Ava stood up, brushing her palms against her jeans, trying to ground herself. "We've been here too long. My dad's going to come up soon. You should go."
Dolly stared at her for a long second. She'd heard that tone before — the one Ava used whenever she was running from something she couldn't explain.
"You always do this," Dolly said quietly. "You pull me close, then push me away the moment it feels real."
Ava didn't look at her. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?"
"It's complicated," Ava said, her voice low. "You wouldn't understand."
Dolly stood, eyes glistening. "No, Ava. You just won't let me."
Ava turned to face her. For a brief moment, guilt flickered across her face. "Please, Dolly. Not tonight."
Dolly exhaled sharply, then forced a small, pained smile. "Fine." She reached out, tugging lightly at Ava's sleeve. "A hug at least?"
Ava hesitated — then nodded.
When Dolly stepped forward, Ava wrapped her arms around her, gently but without the warmth Dolly was searching for. Dolly closed her eyes, holding on a little longer than she should have, hoping to feel something that wasn't fading.
"Goodnight," Ava whispered, stepping back.
Dolly gave a short nod and picked up her bag. "Goodnight, babe."
As the door clicked shut behind her, Ava sank onto the edge of the bed, running a hand over her face. Her chest felt tight, her heartbeat uneven.
She stared at the window — at the rain streaking down the glass — and whispered, "Why now, Bella? Why did you have to come back now?"
Lightning flashed outside, just like it had miles away at Bella's mansion. Two women, under the same storm, both caught between what they wanted and what they couldn't have.
Dolly stepped into the hallway.
And she nearly bumped into someone.
Joyce.
Ava's mother stood in the living room near the soft lamp, wearing her house robe, glasses pushed up on her head as if she had been reading. The moment Dolly appeared, Joyce straightened.
Dolly lowered her gaze respectfully.
"Good evening, Mum."
Joyce studied her closely. She didn't miss the way Dolly's shoulders slumped, or how her eyes looked dimmer than usual. She had known this girl long enough to read her the same way she read her own daughter.
"Dolly," Joyce said gently, stepping closer, "is everything alright? Did you two have a fight?"
Dolly quickly shook her head. "No, no… nothing like that. It's just…" Her voice trembled slightly. "I feel like I'm losing Ava each day. Ever since her ex returned."
Joyce's breath hitched.
Her eyes sharpened instantly.
Her ex? After all these years?
"Her ex?" Joyce repeated slowly. "Which ex?"
"She's called Bella… if I'm not mistaken." Dolly swallowed hard, twisting her fingers nervously. "Mum, I really don't want to lose her. I love her."
Joyce's heart squeezed.
Not because Dolly was wrong—she was right.
If Bella had returned, then Dolly's heart was in danger. Joyce had feared this day might come long before Dolly even entered the picture.
But Joyce couldn't let the girl fall apart.
She placed a warm hand on Dolly's shoulder.
"Listen to me, daughter. You won't lose her. I will talk to her."
Dolly's eyes softened with a painful hope.
"Thank you, Mum."
"Go home for now," Joyce continued. "You're tired. Rest your mind."
Dolly nodded, blinking rapidly like she was trying not to cry.
"Goodnight, Mum."
"Goodnight," Joyce whispered, watching her leave with a worried, heavy heart.
The moment the door shut, Joyce sighed deeply.
Bella.
That name hadn't been spoken in years, but it still carried weight.
She turned and made her way down the hallway, gathering the courage she hadn't needed for a long time.
She knocked softly on Ava's bedroom door.
"Come in," Ava said.
Joyce pushed the door open. Ava was on her bedside sofa, sitting up but clearly tense. She looked at her mother and huffed out a tired breath.
"Let me guess," Ava said, dropping her head back against the sofa cushion. "From your face, I'm going to assume you met Dolly. And she told you about Bella."
Joyce remained silent as she crossed the room and sat beside her.
She didn't need to speak.
Her expression alone was a storm.
Ava groaned and rolled her eyes dramatically, trying to laugh it off.
"Mum, please don't start. I'm over Bella. Trust me."
But she said it while looking away.
Not meeting her mother's eyes.
Joyce noticed.
She reached forward gently, lifting Ava's chin with her fingers until their eyes met.
"Ava," she said softly, "when did she return?"
Ava exhaled. "She was in my club on my birthday. I performed there after my shift. She… showed up."
Joyce's eyebrows rose. "And you didn't tell me."
"There was nothing to tell," Ava muttered.
Joyce shook her head.
"You're my daughter. I know when you're lying. You spent years crying over that girl. Day and night."
Ava looked away quickly, jaw tightening.
And for a moment, Joyce drifted back in time.
---
Joyce remembered the call.
Late evening.
Her phone vibrates on the kitchen table.
She answered immediately.
She glanced at the screen—Claire.
Her heart skipped.
"Claire?"
"Joyce… Ava is at the mansion," Claire's voice came through, low but urgent. "I have to bring her to you ASAP."
Joyce straightened immediately. "She's at the mansion?"
"We need to talk about the kids. I'm already on my way to get her. I'll be at your place soon."
The line went dead before Joyce could ask anything else.
At the mansion gates, Ava stood stubbornly by the iron bars, her eyes fixed on the house beyond like it held the answers to her existence.
