"Ava knows about my intentions, but I believe asking your permission to court her will be more respectful—not just from my side, but also for Ava," Azazel said, his voice calm and composed, yet there was a softness in his eyes that betrayed his vulnerability in that moment.
But before Benjamin or Theresa could even gather their words to reply, a sharp, unmistakable voice cut through the air.
"What brings you here?"
Azazel's head tilted slightly, his lips pressing together as he exhaled softly.
He didn't need to turn—he knew that voice. The tone wasn't playful this time.
It carried a sharpness, a warning that wrapped around his name like thorns.
Ava stood by the archway, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Her gaze was pinned on him, fierce, yet… beneath that fire, there was a tremble—a crack in her armor.
"Ava, my dear—" Theresa began, a soft plea in her voice, but Ava raised a hand slightly, silencing her mother without looking away from Azazel.
