AVA
She jerked her hands away from the box as though it had suddenly burned her.
Then Ava stared at it in surprise, holding her breath.
Of course, Ava had seen the box before. She knew what it was and even what it contained—all the reminders of her relationship with Maxim: pictures of them together, heartfelt letters, and sketchbooks she had dedicated entirely to drawing him. But she hadn't looked inside it in so long that she'd even forgotten it was under the bed.
Ava pressed her lips together angrily before letting out a frustrated breath.
Why did she have to find the stupid box now? Why did the universe keep reminding her of Maxim when all she wanted was to forget him?
Was the universe perhaps trying to mock her?
Ava clicked her tongue in annoyance.
Enough was enough.
She was going to get rid of these things, Ava told herself. After all, she had already made the decision to stop thinking about a man who had treated her so horribly. And rightfully so.
This nonsense was ending today.
She bent down and grabbed either side of the box, intending to lift it and throw the whole thing into the trash that very instant.
But just as she lifted it, the bottom suddenly gave way in her hands, sending a jumble of the keepsakes spilling onto the floor.
Ava gasped, startled.
"Are you kidding me right now?!" she exclaimed, staring at the mess on the floor.
If Ava had any doubts about invisible forces working against her, she didn't anymore.
She had intended to throw all the items inside the box away without touching or looking at them, to make things easier on herself.
But now, it looked like she'd have to do exactly what she didn't want to do.
And not only was this going to be a harder on her, but it was also going to delay her from getting to work.
Ava sighed, hating the situation she was in but also knowing there was no way around it.
She would pick up every item without dwelling on a single one, she promised herself. She'd be as detached as Maxim had been about her all those years ago.
Ava let out an exasperated groan before kneeling down to begin.
The first thing her hand reached for was a folded piece of paper.
Her hand stopped and hovered over it as she stared. She was unable to help her reaction when she immediately recognized the love letter.
It was one of her favorite ones from Maxim.
Ava had read it so many times that she'd practically memorized it. Yet, like every time she saw it, she felt an inexplicable urge to read it again.
Ava held her breath, her fingers moving toward it almost subconsciously.
Slowly, she picked up the letter and unfolded it. It was creased from all the other times she'd read it. Her eyes roved over the paper.
«My dearest Ava,
I'm so happy you asked me to live with you yesterday.
It kills me every time we're apart. I'm sure I automatically forget how to smile when that happens.
Remember that time you asked me why I always smile whenever I look at you?
I lied and said I didn't know.
The truth is, every time I see you, my brain forgets whatever important thing it was thinking. It's just funny to me becausethat never, ever happens unless you're here.
When we're living together, I bet this is going to be horribly inconvenient for me...
...but I think I can learn to live with that too, as long as I have you, baby.
Yours, now and forever,
Maxim»
Unlike the heartache Ava usually felt whenever she read the letter, this time she felt nothing but fury coursing through her.
Every word on the page had been a lie. It always had been.
They hadn't even been able to live together after he'd given her that letter. She'd gotten arrested before that, and Maxim had promptly disappeared around that time.
He hadn't had any qualms about leaving the source of his smiles once they'd locked her up, Ava thought bitterly. He had left like the heartless deserter he was.
Ava's fingers tightened around the letter as she considered crushing it into a ball.
Just then, a vibration buzzed in her pocket.
At the same time, a loud, continuous tune filled the room with its insistent sound.
It was Ava's alarm.
The one she'd set to remind herself when only ten minutes were left before the café opened—and before she needed to be there to open it.
"Shoot."
Ava slowly placed the letter on the bed before fishing her phone out of her pocket and silencing the alarm.
She slipped the phone back into her clothes once more, glancing at the letter again before looking at the rest of the items scattered across the floor.
She'd get rid of all of it later, she decided.
Right now, she just needed to get to work.
Kneeling down again, she hurriedly gathered everything without looking too closely—letters, photographs, miniature portraits, sketchbooks, and little keepsakes she'd collected over the course of her and Maxim's relationship.
She dumped all the items onto the bed.
"Later," she swore to herself.
Then she turned away from it all, doing her best to ignore the small voice in the back of her mind insisting that delaying the matter wasn't a good idea.
She tuned it out completely. After all, the stuff had been right there in her home for five years. A few more hours wouldn't make any difference.
It wasn't like anything was going to change.
---
MAXIM
Gazing down at his family, Maxim felt the rage he'd been trying to suppress begin rising to the surface.
