POV: Austin Chen
I knew it wouldn't be Ava at that café.
She's incapable of malice. That girl folds into me like I'm the safest place in the world, like the moment she touches me, nothing bad can ever happen. She doesn't lie to me—not well, anyway. So when her phone rang last night and she stiffened, stopped chewing, stopped breathing, then forced a smile and said she'd "go check her homework," I knew something was wrong.
She left her phone face-down on the table. Rookie mistake.
I waited till she was asleep. Soft snoring. Drool on my chest. Her thigh tossed over mine like a toddler, hair spilling across the pillow and my shoulder. I moved slowly, careful not to wake her, and checked the call log.
Unknown number. One minute. 7:06 PM.
Only one person would call from a blocked number and say something cryptic enough to make Ava freeze like that.
Vivienne.
I left the next morning without telling Ava. She didn't question it. Just whined about me going to work so early, clung to my neck, and made me promise I'd come back with dumplings. The same routine, always. Except today, I didn't smile.
I arrived at the café an hour early. I always do. My men followed protocol. One on the roof. One by the back door. One posing as a customer. I didn't need protection, but I did want witnesses.
Vivienne wasn't late.
She walked in like nothing had changed in seventeen years—like she hadn't walked out on a one-month-old baby and the man who begged her not to. She wore a beige coat, oversized sunglasses, hair sleek and straight. Designer from head to toe, but something in her walk had lost its rhythm. She'd aged. Beautiful still, in that cold, magazine-cover way. But brittle now. Shattered on the inside.
She saw me and smiled. "I knew it would be you. Of course it's you."
I didn't stand. Didn't greet her. Just stared.
She sat across from me and removed her glasses with a flourish. "So. How's our little sunflower doing? Still too cheerful for her own good?"
I didn't answer.
"She's exhausting, isn't she?" Vivienne went on, propping her chin on her palm. "All that optimism. All that sunshine. Doesn't it feel like she's faking it sometimes? Like she's trying too hard to be liked?"
"She's nothing like you," I said flatly.
Her smile faltered.
"She paints your nails," Vivienne said after a beat, voice sharper. "Ties bows in your hair. She sits on your lap like she's still five. She talks to your men like they're teddy bears. You raised a people-pleaser. A desperate little doll."
"You walked out on her when she was one month old," I said. "You don't get to talk about how I raised her."
Vivienne's jaw tensed. But she didn't back down. She never did.
"She's obsessed with you. Don't act like you don't know it. She's clinging to you because you're all she has. She made you her sun. Her anchor. Her goddamn emotional support animal."
I didn't blink.
"She acts like she can't breathe without you," she added, lower now, more bitter. "Clingy. Overbearing. Like you're the only thing keeping her alive."
"She loves me," I said simply.
"She worships you," Vivienne hissed. "That's not healthy. She acts like a wife, not a daughter. She's suffocating you."
I said nothing.
She leaned in, eyes gleaming. "I watched you two at the museum last month. She asked a hundred questions about ancient Rome. And you—you looked at her like she was Einstein. Like every dumb thing she said was brilliant. Like she was gold."
"She is gold," I snapped before I could stop myself.
Vivienne laughed, high and breathy. "She tucked your collar straight. Stroked your hair. Kissed your cheek every five seconds. You looked like porcelain. She treats you like a fairytale prince. And the worst part? You let her."
Still, I said nothing.
She sat back, sipping cold tea she hadn't touched until now. "You know what the worst part was?" she whispered. "Two weekends ago. At the beach."
I stiffened.
"I wore a cap. Sunglasses. Sat far away. But I saw everything."
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them.
"She wore a white sundress. Hair tied up. Sandals in her hands. She ran across the sand like she was a little kid again. She laughed. God, she laughed. Like she'd never been abandoned. Like she belonged in this world."
My throat tightened.
"She brought snacks. Sat beside you. Talked and talked and talked. You let her lean into you like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then—" Her voice cracked. "—she peeled mangoes and fed them to you. With her hands."
Silence.
"You were supposed to love me like that," Vivienne said finally, eyes glassy. "You were supposed to stay for me. You were supposed to fight for me."
"I did," I said coldly. "And you left anyway."
She flinched. "You loved her the second she was born. You replaced me."
I looked her dead in the eyes. "She replaced nothing. She's everything you never were. Bright. Kind. Brave. You left her crying in a bassinet, and now you want to show up like some ghost and poison her?"
"She deserves the truth," Vivienne spat.
"No," I said, standing. "She deserves peace. Something you'll never give her."
Vivienne rose slowly. "She'll outgrow you eventually. She'll realize how small her world is. And when she does—"
"She won't," I growled. "Because I'll make sure she never doubts how loved she is. I'll give her the world ten times over before I let her feel the kind of abandonment you left her with."
Vivienne didn't reply.
She only watched me—face twisting, just for a second, into something ugly. Jealous. Wounded. Enraged.
Then she put her sunglasses back on, picked up her purse, and walked out of the café like she hadn't just tried to tear everything I'd built apart.
I didn't stop her.
I only texted my men two words: Watch her.
Because now I knew—Vivienne wasn't done.
And if she ever touched a hair on Ava's head again, there wouldn't be a goddamn place on this planet she could hide from me.