Reading The Will

Ava's POV

“I’ll miss you,” I whispered, the words barely a breath, as the last shovelful of soil cascaded onto their caskets. My parents, gone. Just like that.

The cool earth against my knees was a brutal comfort and a physical anchor in the swirling tempest of my grief. The world blurred through a veil of unshed tears but I forced myself to scan the small gathering. No sign of Carlos. No sign of his simpering wife, Elena. It wasn’t a surprise, not really. They hadn’t bothered with the hospital, hadn’t bothered with the funeral arrangements, why start now?

The other mourners, mostly my father’s business associates and college friends, seemed oblivious to their absence. They pressed in, offering platitudes, their voices a muffled drone. “Such a tragedy, Ava.” “Your parents would be so proud of you, dear.”

Proud? Of what? Of standing here, a hollow shell, trying to hide the gaping wound in my soul from prying eyes? I plastered on a weak, polite smile, nodding, murmuring thanks, all the while praying no one would see the tremor in my lower lip, the unshed tears burning behind my eyes. I couldn't let them see. I couldn't let them know how utterly, irrevocably broken I was.

The drive home was a blur of exhaustion and numb despair. The house felt like a mausoleum. I pushed open the front door, the silence within louder than any shout. And then I saw them. Carlos, his face a mask of barely suppressed rage, Elena, smirking in the background, and Richard, our family lawyer, looking uncomfortable.

“Ava! Get over here, now!” Carlos’s voice, harsh and demanding, shattered the fragile quiet. He pointed to the armchair opposite him. “We’re reading the will.”

My blood ran cold. He hadn't bothered to attend his own parents's funeral, but he was here, ready to dissect the spoils of death. The audacity, the sheer and unadulterated disrespect, choked me. My gaze flickered to Richard. The lawyer met my eyes with a flicker of apology. I knew, with a sickening certainty, that Carlos had tried to pressure him to start without me. But Richard, despite his usual quiet demeanor, had a stubborn streak of integrity. He must have refused.

I sank into the armchair, the plush fabric offering no comfort. My heart hammered against my ribs in a frantic drumbeat of dread. Richard cleared his throat, his voice low and formal as he began to read. The words, at first a meaningless jumble, slowly fell into a horrifying reality. The company, the estates and the villa, all the properties, both in the country and outside – everything. Everything went to Carlos.

A cold dread spread through me, chilling me to the bone. It couldn’t be. My parents, who had showered me with love, who had always ensured I had everything I needed, would never leave me with nothing. Carlos was adopted, yes, brought into the family because my mother couldn’t bear a son, in the hope he’d one day run the company. But they would never have disinherited me. Never.

Richard, looking even more uncomfortable, excused himself, leaving me alone with the viper. Carlos’s eyes gleamed with a predatory satisfaction.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” he began, a sneer twisting his lips, “we need to discuss your future, Ava.”

I stared at him, my mind reeling. “My future?” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes. You’re no longer a child, and it’s time you pulled your weight. I’ve arranged a marriage for you.” The words hit me like a blow. A choked gasp escaped my lips. “You what? You can’t be serious!”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m perfectly serious. He’s a wealthy man, a good match. It will solidify our family’s standing even further.”

"Our family?" My voice rose, a tremor of fury running through it. "You think you can just marry me off like some chattel? I am not your property, Carlos!"

“You will do as I say!” His voice boomed, echoing in the now too-large living room. “You have nothing, Ava. Absolutely nothing. Everything that was Father’s is now mine. And that includes you.”

His words were brutal and true and felt like a slap. He had everything. And with everything, he had absolute power. Power to control me, to crush me and to ensure I would never escape. A cold, determined resolve hardened within me. I couldn't stay. Not here. Not under his thumb.

Suddenly, a flash of hope ignited as I thought of my grandfather. He’d always been a wild card and he’d often hinted about an inheritance, something he’d set aside just for me. It was a long shot, but it was my only shot.

“I’m done, Carlos,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. “I’m done being oppressed. Done being treated like a slave in my own home. You can keep your rotten inheritance and your despicable plans.”

I pushed myself up, my legs feeling surprisingly steady. Carlos’s face contorted in a mixture of shock and fury. “Where do you think you’re going?!” he roared, rising to his feet. “You can’t just walk out!”

“Watch me,” I retorted, my voice laced with venom. I strode towards the door, not daring to look back, the oppressive weight of his presence a physical burden lifted with every step.

The cool night air was a welcome shock against my heated skin. I walked aimlessly, my mind was a chaotic whirlwind of anger, fear and a desperate, burgeoning hope. Eventually, my feet led me to a dimly lit bar, its neon sign was like a beacon in the oppressive darkness. I pushed open the door, the thumping bass of music a jarring contrast to the quiet of my internal turmoil.

