Ava sat alone on the cold leather couch in the living room, the pale light of dawn slipping in through the half-open blinds. The silence of the house was thick, suffocating. She hadn't slept all night, her mind spinning endlessly, a cruel loop of memories and regrets.
She should have left long ago.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, the sudden vibration slicing through the stillness like a knife.
She picked it up with trembling fingers, expecting another cruel message from Mario, or maybe one of those pity texts from a distant friend she hadn't spoken to in months. But it wasn't that.
No.
It was worse.
Ava the Desperate Housewife.
The caption of the post glared back at her from the screen, bold white letters against a photo of her — disheveled, eyes puffy, standing in front of the hotel where she worked. Someone had taken it without her knowing. And it had already spread like wildfire.
Her sister, Mia.
Mai's verified handle sat proudly above the post. @MiaTheMuse, millions of followers eating up the scandal like vultures.
"Imagine thinking you're the wife when you're really just the help. Can't believe some women don't know when to give up."
The comment section was a battlefield of laughing emojis, cruel remarks, and disgusting assumptions. Names she didn't recognize hurled insults at her, dissecting her appearance, her marriage, her very existence.
She felt her stomach drop, a tight coil of nausea twisting inside her.
"Unbelievable," Ava whispered, voice cracking.
Mia had always hated her, envied the attention Ava used to get before Naomi's rise to fame. But this… this was public execution.
Ava's phone buzzed again. Another message.
From Mario:
Stay away from social media. You're embarrassing me.
As though she was the problem. As though she had invited this.
Her vision blurred with hot tears, heart pounding against her ribs. She couldn't stay here anymore. Not another second.
She rushed upstairs, grabbing the only bag she could find — an old tote she barely used. Clothes, phone charger, a little cash. No plan, no destination.
Just out.
She paused by the mirror in the hallway, catching her reflection. The woman staring back at her was a stranger — pale, exhausted, defeated.
But not for long.
"I'm done," Ava whispered to herself, wiping a tear that slid down her cheek. "You won't break me, Mia."
The morning had started like any other suffocating day in Ava's life. She'd slipped out early, but this time she hadn't left a note. No word, no text. Nothing.
And now, the house was trembling in the aftermath.
Mario hated quiet, It made his skin crawl, especially when it followed chaos. He paced the living room like a caged predator, his phone clutched tightly in one hand while the other balled into a fist. The clock on the wall ticked too loud, mocking him with every passing second.
"Where the hell is she?" he muttered to himself.
He had woken up late that morning, annoyed to find no breakfast, no coffee, no Ava waiting at the door to ask if he wanted anything ironed. At first, it was a minor irritation, something he planned to snap at her about the second she appeared. But as noon crept in and her phone went unanswered, the irritation curdled into anger.
Mario's dark eyes narrowed as he turned his glare on Mia, who instinctively took a step back. The entire family knew Mario's temper, but what made him truly dangerous was how calculated his fury could be. Not wild. Not unpredictable. But cold, precise, and unforgiving.
"I asked you a question," Mario's tone dropped lower, more dangerous.
Mia's lips trembled, and her hand instinctively rested on her stomach. "I-I don't know," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "She didn't tell me anything, Mario, I swear."
It was a practiced move — the hand on her pregnant belly. Everyone knew that was her shield. As long as she carried Mario'a child, she was untouchable.
Mario'a jaw ticked, a muscle flexing dangerously. He looked like he wanted to strike something — or someone. But instead, he hissed through gritted teeth, "Find her and for your post yesterday, don't think I didn't see it"
His command wasn't a request. It was an order to the entire household. The staff scrambled, phones were pulled out, calls made to friends, neighbors, acquaintances. No one had seen Ava. Not since yesterday.
Mia chewed her lower lip. She knew Mario didn't truly love Ava — never had. But the idea that she might've left of her own will, without his permission, bruised his pride. And Mario was a man whose ego dictated his every move.
As the frantic search spread beyond the house, the truth of Ava's absence sank in.
Ava was gone.
Meanwhile, Ava sat in the backseat of a sleek black car, the city blurring past the window. It had all happened so fast. One minute she was walking aimlessly through the streets, the next she was being ushered into a car by a man in a sharp suit who spoke her name like it was the most important word in the world.
"Mr. Leccel requests your presence," the man had said.
At first, Ava thought it was a mistake. She didn't know any Leccel.
But she hadn't protested when they offered her safety, an escape from the chaos waiting at home.
Now, as the car pulled up to an expansive estate on the outskirts of the city, Ava's pulse quickened. The gates alone looked like they could crush a man, tall and imposing, guarding whatever secrets lay beyond.
The driver opened the door for her, and she stepped out hesitantly. The mansion before her was like something out of a dream — or a billionaire's fantasy. Ivory walls, towering columns, gardens meticulously groomed. She had no idea where she was.
Or why.
A man waited for her at the entrance, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive suit that fit him too perfectly to be off-the-rack. His face was sharp, commanding, his dark eyes unreadable as they locked onto hers.
Ava swallowed hard. "Are you…?"
The man's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "It's been a long time, Ava."
Her brow furrowed. "I… I don't remember—, aren't you the same person I met in the hotel few days ago, then why Leccel"
"Yeah, I changed to Damian Lancaster, thought you could remember the name Leccel but You wouldn't," he said, his voice deep and smooth as silk. "It's been years. But I remember everything."
Ava's heart stuttered in her chest. There was something familiar in the way he looked at her, like he saw past everything she'd become to the girl she used to be.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The man stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. "Leccel ."
The name slammed into her like a freight train. Memories came rushing back — of a boy with stormy eyes and a protective streak a mile wide. The boy from her childhood. Her mother's friend's son. The one who used to follow her around like a shadow.
"You're… Leccel?" Ava's voice shook.
He nodded. "And you're safe now."
For the first time in months, a sense of peace settled over her. It was temporary, she knew. There was no way Mario would let this go without a fight. But for now… she could breathe.
"Why now?" she asked. "Why help me?"
Damian's expression darkened, a flicker of something possessive in his gaze. "Because I've been waiting, Ava. And I don't share what's mine."
Before she could process his words, another man approached, murmuring something in Damian's ear.
Damian's jaw clenched. "Mario is looking for you. He's furious."
Ava's stomach twisted. Of course, he was. But somehow, knowing she wasn't alone anymore, the fear didn't feel so paralyzing.
"I'll deal with him," Damian said quietly. "No one hurts you again."
**
Back at the house, Mario was a storm waiting to break. He slammed his fist into the wall, the drywall cracking under the force.
"Find her!" he roared at his men. "I want every street, every damn hotel checked!"
Mia sat on the couch, arms crossed, her expression wary. She didn't say a word this time.
Because even she knew — when Mario was like this, no one was safe.
And soon, everyone in the family would learn: you don't cross Mario Huxley.
Unless you're prepared to burn for it.