Chapter Sixteen

Ava’s POV

I woke to the soft sound of curtains being drawn and the pale morning light spilling across the bed.

For a moment I lay still, staring at the high ceiling, the events of the previous day settling over me again. Corren had agreed to let me return to school. He had also decided we were going shopping. The two facts sat side by side in my mind—freedom carefully measured out by the same man who still required me to call him Daddy every night.

A maid entered with a tray and the now-familiar envelope. The note was short.

Breakfast in the small dining room. Wear the cream dress. We leave at ten. — Daddy

I showered, dressed in the cream dress that had appeared in the closet, and made my way downstairs. Corren was already seated at the table, coffee in hand, reviewing something on a tablet. He looked up as I entered, eyes moving over me in that slow, assessing way that always made my skin warm.

“Good morning, Ava.”

“Good morning, Daddy.”

The title came more easily now. He gestured to the chair at his right. I sat, and almost immediately his hand settled on my thigh beneath the tablecloth—warm, proprietary, a quiet reminder of the rules that still governed everything between us. Breakfast was simple and quiet. He asked a few practical questions about the courses I wanted to take. I answered. The pressure of his palm against my leg never fully left.

At ten o’clock sharp one of the black SUVs pulled up to the front entrance. Raymond stood near the door, speaking quietly into an earpiece. Corren guided me outside with a hand at the small of my back. The driver opened the rear door. I slid in; Corren followed. The moment the door closed, the estate fell away behind us.

The drive into the city was smooth and silent. Corren spent most of it on a call, speaking in low, precise sentences about contracts and timelines. I watched the buildings grow taller through the tinted glass and tried to ignore the way my body remained aware of him beside me—the clean scent of his cologne, the controlled stillness of his posture, the memory of his hands from the night before.

We stopped first at a private boutique that did not appear to be open to the public. A woman in a tailored black suit met us at the door and addressed Corren by name. She already knew my size. Dresses were brought out without discussion—structured, elegant, expensive. Corren sat in a low chair and watched while I tried them on. He rejected two with a single shake of his head. The third, a deep navy piece with clean lines, earned a short nod.

“That one,” he said. “And the black. Have them sent to the house.”

There was no discussion of price. Cards were not even brought out. Everything simply moved according to his quiet authority.

We visited two more stores in the same manner—shoes, a structured bag suitable for campus, and a few practical pieces he deemed appropriate for university. Each time, Corren’s presence shaped the interaction. Sales associates deferred to him. I stood slightly behind or beside him, the cream dress feeling increasingly like part of a uniform I had not chosen myself. The sensation was complicated: resentment threaded with a low, unwilling heat.

By early afternoon the SUV was loaded with bags. I expected us to return to the estate. Instead the driver took a different route, climbing toward a quieter, more exclusive district of the city. Corren checked his watch.

“We’re making one stop,” he said. “An old acquaintance. It won’t take long.”

The car turned into a private courtyard in front of a modern glass building. A man was already waiting near the entrance—older than Corren, silver-haired, wearing a suit that looked equally expensive. Beside him stood a younger man in his mid-twenties, tall and well-dressed, with the easy posture of someone born into money.

We stepped out of the car. The older man smiled broadly when he saw Corren.

Corren moved forward, hand extended.

“Longest time, old friend,” Corren said as he went to shake his billionaire companion, while the billionaire’s son was just staring and looking at my beauty.