"I wanted to hate him, but I craved his sincerity more than I should have."
—Ava Carter Reed
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Ava's Point of View
The dining hall of Dia's mansion felt more like a royal gallery than a place for food. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, throwing fractured light across a long mahogany table that looked like it could host a hundred guests with ease. The high ceilings made the space echo with even the faintest sound—the scrape of cutlery, the shuffle of footsteps, the rustle of fabric.
Yet despite all that grandeur, there we were: Dylan and I, seated at one corner of the endless table, two small figures in an ocean of luxury. The silence between us was louder than anything.
