

She wasn’t wrong. My mother had always commanded attention, but now… it was amplified. Evelyn Pierce was untouchable, her elegance making everyone feel insignificant. Even walking was an act of superiority; the world parted for her.

I watched her. People were staring—subtle ogles, undisguised admiration. Her aura was mesmerizing.

But I refused to admit it. I was still furious—years of manipulation, coldness, her perfect mask hiding the truth.

Yet there she was, cutting through the crowd, that same commanding presence. Good for her, I guess.

But I couldn't deny the magnetism, the effortless way she owned every room. For a second, I felt a reluctant awe.

Isabella nudged me. “Evelyn Pierce knows how to work a crowd.”

I ignored her, watching my mother slice through the line, her boots silent, as if everyone else was invisible. The woman at the counter hesitated, but Evelyn just raised an eyebrow. The woman stepped aside. Game over.

As we approached, irritation flared. She always had to control everything.

The counter woman cleared her throat. “Ma’am, if you’d just…”

My mother cut her off, handing over passports without a word. “We don’t have time to waste,” she said, cold and commanding.

I tuned them out, my mind drifting. The airport buzzed, everyone lost in their own worlds. I was too tired to care, except… she arranged everything. The weapons. The illegal shipment. Evelyn Pierce had underworld connections. And a friend?

Before I could dwell on it, the counter woman stammered, “No first-class seats…”

My mother snapped, “Did you suggest I fly coach?”

A long pause. The woman froze, tears welling.

I stood, pushing forward. “What’s happening?”

My mother’s stare remained fixed, but I couldn’t decide what was more unsettling—the employee’s tears or my mother’s impassivity. The woman was shaking. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” she stammered.

I yanked my mother back. “I’m sorry,” I told the employee. “We’ll take anything.”

The woman looked up, confused but no longer crying. “We need to get to Italy. As soon as possible.”

She nodded, relieved, and started typing. My mother watched me, a flicker of… approval? It vanished instantly.

She waited. The woman cleared her throat. “A flight departs in two hours. Not first class, but…”

“Perfect,” I said. I was back in control—much to Evelyn’s displeasure, I’m sure. But I didn’t care… at first.

An hour and a half later, I did care.

“Sit like a lady.”

Isabella rolled her eyes, slouching further.

“Close your mouth when you chew.”

Isabella chewed louder, then opened her mouth wide.

“You’re insolent.”

Isabella snorted. “Thanks for the feedback.”

This went on. My patience snapped. “Will you two stop it? You’re giving me a headache!”

Silence. My mother’s disdainful glare; Isabella’s grin. At least they were quiet.

Finally, we boarded. Relief washed over me. Isabella and my mother sat together—perfect. Peace and quiet. I heard my mother’s growl, Isabella’s laughter, and I hurried to my seat, eager to escape their bickering.

I stopped dead. My eyes narrowed at the person beside me. “What the hell are you doing here?”