Semua Bab The Muted Wife’s Return: Bab 11 - Bab 20

{Ava's POV}I was awake before my alarm.I lay still for a few minutes in the early quiet of the room, listening to the small sounds of Nora sleeping in her crib across from me — the soft, untroubled rhythm of her breathing, the occasional tiny movement that made the crib creak. There was something about that sound that straightened something in my spine every single morning. A reminder of exactly what I was doing all of this for.I reached for my phone and pulled up Mr. Bennett's number.Good morning. I need two things from you as soon as possible. First — any financial records, internal documents, emails, anything at all that establishes a paper trail of what Daniel has been doing inside that company. I want everything you have or can get access to. Second — I need someone to look into the hotel surveillance footage from the night of the Whitmore business party three years ago. The night Adrian was drugged. If there is any record of what happened in those hours, I want to find it.I

{Ava's POV}I picked up the document, read through it carefully, and set it back down on the table between us.Then I signed. I accept the investment and I accept the office. But before we shake hands on anything, I need you to understand my terms clearly, because they are not negotiable.Ryan nodded. "Go ahead."First — whatever this is, it is strictly professional. No grey areas, no gradual erosion of the boundary I just set, no testing it to see if it shifts over time. Professional means professional. I need to be able to walk into that building every morning and focus entirely on the work, and I cannot do that if the personal history between us keeps finding ways into the room."Understood," he said.Second — I held his gaze directly. Our history stays between us. I do not want it mentioned to anyone in that office, not casually, not as context, not as a way of explaining the dynamic between us to anyone who asks. As far as the company is concerned, we are two professionals who met

{Ava's POV}The apartment was on the eighth floor, with wide windows that caught the morning light in a way that made the whole space feel generous and unhurried. I had stood in the middle of the living room the night before, Nora asleep against my chest and my single bag by the door, and looked around at all that clean, quiet space and felt something I had not felt inside four walls in a very long time.Safe.Not the brittle, conditional safety of a house where I was tolerated. Something real. Something that belonged entirely to me and my daughter and no one else.I had walked slowly from room to room after I put Nora down, just taking it in. The nursery was the smallest bedroom, but the light in it was perfect — soft and warm in the afternoon, the kind of light that would make any color on the walls glow. I had already started building it in my mind before I fell asleep. Something gentle but not bland. Something that said to a child, from the very first moment she could see it, that

{Ava's POV}I had not meant to stop.I was on my way back from the printer at the end of the corridor, folder tucked under my arm, already running through the afternoon's agenda in my head, when I heard his voice coming through the gap of his partially open office door. Not the easy, confident version of Ryan's voice that filled rooms and made people lean in — this was something rawer than that. Something with an edge to it that stopped my feet before my mind had made the decision.I stood to the side of the doorway and listened.I heard enough.I had spent two years with Ryan and in all that time he had never once spoken about his childhood in any real detail. He had mentioned his mother in passing — brief, surface references that he always steered away from before they could become actual conversations — and I had never pushed. I had assumed it was simply a closed door, the kind that most people had somewhere, and I had respected it the way I had always hoped people would respect min

{Ava's POV}I was in the middle of reviewing the employee compensation list when Sophie knocked and leaned through the doorway with an expression I had learned to read over the past few weeks — the carefully neutral face she wore when she was about to deliver information she was not sure how I would receive."There is a woman here to see you," she said. "She does not have an appointment. She says her name is Margaret Cole."I set the document down slowly.Of all the things I had anticipated having to deal with this week, this had not made the list. I looked at Sophie for a moment, then nodded.Margaret walked in like she owned the building.She was immaculate, as she always was — dressed with the kind of precision that announced money without stating it, her posture carrying the lifelong ease of a woman who had never once walked into a room and wondered if she belonged there. She looked around my office with an expression of mild appraisal, the way someone looked at a thing they were c