I approached the bar, the bartender's eyes flicking over me. “Whiskey,” I said, my voice hoarse. I reached into my bag for my purse, only to realize with a sinking feeling, that I had left it at home in my haste.

“Looks like you’re out of luck, sweetheart,” the bartender said, his voice flat.

Just then, a smooth, deep voice spoke from behind me. “Allow me.”

I turned to see a man in a impeccably tailored suit, a charming smile gracing his lips. He was handsome, in a dark, brooding sort of way. “Paul,” he introduced himself, extending a hand. “Why don’t you join me and my friends in the VIP section? My treat.”

My pride screamed no but the thought of returning to that house, to Carlos, made my stomach clench. And he seemed genuinely considerate. Reluctantly, I nodded. “Thank you.”

He led me through the crowded bar, past velvet ropes, into a more secluded area. Three other men were lounging on plush sofas, drinks in hand. They eyed me with a look that made my skin crawl. Paul, trying to be the charming host, handed me a drink. “Here, this will help you relax.”

I took a sip, the liquid warm and sweet, but something about it tasted off. A strange lightheadedness began to creep in after an uncomfortable moment, a fuzzy disconnect between my mind and my body. The men, their smiles widening, started to close in. Their hands brushed against my arms and my back, lingering with their eyes filled with a disturbing, malicious intent.

“Are you enjoying yourself, beautiful?” one of them purred, his fingers tracing a line up my arm.

Panic flared. The drink. It was spiked. “I… I need to go,” I stammered, trying to stand but my legs felt like jelly.

Their laughter was a cruel chorus. “Not so fast, pretty.” Their persistence became overwhelming as they realized the drug was taking hold. They seized me, their grip like vises. I fought, clawed but my movements were sluggish, uncoordinated. One of them, a burly man with a cruel grin, tried to tear my shirt.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across the room. The laughter died. All the men froze, their faces contorted in expressions of pure, unadulterated fear.

“Lorenzo,” one of them choked out, his voice trembling. “Fancy seeing you here. Care to… join us? The little whore here seems to enjoy a crowd.”

The intruder, a dark, imposing figure, said nothing. But his silence was more terrifying than any threat. My vision was blurring, the room swaying but I could sense the immense power radiating from him. The men started to panic and their bravado evaporating.

Finally, his voice, cold and sharp as a razor’s edge, cut through the tension. “You can do whatever you want. But not in my bar.”

The men tried to laugh it off with a pathetic, forced sound. “No fun, Lorenzo. No beautiful ladies yet until happy hour. Besides, she clearly wanted it. Walked into the lion’s den like a lamb ready for slaughter.”

Lorenzo was quiet for a long moment, the silence thick with menace. Then, he spoke again, his voice even colder. “Twenty seconds. Let go of her. Or get out of my bar.”

Their faces paled. Paul, with a desperate and guttural cry, suddenly drew a gun, pointing it at Lorenzo.

The world went silent. Then, the shattering of glass.

Screams. Gunshots exploded, a symphony of chaos. The acrid smell of blood filled the air, thick and metallic.

I tried to push myself up, my body heavy and my head throbbing. Around me, the bodies of the men who had held me captive lay sprawled, lifeless. A dark spot edged at my vision. Just before I completely succumbed, I felt the rough fabric of a jacket draped over me.

Then, strong arms swept me up, cradling me against a powerful chest. The masculine scent of leather and spice enveloped me like a strange, comforting anchor in the swirling darkness. And then, everything went black.

****

I woke with a groan, my head aching with a dull and persistent throb. The room was unfamiliar, luxurious even. A hotel room. It all came flooding back–the will, Carlos, the bar, the terrifying men, and then… Lorenzo. The dark figure, the gunshots, the smell of blood.

A wave of shame washed over me. What had I done? My impulsive actions, fueled by anger and despair, had led me into a nightmare. I was a fool, a complete and utter fool. And the man who saved me, who was he?

I swung my legs out of bed, the crisp sheets cool against my skin. No money. No destination. No choice. I had to go back. Back to that house and back to Carlos.

The walk home was a march of resignation. As I pushed open the front door, the familiar, suffocating air of the house enveloped me. Elena was in the living room, perched on the edge of a sofa, her eyes narrowed.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” she sneered, rising to her feet. “Decided to come back, did we?”

My courage, so fierce yesterday, had evaporated into the morning air. I felt small, defeated. “I’m… I’m leaving, i just came to get my stuff.” I stammered, my voice barely audible. “I’d rather die than marry a stranger--”

The words were barely out of my mouth when a cold, metallic press against the back of my head silenced me. I froze, every nerve ending screaming. Someone was behind me.