Avery’s POV

When the car rolled through the iron gates of the estate, Don Zachary didn’t spare me a glance.

His attention was fixed entirely on the woman clinging to his arm.

He guided his nauseated mistress up the marble steps toward the master suite, his palm firm at her lower back, steering her as if she were something fragile—and precious. He barked instructions to the chef to prepare her favorite dishes, then lingered at the doorway longer than necessary, watching her settle into the bed that had once been mine, waiting for her smile like a man desperate for approval.

Only when he turned to head downstairs did he finally notice me.

I was trudging toward the guest wing, suitcase dragging behind me, the sound echoing down the corridor like a quiet declaration of defeat. Everything I had left in the world rattled inside that bag.

He stopped mid-step.

Without turning fully around, he muttered to the chef, “Prepare two more plates. The ones Avery prefers. Set three places.”

That made me pause.

For half a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it. If there was regret buried somewhere beneath his arrogance. A hollow attempt at decency—setting a place for me at the table while his mistress occupied the Don’s bed.

The thought was almost laughable.

He couldn’t remember the date we first met. Couldn’t be bothered to unlock his phone for me. Yet now he expected rosemary lamb and a place setting to mean something?

I bit down hard on my teeth and kept walking.

The guest room door closed behind me with a soft click that landed heavier than any insult. The silence pressed in instantly, thick and accusing, as though the walls themselves understood I no longer belonged here.

I dropped my bag at the foot of the bed and knelt to unzip it.

The moment the zipper parted, my stomach sank.

Every piece of clothing inside had been destroyed.

Not torn in anger—cut cleanly, deliberately, shredded into neat strips. Whoever did it hadn’t acted on impulse. This was careful. Calculated. A message.

My chest hollowed out.

Then I noticed what remained.

Tucked deep into the lining—my passport. Plane tickets. Legal documents. Every paper I couldn’t afford to lose.

Untouched.

Protected.

I sank back onto my heels, disbelief and fury crashing together. I didn’t need to guess who’d done this.

Nina.

Only she would be petty enough to destroy what hurt while preserving what mattered. Only she would want me humiliated—but still able to leave, so she could claim victory without consequence.

There would be a reckoning later.

For now, I needed out.

I crouched by the bed, shoving the remaining salvageable items into my bag, when the door creaked open behind me.

Nina stepped inside.

She held a small black bottle between two fingers, swinging it casually as her eyes swept the room like she was inspecting property. Her nose wrinkled, disdain written clearly across her face—until her gaze landed on me.

If looks could kill, I would’ve been dust.

“Well,” she drawled, tilting her head with that sickly sweetness that always made my skin crawl, “you really are impressive, Avery. After everything I’ve done to embarrass you in front of capos, investors, socialites—anyone who matters—you still cling to this place like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

Her smile sharpened.

“Oh. That’s right. Your grandmother passed last month, didn’t she?” She feigned thoughtfulness. “Now that your last piece of family is gone, I suppose it makes sense. You’re desperate. Hanging onto Zachary like he’s your final lifeline.”

Then she laughed—light, cruel, perfectly timed.

“Remember how you begged him to fly you out to see her one last time?” she asked softly. “Do you want to know why he didn’t?”

She lifted her phone, waving it like a blade.

“Because he promised to take me to the coast that day. Sunset. Champagne. That photo everyone saw? That’s when it was taken.”

The words didn’t hit all at once.

They fractured slowly—spreading through me like cracks in glass.

She’d known.

She’d known exactly what she was doing when she flaunted that picture. When she reminded me of the helicopter. Of the one day I’d knelt on cold marble, begging him to let me leave for just a few hours.

And he chose her.

The pressure built in my chest, jaw locking, fists curling at my sides until my nails bit skin.

Something inside me snapped.

“You think this is amusing?” I hissed, my voice low and sharp. “You think tearing apart what little I have left makes you powerful? Makes you worthy to stand beside him?”

Nina arched a brow, lips curving into something predatory. “I don’t need to be his equal,” she said calmly. “I already have everything.”

I stepped closer, teeth bared. “You have nothing,” I spat. “You’re a parasite. A leech feeding on scraps from his life—and mine.”

The room went very still.