For the first time ever, he found himself having violent thoughts about these particular people.
"Are you just going to stand there, son?" Jonathan Holloway asked. "Aren't you going to greet your family?"
"What are you all doing in my house?" Maxim responded in a hard voice.
He continued descending the remaining steps until he was standing directly in front of his father.
The man was as tall as Maxim, completely bald, and had brown eyes like his daughter. As usual, Jonathan Holloway exuded power and absolute control.
"Clara suggested that we stop by this morning and check on how you were doing after you fainted in front of everyone yesterday," his mother said in a neutral tone while removing her sunglasses.
Maxim's gaze shifted to her.
As always, Tiffany was dressed a bit younger than her fifty-five years, almost as juvenile as Clara. She wore white jeans, a matching blouse, and a pair of elegant high heels. But even with the sunglasses perched atop her blonde head, she still looked her age. Not ugly—she was quite beautiful, honestly—but her fifty-five years showed.
For a brief moment, a pang of emotion struck Maxim as he looked at her.
Before his accident, he and Tiffany had been as close as a mother and son could be. Even after she'd married Jonathan Holloway mostly for money, she'd never stopped being a mother to him. She'd even promised to talk Jonathan out of his obsession with making Maxim his successor. Despite her youthful nature, Tiffany's first priority had always been Maxim.
Or at least, that was what Maxim had believed.
After the accident, she'd helped reinforce Jonathan's lies. And she'd fed him the same garbage he'd been told by his stepfather. Worse still, she had never been as warm toward him as she'd once been. Instead, she'd seemed to go out of her way to avoid him.
For years, Maxim had convinced himself that maybe his mother simply wasn't the affectionate kind.
Now he suspected that it had never been about a lack of love.
She simply couldn't bear to face what she'd helped do to him.
"I didn't know you cared that much, Mom," he replied coldly.
Tiffany blinked at him in shock and crossed her arms, but she didn't reply. She tried to figure it out while looking at him but she wasn't sure what was going on with her son.
At least not yet. But she would soon.
"Speak for yourself, Tiffany," Jonathan cut in, drawing Maxim's attention back to him. "I'm here to discuss important business with our son. I need to know how he's going about locating the person who dared to act against us."
The two men locked eyes.
As Jonathan spoke, Maxim couldn't register what he was saying, and he couldn't care less. All he could think about was the web of lies and manipulation schemes that the man had woven around his life, stealing the last five years from him.
Because of this man...
His identity.
His future plans.
And most importantly...
Ava.
Maxim fought the urge to hit his own stepfather. Clara, always able to read people, must have sensed Maxim's thoughts because she immediately stepped forward toward the two men.
"Dad, can't all of this wait?" she said with an uneasy smile. "We've come all this way. Maxim's butler, Albert, said Maxim hasn't had breakfast yet, and neither have we. Why don't we eat in the garden before anything else?"
Despite her pleas, her father didn't spare her a glance, and neither did her stepbrother.
Maxim, in particular, was angry at Clara.
She was the one person in the family he'd trusted completely.
The one person he'd believed would always stand by him.
Yet she'd betrayed him just as thoroughly as his parents had.
"I'm sorry, but this is important, Clara. Breakfast will have to wait," Jonathan replied. "Come, son. Let's go to your study."
Jonathan stepped around Maxim. He had barely taken a single step toward the staircase when Maxim suddenly blocked his path.
Before anyone could react, Maxim grabbed Jonathan violently by the collar and slammed him back against the staircase.
"You bastard!" he roared, his voice echoing through the foyer. "You took everything away from me!"
Jonathan gasped as his stepson half-strangled him with his clothes. His stoic look disappeared from his face, replaced by pure shock as he stared at Maxim, who still held him by the collar of his shirt. He was so surprised he seemed unable to form a single coherent response.
Clara instinctively stepped back from the scene, a surprised hand covering her mouth.
"Let your father go right now, Maxim Holloway," Tiffany told him in a voice she hadn't used on him since before the accident.
She tried to hide it, but she was very alarmed and slightly frightened.
Maxim turned his face toward her, still gripping Jonathan's shirt.
"We both know he is not my father, Mom. And Holloway isn't my real name."
The words left Maxim's mouth without emotion. He looked between his three family members, who were gazing at him intensely, probably wondering if he had finally lost his marbles.
"And before anyone tries to feed me one more fucking lie..." Maxim said, his voice low and dangerous. "Let me tell you something. I finally remember."
He paused.
"I remember everything."