Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

37. The Warden

THE WARDEN

I should have known something was wrong.

There was a look in Ava’s eyes—intense, unguarded, like she was studying every line of my face, her gaze drifting over me with a strange, hungry focus. The kind of look that held an edge I couldn’t quite place.

But then she smiled at me and I forgot everything but the warmth of her knee pressed to mine, the way a stray lock of her hair had slipped loose, framing her face in soft, dark waves, her lips parted slightly as she sipped her own wine, her gaze never leaving mine.

I let myself sink into that moment, into her nearness, leaning into her as she leaned into me.

“Ava…”

My hand lifted toward her, fingers trembling as I reached for her face. But halfway there, my arm faltered, heavy and unresponsive, before falling back into my lap.

I blinked, trying to shake it off, but the warmth that had filled me moments ago felt heavier now, a thick, weighted warmth spreading through my arms, my legs. A faint numbness began settling in my fingers, turning the empty glass heavy in my hand.

She froze, her wide eyes fixed on me, a mix of something electric and fearful flashing across her face.

I struggled to lift my hand again. But my muscles refused to obey, weighed down by something insidious.

A chill prickled down my spine as realization dawned.

She had done this.

The wine.

My mind raced, piecing it together—she must have saved a vial, pretended to be drugged all along. She’d hidden it, reserved it just for me.

She’d planned this. She had planned her escape.

Just like my mother.

A stab of horror sliced through me, freezing me in place.

This was my worst nightmare—Ava, scheming, waiting for the moment she could break free, leaving me like my mother had tried to leave my father.

Had I fought my whole life to be anyone else, but inadvertently become him ?

“What have you done?” I growled, the words sharp, edged with disbelief. The betrayal cut deeper than any blade, a fierce heat roaring through me as I grabbed her wrist.

She twisted against my hold, yanking back with a move called a wrist release— ironic, given that I’d taught her that trick myself.

Passed down from Eamon to me, from me to her.

Now, the student had become the master. The captor had become the captive .

Even without the paralytic, Ava had gotten under my skin. Dug into me, invading my mind, my senses. Making me helpless against her, my willpower crumbling at every turn when it came to her.

She’d studied me, learned me, and now… she was using everything I’d taught her to break free.

I’d applaud my perfect student if I wasn’t so desperate to stop her.

With one final, frantic twist, she wrenched out of my grasp, scrambling back from the window box.

I lunged forward, my hand reaching for her, my fingers brushing the fabric of her dress before she slipped out of reach.

“Ava!” I snarled, my voice thick and heavy.

She didn’t stop.

She pushed herself to her feet and ran through the library, her footsteps echoing in the vast, quiet space.

My body protested as I forced myself forward, each step a battle against the creeping numbness overtaking me. The drug fought to pull me down, but I pushed through the fog, feeling her betrayal like acid in my veins.

This wasn’t the first time she’d chosen Ciaran over me.

I remembered watching from across the crowded school cafeteria on Ava’s first day at our school, the way Ciaran’s charm had lit up Ava’s face, her laughter ringing out in response to something he’d said.

My gut had twisted with jealousy, an aching fear that she already belonged to him.

Ciaran had always been the charismatic one, the reckless one, the bad boy, and I’d feared that was what she wanted .

But then something shifted. I didn’t understand it at the time, but overnight his behavior toward her changed.

Ciaran became distant, even dismissive.

He’d scowl at her, his gaze dark and unreadable as she tried to talk to him. He brushed her off with a cruel edge. It was as if he wanted to push her away, to drive her back.

And every time he did, she turned to me, her eyes uncertain, her voice soft, looking for something Ciaran refused to give.

I was there for her.

Every small moment in between his mood swings and his games, I was the one who listened.

When Ciaran shoved her over, hurting her, I’d carried her to the nurse’s office. I’d sat with her, bandaging her knees, feeling her trust in me, feeling… seen.

And I thought she saw me.

Finally chosen me.

From then on, it was always Ty and Ava—whispered conversations, inside jokes, shared glances that I held on to, desperately trying to convince myself they meant something.

All the while, Ciaran pulled away, treating Ava with such cruelty that she stayed away from him, could barely say his name.

But then it happened. That awful shift I hadn’t seen coming.

Ava started looking at him again, with that same softness in her gaze, that same light. It was a look I wanted, needed, to be directed at me, not him.