Avery's POV

She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, satisfaction curling her mouth into something ugly and pleased.

“Still more than you’ll ever touch,” she said lightly.

That was the moment everything shattered.

I slapped the phone out of her hand. It flew across the room and struck the marble floor with a sharp crack, skidding until the screen spider-webbed uselessly.

I didn’t think. I didn’t plan.

My body surged forward on pure fury.

My fingers wrapped around her throat, tightening before my mind could register what I was doing. Rage thundered through me so violently it stole my breath, drowned out reason, drowned out fear.

The small black bottle slipped from Nina’s grasp and hit the floor with a hollow clink. The cap rolled once.

Then—

The smell detonated.

Gasoline.

Sharp and vicious, tearing through the air like a blade. It burned my nostrils, clawed down my throat, spread across the room in an instant like something alive and hungry.

We crashed into each other—hands shoving, nails tearing, bodies slamming into furniture. She kicked wildly, heel striking metal. Maybe a lighter. Maybe stone against steel.

Whatever it was, it was enough.

The fire didn’t pause.

Flames erupted violently, racing up the curtains, leaping along the walls as if they’d been waiting for an excuse. Heat slammed into my skin. Smoke poured in thick and black, devouring the room.

My body failed me.

Still weak. Still drained.

My lungs seized. I dropped hard to the floor, coughing so violently it felt like my ribs would split open. The world spun—fire, shadow, choking darkness folding in on itself.

The last thing I saw before everything blurred was the ceiling igniting, flames crawling across it like something sentient.

“Avery!”

A voice tore through the smoke.

“Don, it’s not safe!” someone shouted. “The soldiers are coming—you can’t go in there!”

“Get out of my way!” Zachary roared. “She’s still inside!”

I tried to open my eyes.

Was it real? Or just my mind breaking under smoke and terror? Had he really said my name? Had he actually come for me?

“Z-Zachary…” Nina sobbed weakly. “I’m here too. Please. Save me. Save our child.”

For one treacherous heartbeat, hope flared.

Stupid. Fragile. Deadly.

I wanted to believe—just for a second—that he’d run into fire for me. That I still mattered enough to be chosen.

Then the truth crashed down hard.

He didn’t come because of me.

He came because eyes were watching. Because word would spread through the famiglia. Because the press would feast on it. Because a Don couldn’t afford to look like a coward who abandoned women to flames.

And the moment Nina called out?

There was no hesitation.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, shielding her from smoke and heat, carrying her out as if she were priceless—

While I lay choking on the floor, darkness closing in.

Time fractured.

Minutes—or longer—passed in a haze.

After ensuring she was safe, he tore through the estate, barking orders, shouting my name, searching every wing.

But I was already gone.

I don’t know how I escaped.

Fire roared in my ears, smoke shredding my throat, dizziness crashing over me in brutal waves. But something raw took control—instinct stripped bare.

I crawled.

Dragged myself forward inch by inch.

My fingers brushed against my bag. I grabbed it with shaking hands and clutched it to my chest like it was the last thing anchoring me to life.

A window nearby had cracked from the heat.

I hurled myself through it.

Glass ripped into my skin as I hit the lawn outside, rolling hard, gasping. My legs collapsed. My chest burned like it was on fire.

But I was alive.

I didn’t look back.

Some service corridor must’ve been untouched—or the fire simply hadn’t reached it yet. I barely remember. Just stumbling through darkness free of smoke, barely upright, until I found the rear exit.

Cold night air slammed into my face as I fell outside, coughing until my body shook violently.

No one saw me.

No one followed.

And I didn’t stop.

Not when my knees buckled. Not when I had to cling to street signs, brace against parked cars, drag myself forward step by step. I kept going because I knew—deep in my bones—that if I stopped, if they found me again, I wouldn’t survive a second time.

I vanished into the city.

Hours later, I boarded a flight bound for the Northern Territories.

Just before takeoff, my phone vibrated.

A message from Don Zachary.

[Stop playing games, Avery. I don’t have time for this.]

I stared at the screen, feeling absolutely nothing.

Then I powered the phone off, leaned back as the plane began to move—

and finally let the distance carry me away.

