The Following Day— AVA'S POV.
The library was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against my ears until even the scratch of my pen across paper felt loud. I sat in my usual spot, tucked away from the world, lips moving in silent whispers as I read through yesterday's lecture notes. The tip of my pen glided softly over the sheet, underlining, jotting, marking what mattered.
Fatigue crept in after a while, the kind that made words blur and concentration slip. I sighed, reached for my phone, and let my thumb scroll through TikTok, the glow of the screen pulling me away from the monotony.
Then— footsteps. Steady, deliberate, coming directly toward me. My eyes lifted from the screen. A figure approached. My lips parted, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Mom?"
She sat down opposite me, her presence sharp, undeniable. "Hey, Ava," she said, her tone measured, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Shock surged through me, pulse racing, excitement tangled with disbelief. "Wha— what are you doing here? What is happening? I didn't know you were coming." My voice stammered, my face betraying everything I felt.
Her eyes held mine. "How are you holding up?"
"Good," I answered too quickly, a smile forming, desperate to reassure.
"I'm glad to hear that." Her faint smile vanished, replaced by something unreadable. Her gaze dropped to my belly. "How's the baby?"
The smile on my face faltered. My eyes followed hers downward before I forced them back up. "I'm sorry, Mom. I genuinely am."
"I didn't ask if you're sorry. I asked how the baby was." Her arms folded across her chest, her body leaning back against the chair, her eyes still fixed on me.
"Fine, I guess," I whispered, voice barely audible.
"Good." Her lips tightened, disdain creeping into her expression. "Was it worth it?"
My mouth opened, but no words came.
"Answer me." Her voice rose, sharp, demanding, her eyes lifting from my belly back to mine.
I stared, silent, unable to form a response.
"I hope it was worth it. Worth embarrassing your family. How could you do this to us? To me? To your dad?" Her words struck like blows, each one heavier than the last. "Now everybody in our neighborhood sees us as a joke. Even in church, you've brought disgrace and shame. Everyone sees us as the parents of the girl who got knocked up just two months after starting college. Is that what you want to be remembered for? You got aired on national TV, for God fucking sake."
Her sigh was deep, her head shaking slowly. "I know you must have known. That's why your dad and I have refused to take any of your calls. I just came to tell you— if you were planning on coming home for Thanksgiving holiday, don't. If you do, be prepared to get embarrassed."
Her eyes swept over me, cold, final. "Take care of yourself." She rose to her feet.
I watched her turn, her steps steady, her back rigid as she walked away.
"Mom," I called after her, voice breaking.
She didn't look back. She didn't slow. She simply kept walking.
I rose, legs trembling, wanting to follow, but shame anchored me. My body refused. I stood there, too heavy, too broken, watching her disappear into the silence of the library.
---
THAT SAME HOUR. TONY'S POV.
The Royal Palate.
Tony's black McLaren W1 slid into the restaurant's parking lot, its polished body gleaming under the late morning sun. The engine's low growl faded into silence as he stepped out, the door lifting upward with mechanical grace. The air was warm, crisp, and touched his skin like velvet. His navy-blue vintage shirt hugged his frame, the fabric catching faint glimmers of light as he moved. Every step carried a quiet authority, his posture straight, his stride unhurried, as though the restaurant itself awaited his arrival.
The restaurant's glass doors parted, and the hush of the five-star interior swallowed him whole. Chandeliers spilled golden light across marble floors, and the faint hum of conversation floated beneath the clink of cutlery. His eyes swept the room, sharp and deliberate, until they landed on Lily. She sat poised at a corner table, her wine-colored hair cascading over her shoulders, a fitted black dress hugging her frame, the fabric catching the warm glow of the chandeliers, her fingers curled lightly around the stem of a half-filled glass. Her gaze flicked up, meeting his.
A faint smile slowly curled at Tony's lips as he approached. He pulled out the chair opposite her, lowering himself with fluid ease. "I hope I've not been keeping you waiting for long," he said, voice smooth, eyes steady.
Lily's lips parted, her tone edged with dry amusement. "If two hours is not what you call a long time, then no." She lifted the glass, sipping slowly, her expression unreadable.
Tony leaned back, exhaling softly. "I'm sorry. I'm not always like this. Something came up last minute."
Her smile was gentle, forgiving. "It's fine. You're here." Her fingers brushed through her hair, strands catching the light like threads of silk.
"I am," he replied, signaling to a waiter nearby with a subtle flick of his hand. The young man approached, bowing slightly, his voice courteous. "How can I help you, sir?"
"Can we have the menu?" Tony asked, his back pressing against the chair's rest. The waiter handed over a sleek tablet, and Tony's eyes scanned the list with practiced calm. "I'll have the lobster risotto. And bring a bottle of Janus Pinot Noir." He turned the tablet toward Lily. "What will you have?"