Claire stepped out of her car, composed but alert.
"Ava."
Ava turned sharply, relief flashing across her face. "Claire. Is Bella inside? I need to see her."
Claire forced a calm smile. "Not here. But I know where you can get answers. Come with me."
Ava hesitated—only for a second—then nodded and got into the car.
Inside the car, silence stretched between them before Claire finally spoke.
"You can't keep coming back to the mansion, Ava."
"I don't have a choice," Ava replied, her voice firm but trembling underneath. "Until I see Bella, I'm not stopping."
Claire tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Adrian is looking for you."
Ava scoffed lightly. "Let him look."
"No," Claire snapped, then softened. "You don't understand. He's not just looking. He's hunting. You and your mother."
Ava's expression faltered slightly, but her resolve didn't break. "Then I'll be careful. But I'm not running away from Bella."
Claire glanced at her, realizing something heavy and unmovable—
Ava wasn't going to stop.
And that made her the perfect bait.
Claire looked back at the road, her jaw tightening.
I'm sorry, she thought silently.
By the time they arrived at Joyce's new home, the tension had settled into something thick and unspoken.
Joyce opened the door before they even knocked.
"Ava!" she rushed forward, pulling her into a tight embrace.
"Mum…"
Claire watched them for a moment—something soft flickering in her eyes—before it disappeared behind urgency.
"Ava, go inside. I need to speak with your mother."
Ava looked between them, suspicious, but eventually nodded and walked in.
The door closed.
Silence.
Then—
"Claire, you said there was an emergency," Joyce said, her voice cutting through the stillness.
But Claire wasn't listening.
She was looking at Joyce.
Really looking.
Like she had forgotten everything else.
Joyce's breath caught slightly as Claire stepped closer, her hand rising instinctively to cup her face.
"Claire—"
The protest died as Claire kissed her.
Soft at first… then deeper, like she was holding onto something she might lose.
Joyce melted into it for a brief second before pulling back, breathless.
"Claire… focus."
Claire exhaled, a faint smile ghosting her lips. "Right. The emergency."
Joyce crossed her arms, trying to steady herself. "Talk."
Claire's expression shifted instantly—back to calculated, serious.
"I need you to do something. It's going to protect you… and Ava."
Joyce's brows furrowed. "What is it?"
Claire reached into her bag and pulled out a folded paper.
"I forged a letter," she said. "Bella's handwriting. Perfectly."
Joyce stared at it like it might burn her. "Is this supposed to fix her… or break her even more?"
Claire didn't hesitate. "It will break her. Completely."
Joyce's face tightened. "Claire…"
"It will push her back to the mansion," Claire continued. "She'll go looking for Bella."
"But we're trying to keep her away from there!"
"Yes," Claire said, her tone sharpening. "But I'm setting a trap for Adrian."
Joyce froze.
"I'll have my men leak information that Ava is at the mansion," Claire went on. "He'll come running. He won't resist the chance to strike."
"To strike?" Joyce echoed, fear creeping into her voice. "You mean—"
"He might try to shoot her."
Joyce stepped back, horrified. "Adrian is that cruel?"
Claire's eyes darkened. "He can be worse. I heard him myself—he ordered his men to kidnap you and Ava. Quietly. No trace. Like you never existed."
Joyce's hand flew to her mouth.
"I love you, Joyce," Claire said softly. "And I know Bella loves Ava. I won't let that happen."
Joyce swallowed hard. "So if Ava goes to the mansion… then what happens to me?"
"You go back to Becky."
Joyce's head snapped up immediately. "No. No, Claire—I can't. I want you. I love you."
"Calm down," Claire said, stepping closer again. "I'm not asking you to go back as her wife."
"Then why Becky?"
Claire hesitated briefly. "I did some research on her… the day she came to the mansion for you."
Joyce blinked. "You were jealous."
"I was," Claire admitted without shame. "I needed to know who she was."
"And what did you find?"
Claire lowered her voice. "She can mimic voices. Perfectly. Anyone's voice—without a trace."
Joyce frowned deeply. "How do I not know this?"
"It's not something she advertises," Claire said. "You can ask her later. We don't have time."
Joyce stared at her, realization slowly dawning.
"Claire… you want Becky to speak to her daughter… pretending to be Bella… and break up with her?"
"Correct."
Joyce shook her head immediately. "No. Becky would never do that. Not to her daughter."
"You need to convince her."
"Claire, Becky is a psychopath," Joyce snapped. "She'd rather fight Adrian head-on than shatter her own child's heart."
Claire's gaze hardened. "Do you want me to go handle it myself? Because I can be a psychopath too."
Joyce scoffed despite the tension. "You and Becky under one roof? That's a disaster waiting to happen."
"Then handle it," Claire said simply.
Joyce sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. "I'll find a way."
Claire's expression softened slightly. "Good girl."
Joyce shot her a look but didn't argue.
A beat passed.
Then Claire spoke again—calm, precise, like she was outlining something ordinary.
"After you're done, I'll call you. You'll return to the mansion, pick up Ava…"
Joyce nodded slowly—then froze as Claire finished the sentence.
"…and you're going to crash the car. With both of you in it."
Joyce blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"Wait—what?" she let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Claire… are you crazy?"
Claire held her gaze, unflinching.
"Let me explain."