Zachary’s POV

[Tomorrow, ten in the morning. Nina has her prenatal appointment. You’ll accompany her. Schedule your annual health screening while you’re there.]

The message went unanswered.

Not that I expected anything different.

What I didn’t know—what no one bothered to tell me—was that Avery had already removed her SIM card, shut down the phone completely, and vanished. No forwarding address. No warning. No trail.

Just like that, she slipped out of my world.

The realization hit later, quietly, like the final echo of a door slamming shut behind someone who had no intention of ever returning. A sound you couldn’t undo. A sound that lingered.

---

The following morning, the private medical center was calm, discreet—the kind of place reserved for men whose names never appeared in police reports and women who never waited in lines. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh lilies.

Nina clung to my arm as if letting go might send her drifting.

“Zachary,” she murmured anxiously, fingers tightening. “Is the baby really alright?”

I kept my voice level, Don-steady. “The doctor confirmed it. No lasting effects from the estate incident.”

Her shoulders loosened. “Thank God. You’ve barely spoken since we arrived. I thought something was wrong.”

Something was.

Avery’s face wouldn’t leave my mind—the way she’d looked at me through smoke and chaos. No panic. No pleading. Just resignation. As if she already knew I wouldn’t choose her.

And the worst part?

She was right.

I hadn’t carried her out.

I’d carried Nina.

---

After lunch, I escorted Nina back to the Sterling estate, handed her over to security, then headed straight for the council hall.

Halfway down the corridor, my assistant caught up with me.

“Don Moretti,” he said quietly, “Sebia has returned from Europe. He’s requesting a full executive briefing with the consiglieri.”

I acknowledged him without slowing, but beneath the composed exterior, something twisted hard in my chest.

Avery was still missing.

She hadn’t appeared at the clinic. She hadn’t returned to the estate. None of the staff had seen her leave. No guards had logged her exit.

She’d disappeared without a trace.

When? How?

Where the hell had she gone?

I lengthened my stride, irritation sharpening into something more uncomfortable. “Arrange for a selection of the newest designer handbags,” I said over my shoulder. “And that custom jewelry set from Milan.”

“For Nina?” my assistant asked automatically.

I stopped.

My jaw tightened. “Send it to the Sterling estate.”

If Avery was anywhere, that was where she’d go.

And if she wasn’t—

I cut the thought off. The unease clawed deeper than I liked.

What if she was hurt?

Still recovering somewhere alone?

What if she had truly left—for good?

---

A week passed.

Just after midnight, I returned to the estate, exhaustion settling into my bones after an endless strategy session. The house was silent. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, painting the marble floors in silver.

A figure curled on the sofa caught my eye—wrapped in silk, motionless, almost familiar.

I exhaled, a low chuckle slipping out. “Avery,” I said without thinking. “I told you—no matter how late it gets, I always come back. You don’t need to—”

I stopped.

It wasn’t her.

Nina sat up slowly, fear flickering across her face. “Zachary… she hasn’t come back. Not once. I’ve messaged her so many times—apologies, explanations—nothing. Maybe I should leave. I don’t know what else to do.”

Her voice wavered.

I lowered myself beside her and pressed a hand to her forehead. It wasn’t tenderness. It wasn’t love. It was habit. Reassurance by default.

“Don’t overthink it,” I said calmly. “Stress isn’t good for the baby. This estate is yours now. Yours and the child’s. Whether Avery accepts that or not.”

---

Later, I stood alone on the terrace, robe loosely tied, city lights stretching endlessly below.

I lit a cigarette.

I hadn’t touched one in years, but tonight restraint felt pointless. The craving wasn’t for nicotine—it was for release from the pressure coiling in my chest.

I pulled out my phone.

My thumb hovered over the last name at the bottom of my contacts.

Avery.

I stared at it longer than necessary. Thought of calling. Thought of demanding answers. Thought of saying things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel.

In the end, I didn’t dial.

I typed instead.

[Avery. Tomorrow is Sebia’s eightieth birthday. Don’t cause trouble. Keep your distance from Nina and the child.]

The message sent.

I stared at the screen, chest tightening.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was the cold night air—

Or something else entirely.

No.

Not panic.

Something heavier.

Something I didn’t have a name for yet.