All Chapters of For The Fifth Vow: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Ava St. James had faced hurricanes, heartbreak, and her children’s questionable life choices—but nothing, nothing prepared her for the moment Marcus du Prée texted:“My mother and daughter would like to meet you. Tonight.”She stared at her phone like it had started speaking in tongues.“Tonight?” she whispered to herself, pacing her living room. “Not next week? Not never? Tonight?”The St. James family did not do “neutral” well. They did loud, loving, dramatic, judgmental, and—on a good day—charismatic. But quiet first impressions? No. That required restraint. And sobriety.Ava peeked into the kitchen where Uncle Rory was yelling at his gumbo like it owed him money and Genevieve was stirring potato salad while FaceTiming her prayer group for backup seasoning advice.“This is a mistake,” Ava muttered. “I should call it off. I should fake a stomach ache. I should—”The doorbell rang.Ava froze.“Oh, Lord…they’re early.”Genevieve ran to the front window like a spy. “Sister…is that a BL

Three days after the du Prées invaded her dining room, Ava woke up with the strange sensation that something was moving around her life that she had not authorized.It was not God.It was family.She could feel it in the way her phone kept buzzing, in the way Ruth’s texts were unusually short, in the way Genevieve had called her three times and only left one message that said, “Drink water and mind your business—love you.”Nothing good ever followed that sentence.She was halfway through her second cup of chicory coffee when the doorbell rang.She opened the door to find Genevieve, Ruth, and Abigail on her porch, all holding tote bags and wearing expressions that said they were about to commit emotional crimes.Ava blinked. “What is this?”“Brunch,” Ruth said.“An intervention,” Genevieve said at the same time.“A planning session,” Abigail added.“Oh, Lord,” Ava muttered. “Come in before my neighbors call the police.”They filed into the kitchen like a committee that had elected itse

Ava didn’t sleep well that night.Not because anything was wrong, but because everything felt too right, too suddenly, too close. Joy had a way of slipping into her bed like an uninvited guest—warm, comforting, but also dangerous. She feared waking up and finding it gone again.When she finally closed her eyes, her dreams were full of roses bending toward her and Marcus’s voice whispering things she wasn’t ready to repeat aloud.By sunrise, she was up, dressed, and pacing her kitchen floor with coffee she didn’t need.She loved him.She wasn’t ready to say it—not even to herself—but love was already building a home inside her, unpacking boxes, redecorating the walls.And that terrified her.She was standing in front of her sink when her phone rang.It wasn’t Marcus.It was Asher.She braced herself. He only called early when something was wrong—or when he’d been thinking too much.“Morning, big brother,” she answered.“Ava,” he said, his voice gravelly, “you home?”“Where else I’m sup

Ava woke before the sun, the quiet settling around her like a shawl she hadn’t asked for but needed all the same. She’d slept lightly, her thoughts pacing as restlessly as a woman half her age. Marcus’s last message still glowed on her phone: Thinking of you. Rest well.Normally, that would’ve been enough to start her day with a smile. Today, something tugged at her—an unease she couldn’t name, only feel. Like a breeze brushing her cheek before a storm even thought about gathering.She showered, dressed in soft linen pants and a pale blue blouse, and pinned her hair back loosely. She looked good. Strong. Capable. But under all that, she felt… fragile wasn’t the word. Just… vulnerable. And she didn’t like it.She decided to walk over to Rory and Ruth’s house. She wanted noise. Family. Distraction. Something to drown the strange quiet blooming in her chest.When she reached the St. James family home, the kitchen window was open. Laughter spilled out—Theo’s, Delphine’s, Mercedes’s. The s

The master gardener was a small man with warm brown skin and eyes that had seen more seasons than the garden itself. His hands were weathered, his posture slightly curved, but his presence carried the calm authority of someone who had whispered to plants so long they whispered back.“Ava St. James,” he said, offering a gentle bow. “Marcus has spoken of you.”Ava blinked in surprise. “He has?”Marcus cleared his throat. “Only good things.”The gardener chuckled. “If he’s bringing you here, it’s already more than good.”They walked deeper into the private garden, the morning sun easing through the canopy. Birds darted above them, flitting between branches like musical notes.The gardener led them to a single bush—unremarkable at first glance. Its branches were thinner, a few leaves slightly wilted, and only one rose bloomed at the top—a soft, dusty pink that seemed to glow from the inside.Ava frowned. “This one don’t look like it belongs with the others.”The gardener smiled. “It doesn