003

She had signed the papers. Packed her things. Walked away from ten years of devotion like she was shedding a skin that no longer fit.

The night air felt sharper than she expected when she stepped outside. Cold enough to bite through the thin fabric of her sleeves. The house behind her stayed lit, bright and alive, like nothing had ended at all. Like she hadn’t just been erased from it.

Ava didn’t look back.

She walked down the driveway with her bag over her shoulder and suitcase in hand, her movements controlled. Her hands shook slightly, but she didn’t stop walking. She refused to let that house see her hesitate. She reached her car, opened the door, and sat behind the wheel for a moment longer than necessary.

Only then did she let out a breath.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. A message from Landon’s lawyer. Formal and Final.

She turned the phone off.

The engine started smoothly. The road stretched ahead of her, quiet and dark, streetlights spaced far apart. The city felt distant, like it belonged to someone else’s life. Ava drove without thinking much about where she was going. Anywhere was better than there.

Her mind replayed the scene she had just left behind, not with pain, but with clarity. The way Scarlett’s hand had rested on her stomach. The way Landon had avoided her eyes. The ease with which Giselle had dismissed ten years as wasted time.

Strangely, none of it hurt the way it once would have.

She felt empty. Light. Like something heavy had been cut loose.

She was halfway through the intersection when everything went wrong.

A car appeared out of nowhere, swerving too fast, too close. Ava barely registered the headlights before metal slammed into metal. The world exploded in a violent roar—glass shattered, flying inward, the smell of smoke and burning rubber filling her nose. Her body jerked forward, the seatbelt biting across her chest. Pain flared white-hot, blinding, consuming everything.

When Ava opened her eyes, the world was silent.

Her ears rang. Her vision blurred at the edges. She became aware of the smell first. Smoke. Burnt rubber. Something metallic. Her chest hurt when she breathed, but she could breathe, and that mattered.

She was alive. Thankfully.

She blinked slowly, testing her body piece by piece. Her hands moved. Her legs followed. Pain flared along her ribs and shoulder, sharp enough to make her wince, but it was pain she could feel.

Her door was crushed inward, but not completely. She pushed it open with effort and stumbled out onto the road. The night air rushed in, cold and grounding.

That was when she saw the other car.

It had spun sideways, its front completely wrecked. The hood was folded like paper. Steam poured out from beneath it. The driver’s side door hung open.

Someone was inside.

Ava’s heart started racing again, harder this time. She forced her body to move, ignoring the protest from her ribs as she crossed the distance between the cars.

“Hey,” she called, her voice rough. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

She reached the door and froze.

She knew that face.

It was Greyson Beaufort.

Even unconscious, even bloodied, he was unmistakable. The sharp lines, the controlled stillness, the presence that didn’t disappear even when he was broken and wounded.

For a split second, Ava simply stared.

This was the man she had overheard at the hospital. The billionaire who had been counting his remaining time in months. The man who needed an heir before his life ran out.

And now he lay here, bleeding, unmoving.

Ava swallowed hard and pushed the thoughts away. This was not the time.

She checked his pulse, relief washing through her when she felt it, weak but present. She pressed her jacket against the cut on his head and pulled out her phone, dialing for help with fingers that barely shook.

She stayed with him while they waited. Talked to him, even though she wasn’t sure he could hear. Told him to keep breathing. Told him help was coming. Her mind stayed focused, practical, doing what needed to be done.

When the ambulance arrived, she didn’t move away until the paramedics physically took over. Only then did the adrenaline begin to fade, leaving behind exhaustion and pain.

They insisted she be checked too. A cracked rib. Bruising. A concussion that would need watching. She nodded through it all, answering questions mechanically.

At the hospital, the world slowed again.

Ava sat in a plastic chair, her arm wrapped, her head throbbing dully. Nurses passed. Time stretched. She stared at the floor, replaying the night in pieces. The papers. The crash.

Eventually, a doctor approached her. “He’s stable,” he said. “You got to him quickly and That helped.”

Ava nodded thanking the doctor

Hours passed again.

She was there when it happened, sitting quietly by the window, half-asleep but alert. His eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first. Confusion crossed his face before recognition settled in.

“Excuse me.”

She looked up.

He was awake now, propped slightly against the pillows. His eyes were alert despite the bruises, studying her carefully, like he was trying to piece together something important.

“You were the one, right?,” he said slowly. “At the accident.”

“Yes.”

“You stayed.”

She nodded once.

They told me,” Greyson continued after a moment. “If you hadn’t called it in so fast… it would’ve been worse.”

Ava shifted in her chair. “I did what anyone would.”

He watched her for a moment. “Most people don’t.”

Silence settled between them, not comfortable, not awkward either.

“Thank you,” he said finally. The words were simple. Earnest. “You saved my life.”

Something sharp twisted in her chest. Not pride or gratitude. Just the cruel irony of it all.

She stood slowly, every movement reminding her she was still injured.

He frowned slightly. “But do I know you?”

“No.”

“That’s… strange,” he said. “I feel like I should.”

“You don’t.”

Another pause. His gaze sharpened. “Then why are you still here?”

“Because earlier today,” she said quietly, “I overheard a conversation in this hospital. Yours.” She added.

His expression changed instantly. Guarded. Closed

“I heard enough to know you’re running out of time,” she continued. “And enough to know you’re trying to prevent someone else from taking what you built.”

He stared at her now, openly assessing. “Who are you?”

Ava met his gaze, exhaustion, anger, and clarity colliding in her chest.

“Someone who just lost everything,” she said. “And someone who didn’t plan on surviving tonight.”

She took a breath.

“You thanked me for saving your life,” she said. “I’m not here for thanks.”

His jaw tightened. “Then what do you want?”

“I want to make you an offer.”