A memory crashed into me with a bitter clarity, as vivid as if it were happening all over again .

Gravel crunched under my shoes as I crossed the shadowed path winding through the small cemetery. Ivy twisted around ancient headstones, the moss-covered statues leaning as if whispering secrets to each other. A chill hung in the late afternoon air, thick with the damp smell of earth and old stone, a place no one ventured unless they wanted to be left alone.

Perfect for the bad boy of Blackthorn.

Ciaran leaned against a crumbling angel statue, one foot pressed against the base, his blazer unbuttoned, shirt rumpled, collar askew. He flicked the ash from his cigarette, letting the thin smoke curl up into the thick branches of an overhanging yew tree.

Shadows played across his face, sharpening his already angular features, his eyes dark and unreadable as he saw me approach.

He didn’t move, only raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk tugging at his mouth, like he’d been expecting me.

“Hello, brother, did you miss me?” he drawled, taking another drag, his tone as dismissive as ever.

“Did you kiss her?” The words came out rougher than I intended, my voice cutting through the stillness.

Ciaran’s expression barely shifted, only his eyebrow arched, a glint of mischief sparking in his eyes.

“Who?” he asked, voice dripping with feigned innocence. “I kiss so many girls, Ty. You’ll have to be more specific.”

I felt my jaw clench, my fists tightening by my sides.

He knew exactly who I was talking about.

“Don’t play games with me, Ciaran,” I growled, the anger boiling over. “You know damn well who I mean.”

He laughed, a quiet, taunting chuckle, his gaze never wavering.

“You mean… Ava?” He flicked ash from his cigarette, that in sufferable smirk tugging at his lips as he watched my reaction, like a cat playing with a wounded bird. “Our sweet, little sister ?”

I flinched, the word hitting me like a slap.

Sister.

He said it with a smirk, as though he’d seen right through me, knew exactly what lay under my skin.

The word was wrong—too wrong.

Ava wasn’t my sister, not in any way that mattered to me. But even hearing it out loud made something sink, heavy and sickening, in my gut.

I knew what I felt wasn’t allowed, wasn’t supposed to be spoken.

But it didn’t change the way my heart stammered whenever I saw her. The way I’d felt since that first moment we’d met, since her eyes had met mine.

“What did you do to Ava?” I demanded. “One second she was mine— And now she… she won’t stop looking for you, talking about you, asking about you.”

I scowled at my brother, cursing him, jealousy burning hot over the effortless way he made girls love him.

While I tried so fucking hard to be perfect and nobody loved me .

Ciaran shrugged, exhaling smoke that drifted lazily around us, dissipating into the cool, damp air. “Can’t help if your girlfriend would rather fuck me.”

The casual, almost mocking indifference in his tone ignited a raw fury in my chest.

He knew what she meant to me, how much I cared about her, and yet he couldn’t resist stirring the knife.

Without thinking, I shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble .

“She’s mine ,” I snarled, my fists clenched, barely keeping the rage in check.

He scowled as he straightened his jacket, the smoke casting shadows over his face.

“You can fucking have her,” he spat out. “But careful, Ty. She’s not who you think she is.”

The memory faded, swallowed up by the present as I stumbled through the library, chasing after Ava once more, feeling the effects of the paralytic clawing at my limbs.

No, Ava wasn’t who I thought she was. She was sharper, more cunning, more relentless than I’d ever realized.

She hadn’t given up on escape; she’d lulled me into a false sense of security, a carefully crafted illusion of unity, only to strike when I least expected it.

That’s my girl.

A twisted surge of pride flared in me, fierce and undeniable, even as the sting of betrayal burned through it. She’d played me perfectly.

My muscles were sluggish, each step harder than the last, but I refused to let it overpower me. I was determined to push through.

I tumbled out of the library and there she was, down the hallway, her wide eyes betraying her shock. She’d clearly expected me to have been taken down by now, paralyzed and helpless.

“Ava,” I rasped, my voice rougher than I’d intended, my vision blurring just slightly.

Her gaze flitted over me, assessing, calculating, and then she spun, bolting down the hallway once again.

I staggered forward, forcing one foot in front of the other, gritting my teeth against the tremors that threatened to betray me.

She thought she could escape, but I wasn’t going to let her go that easily.

Ready or not…