Can Such Happen?

After muttering a few words to the towering man behind the wheel, Ava quickly stepped down from the sleek black car, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. As the car sped off behind her with a quiet purr, she didn’t turn to watch it disappear—she couldn’t bear the thought of being spotted exiting such a luxurious, unfamiliar vehicle in a neighborhood like hers. She had made sure to be dropped off several blocks away. The last thing she needed was anyone gossiping or making assumptions about where she had been or, worse, with whom.

The morning air was crisp, a subtle breeze playing with the hem of her dress as she walked, clutching her purse tightly to her side. The longer the distance, the heavier her steps became. She knew what she was walking into—and no amount of prepared explanations or practiced apologies would be enough.

When the Taylor residence finally came into view, her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes scanned the driveway for Hazel’s car, hoping against hope that her cousin had returned—but the empty space where it usually sat told her all she needed to know. Hazel was gone. A lump formed in her throat as anxiety gnawed at her insides. Hazel would have protected her, would’ve stood up for her, would’ve made Emma listen.

Ava mounted the porch steps slowly, counting each one like it was her last breath of peace. Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around the doorknob, slowly turning it. The door creaked open. She stepped inside—and immediately froze.

Standing in the center of the living room was Emma.

Still as a statue. Eyes dark as storm clouds. Lips pressed into a thin, furious line.

Ava’s heart plummeted. She didn’t need to hear the words to know the storm had already begun.

“Where are you coming from, Ava?” Emma asked, her voice eerily calm as she advanced toward her daughter with slow, deliberate steps.

Ava remained frozen, unable to move or even breathe properly. Sweat coated her palms, her purse nearly slipping from her grip. Her voice cracked as she found the courage to respond.

“Mom, I promise, I can explain. Just—just please let me explain—”

SLAP.

The sharp sting across her cheek came before she could finish. Ava reeled, her head snapping to the side as a burning sensation spread across her face. Her hand flew up instinctively, covering the spot. A buzzing sound filled her ears, and her vision blurred for a moment.

Emma didn’t flinch. Her voice rose, sharp and full of venom.

“Two years!” she hissed. “Charlotte is older than you by two whole years, and not once has she spent the night outside this house. But you? The moment you get the smallest taste of freedom, you go out and disgrace yourself!”

Ava’s lips parted, but nothing came out except a soft sob. Her mother’s words were daggers, and each one buried itself deeper than the last.

“Hazel was worried sick over you! She blamed herself, thinking you got hurt—but no. You were out there being a little slut! Just like I always suspected.”

“Mom, please—”

“A bitch,” Emma spat, her voice cracking with disgust, “who gets into cars with strange men and spreads her legs like it’s nothing. Is that the kind of daughter I raised?”

The words were knives. Ava felt them lodge into her chest, one after the other. Her knees wobbled beneath her.

High above, on the staircase, Charlotte leaned against the rail, arms folded and an insufferable smile plastered across her lips. She drank in the sight like it was champagne—Ava humiliated, small, and broken.

“You’re disgusting,” Emma continued, her voice quivering with rage. “Go to your room. And don’t even think of stepping out until I say so.”

Ava didn’t speak. She didn’t look up. She ran.

Her feet pounded up the stairs, past Charlotte, who offered a quiet scoff under her breath. Her hands fumbled with the lock on her bedroom door. Once inside, she slammed it shut, pressed her back against it, and sank to the floor.

The dam burst.

Tears streamed down her cheeks in hot, silent rivers. She curled up into herself on the floor, hugging her knees tight to her chest. The room felt cold despite the sunlight streaming through the blinds. She rocked back and forth slowly, her sobs muffled against her own arms. Emma’s voice echoed in her mind like a cruel lullaby.

“A bitch who gets into cars with strange men…”

She clutched her chest, wishing she could rip out her heart to silence the pain. How could her own mother say something so vile? Why did her very existence seem to offend them so much?

******

At Gonzalez Corp.

“…So we should be able to complete the product testing phase by mid-November,” said the project lead, Adams Hill, addressing the room full of shareholders and executives.

Silence lingered for a beat too long.

“I think you’re pushing yourselves too hard,” said Mr. Robinson Green, an older man with sharp eyes. “Move the deadline back. It’s better to delay than to underdeliver.”

“I respectfully disagree,” Adams replied. “The holiday rush is our target window—we have to hit it.”

The room murmured with mixed opinions. But Adams couldn’t help stealing nervous glances at the man sitting at the head of the table.

Zachary Gonzalez sat quietly, a picture of composure. His hands rested rhythmically against the table, fingers tapping lightly. His gaze, though fixed on the projection screen, was clearly far away.

He hadn’t heard a single word. His mind wasn’t here. It hadn’t been since the meeting started.

Ava Taylor.

That was the only thought rattling through his head. The image of her from last night, the way she looked when she cried out his name—no, Cole’s name—still lingered in his mind like smoke. It pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

“Mr. Gonzalez?” a voice finally cut through.

He blinked once, slowly. The room had gone still, awaiting his verdict.

His tone was clipped and cold. “We’re out of time. This meeting is over.”

And just like that, he stood and exited the room, not sparing a single glance at the stunned attendees.

***

Outside, Blake straightened up when he saw Zac approaching. His boss’s aura was especially intense today, enough to send warning bells through the air.

Standing just beside the doorway was a tall, burly man—Zac’s personal bodyguard. Blake nodded toward him politely, but the man didn’t even acknowledge his existence.

“Did she arrive safely?” he asked, voice low and direct.

The bodyguard hesitated—shocked. Since when did Zac ask after any woman?

“Yes, Boss,” he answered. “Reid is back. He’s waiting downstairs.”

Zac didn’t respond. He turned and walked swiftly toward the elevators.

“Stay back,” he said to Blake without turning, his voice firm. Blake flinched as if hit with a gust of icy wind and quickly stepped aside.

But before he turned away, he noticed two female employees watching Zac from behind a corner.

“How is someone that handsome real?” whispered Rose, eyes sparkling.

“I wish he’d look at me—just once,” Catherine replied with a smirk.

Rose snapped her gaze to her friend. “You want his attention? But you know I—”

Catherine grinned. “Then let’s compete, shall we?”

They giggled until Blake’s voice snapped them out of their trance. “Don’t you two have something to do?”

They bolted, red-faced.

Blake watched them disappear and shook his head.

“No way,” he muttered. “No woman stands a chance with him…”

**

In the car, Zac stared blankly out the window. Reid hesitated before speaking.

“Where’s Travis?” Zac asked calmly, though his tone betrayed a darker edge.

Reid hesitated. “It was too late, Zac. They got him.”

Zac’s jaw clenched.

“Walker’s men. They killed him.”

The tension in Zac’s face became visible—his temples tight, veins protruding from his clenched fists.

Travis… was dead.

And blood would be spilled.