Chapter 216

Ava’s POV

“You can’t be serious!” I snapped. My mother’s impassive face confirmed it—she was.

I glared at Ricardo. Arms crossed, he looked smug. “What did you say to her?”

My mother clicked her tongue. “He said nothing. And no one forces me to do anything.”

“Normal circumstances,” she added. A joke. Nothing was normal.

“Fine,” I bit out. “It was your idea. Stay in his house. I’m leaving.”

I spun on my heel, suitcase rattling over the uneven pavement. Escape was all I craved.

Footsteps. I knew who it was.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, whirling around.

Isabella sighed. “Lilian, you’ve been mad since the plane! I’m sorry.”

I remained silent.

“I messed up,” she admitted, shoulders slumping. “But storming off in a foreign country? Remember what happened last time?”

My jaw clenched. Of course, I remembered.

Ricardo stood there, infuriatingly calm. My blood boiled.

“Last time,” I said, pointing at him, “he had me kidnapped. And you think I’m safe in his house?”

“Lilian—”

“No, Isabella! I’m furious! And why are you talking to Monica?”

She hesitated.

I laughed, humorless. “Don’t bother. I don’t care if she found me. I don’t care about her reasons. Have you forgotten what she did?”

Silence.

“And now Grayson,” I gasped, my throat tightening, “the one person I never wanted to know about this child…is coming to Italy. And I have to wait for him?” My voice cracked. “I don’t want to see him! Do you understand?!”

Isabella’s expression was unreadable. Then, my mother’s voice cut through.

“You’re throwing a tantrum,” she stated. “It’s unnecessary.”

My fingers tightened on my suitcase handle. “A tantrum? Really?”

“I didn’t say live with him,” my mother continued, ignoring me. “But Damien’s out there. Staying together is strategic. And if you’d see past this anger—”

“Past my anger?” I scoffed.

“Yes,” she said evenly. “You’re irrational.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice,” I snapped.

“Save it,” I continued, my voice trembling, “for your other daughter—the one who probably hates you as much as I do.”

My mother recoiled. For a flash, I saw pain, regret.

“Lilian,” Isabella said softly, touching my arm.

“Not now, Bels.”

I turned and walked away, the suitcase a lead weight, my footsteps echoing. My heart pounded, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back.

The dimly lit streets were unfamiliar. I’d left in a blind fury, hadn’t even checked my phone. Stupid. I just needed to escape my mother, Isabella, and especially Ricardo.

But now, as the streets darkened, a different fear set in. I was alone, in a foreign country, with no plan, no destination. Reckless.

I slowed, gripping my suitcase tighter. The streetlights were far apart, casting long shadows. The few people I’d seen were gone. Just me, my breath, the distant city sounds.

Maybe I should turn around.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

A man. Too close. Too deliberate.

I forced myself to breathe. Maybe he wasn’t following me.

I quickened my pace. So did he.

Shit.

My pulse leaped. I scanned for safety—anything—but the street was residential. Tall buildings, iron balconies, dark windows. Nowhere to run.

Think.

I reached for my phone. Then, a voice cut through the air.

“Hey—”

I didn’t wait.

I dropped my suitcase, sprinting. My boots pounded the pavement, breath ragged. Fight or flight; I chose flight.

He cursed behind me, his footsteps quickening. Faster.

My heart hammered. I rounded a corner, slamming into a wall. The pain was nothing. I didn’t stop. I needed people. A main street. Anything.

A narrow alley. Then—a hand grabbed my arm.

I screamed. I twisted, panicked, trying to break free.

“Calm down,” a voice said, low and steady.

Ricardo.

I struggled, still fueled by adrenaline. “Let me go!”

He didn’t. He glanced past me, his expression unreadable. I followed his gaze.

The man stood a few feet away, shadowed. Silence. Then, he raised his hands. “She dropped her suitcase.”

Ricardo didn’t look at it, but I felt the shift in him, his wolf close to the surface. “Leave.”

The man nodded, disappearing. Ricardo released my arm.

I stumbled back, gasping for air.

He watched me, his face unreadable. Then, calmly, “If you’re done with your tantrum, my house is this way.”

My fists clenched. I wanted to scream, to tell him to go to hell. But I was too exhausted, too rattled. And I had nowhere else to go.

I took a deep breath.

Without a word, I picked up my suitcase and followed him. Three hours later, I regretted it. Not because of him, but because I was face to face with the one person I didn’t want to see.

Grayson.