Ava reached for Isabella's phone, intending only to call someone to pick her up. But it was locked. Her fingers hesitated, then almost without thinking, she typed in her own date of birth. The screen unlocked instantly.
Her heart dropped. She had kept it. All these years.
For a long moment, Ava stared at the glow of the phone screen. Her thumb hovered over the contacts, almost searching the gallery and everything that would update her on Bella's. But she stopped herself, shaking her head hard. No. She wouldn't go down that road.
She stood, her decision sharp. She called Dolly, her tone clipped, "I need you to cover my shift tonight. An emergency came up."
Then she buzzed security, asking them to help carry Isabella discreetly. Together they guided her down to Ava's car, avoiding the curious eyes in the hallway. Ava made sure Isabella's head rested gently against the seat before driving off.
She didn't take her to her mansion. No. Not to that suffocating house filled with judgment and coldness. Instead, she drove to her own place—a quiet refuge tucked away from the noise of the world.
The night was still as she unlocked her door and carried Isabella inside. It wasn't easy—Isabella stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent, her fingers brushing Ava's arm like a ghost of their past. Ava froze, her chest aching, before forcing herself forward.
She laid her gently on her bed, adjusting the sheets around her. For a long time, Ava stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of Isabella's chest.
Her hand reached out, almost touching her cheek—almost. But she stopped, withdrawing it sharply like the touch might burn.
She whispered to herself, more than to Isabella, "Why now, Bella? Why come back into my life when I finally tried to move on?"
The room was silent, except for Isabella's breathing. Ava sat at the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, fighting a storm inside her.
Her gaze lingered on Isabella's peaceful face, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she slept. A tear slipped from Ava's eyes, unbidden. She wiped it quickly, but her mind drifted to the past, memories unfolding like cracks in glass.
It hadn't been the only time she had longed for Isabella. Back when Isabella was still in her life, months before everything fell apart, Ava had been walking home from a late study session. She had insisted Isabella stay behind, brushing off her concern with a laugh.
"I'll be fine, Bella. Don't be my shadow all the time," Ava had teased.
But as she turned onto the dimly lit street that led home, her confidence faltered. Unease prickled at her skin. Three men stepped out of the shadows, their laughter low and cruel.
"Well, look what we've got here," one sneered, his breath thick with alcohol.
"Pretty girl like you shouldn't be walking alone," another added, stepping closer, blocking her path.
Ava's voice shook as she tried to sound firm. "Move. I just want to go home."
The third one chuckled darkly. "Home? Baby, we can give you somewhere better to be." He reached for her wrist. Ava stumbled back, panic rising in her throat.
Before she could scream, a blur of movement cut through the night. Isabella. She came out of nowhere, her eyes blazing, fists already flying. She yanked Ava back and planted herself in front of her like a shield.
The first man lunged, only to be met with a brutal kick to the knee. He howled, collapsing. The second swung at her, but Isabella ducked, slammed her elbow into his ribs, and shoved him against the wall. The third grabbed her arm, thinking he had her, but Isabella twisted, drove her fist into his jaw, and sent him sprawling into the gutter.
Three grown men, bigger and older than her, lay groaning in the street while Isabella stood over them, chest heaving, fists clenched. She didn't even look at them—her eyes went straight to Ava, softening instantly.
"I told you not to walk alone at night," Isabella scolded, brushing Ava's trembling hands. "Why don't you ever listen to me?"
Ava couldn't even speak. She just threw her arms around Isabella, burying her face in her shoulder, whispering through shaky breaths, "Thank you… thank you…"
But months later, when Isabella was gone, school had turned into a battlefield. Ava had thought a new school would mean a fresh start, but she had been wrong.
It started small—snickers when she walked past, whispers behind her back. Then it grew.
"Why does she talk like that?" one girl sneered loudly in class. "Always trying to sound better than us."
"Maybe she thinks she's too pretty to speak to anyone," another mocked, rolling her eyes.
By lunchtime, the taunts had sharpened. A group of girls cornered her near the lockers.
"Hey, new girl," the ringleader smirked, blocking her way. "You think you're special because the teachers like you?"
Ava shook her head quickly. "No, I—I don't—"
"Then why do you act like it?" Another shoved her shoulder. Books tumbled from Ava's arms, scattering across the floor.
"Pick them up, princess," one boy snickered from nearby. "Or should we bow and help you?" The others laughed.
Ava bent down quickly, trying to gather her things, but one of the girls kicked a notebook away with her shoe. "Oops. Clumsy."
Laughter exploded around her. Heat burned Ava's cheeks, her eyes stinging, but she bit her lip hard, refusing to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
"Look at her. Too scared to talk. Pathetic," the ringleader spat before turning away, the others following, their laughter echoing down the hall.
When Ava finally stood up, clutching her scattered books to her chest, the hallway felt colder, emptier. And all she could think was how desperately she wished Isabella had been there—how with just one glare, one step forward, Isabella would have silenced them all.
The memory blurred as Ava blinked back to the present, her hand trembling as it hovered over Isabella's sleeping face. Slowly, she let her fingers graze her cheek, soft and warm under her touch.
A smile tugged at her lips through the tears. "You've always been my protector," she whispered.
And with that, she wiped her own tears, watching Isabella breathe peacefully, the shadows of the past easing just a little in her heart.
Isabella's phone buzzed on the bedside table, the sharp vibration cutting through the silence of the room. Ava glanced at it, her jaw tightening. She tried to ignore it—tried to focus on her own racing thoughts—but the screen lit up again and again. Ten missed calls from the same number. Then a new message flashed across.
Her chest grew heavy. She reached for the phone, her hands trembling though she told herself she had no right. But curiosity was one thing—jealousy was another. The name on the screen wasn't a lover. It was worse.
Her father.
Ava hesitated, then swiped the message open.
"Isabella, enough of this reckless behaviour. Your mother is sick because of you. If you truly care about her, you will stop this nonsense. You were not raised to be a man or disgrace me. Become the woman you were born to be, marry the man I choose, and everything that belongs to me will be yours. Otherwise, you inherit nothing."
The words sliced through Ava. She felt her throat tighten as she stared at the phone, her fingers cold.
So this was it. Isabella was still carrying the same chains, the same suffocating expectations her father had bound her with since they were girls. The perfect princess. The perfect daughter. Never free to love, never free to just be.
Ava's stomach twisted. Nine years had passed, yet Isabella was still trapped, still drowning. And in those years, she had chosen to leave her. To send her away, far away.
Ava put the phone back on the table, almost too carefully, as if it might burn her fingers. She turned her face away, blinking rapidly to keep her tears from falling.