Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Ava
Later, at the art exhibit, the white walls and bright lights feel almost surreal. I squeeze Elijah’s hand as we move through the gallery, admiring the bold colors and chaotic brushstrokes.
Then, out of nowhere, I spot a familiar figure—George.
My ex. Standing not far away, chatting with a group of people.
My breath catches.
Elijah notices. His gaze sharpens, but he stays calm, pulling me a little closer.
“Do you want to leave?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head, trying to steady myself. “No. I want to stay. I …” I swallow hard, “I wasn’t expecting him here.”
Elijah’s fingers tighten on my hand. “You’re with me now. Whatever comes, I’ve got you.”
His calm steadies me as we continue through the exhibit, each piece a little reminder that the past is there—but so is this moment, and this new life we’re building together.
We linger near a large abstract painting—swirls of black and crimson bleeding into one another—when I catch sight of George across the room. He hasn’t noticed me yet. My heart flutters, a mix of old memories and new anxiety.
Elijah senses my change before I say a word. He gently squeezes my hand and leans close. “You okay?”
Before I can say more, George’s eyes find me. His smile is polite but guarded as he starts walking over, the crowd parting for him like a wave.
Elijah steps slightly in front of me, calm and steady. “Hello, George.” His voice is neutral but carries a clear undercurrent of ownership.
George pauses, eyes flicking between us. “Ava.” His tone is respectful, maybe a little surprised. “Well, this is quite the surprise, I wouldn’t have imagined you in a place like this.”
I take a breath, standing a little taller. “It’s a public exhibit and I do love art.” My voice is steady. “How are you?”
“Good,” he answers simply. “I see you’re… well.” His glance lands on Elijah, and then back to me, weighing. “I’m so pleased to see you doing well. Truly.”
George’s gaze flickers between us, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, your mother mentioned you’re with him now. How… interesting.” he says, his tone dripping with condescension.
My breath catches, anger and pain mingling inside me. “Yes. We’re together.”
George scoffs, his lip curling. “So what — he’s the one now, is he? That’s the little fantasy you’ve settled on?”
He exhales a thin, humorless laugh. “You actually believe this will last? That he won’t simply wake up one morning and realise what a dreadful mistake he’s made?”
The words hit like a slap, sharp and cruel. But Elijah doesn’t hesitate. His voice cuts through the air—calm, but blazing with conviction.
“No,” Elijah says, calm but burning. “You never saw her. Not really. You only ever saw what you wanted to see — your own empty reflection. I see her — every messy, brilliant piece. I’m going to spend my life proving that to her, every single day, making sure she knows how incredible she is.”
His voice doesn’t rise, but it rings out like a vow—unshakable, undeniable. A force strong enough to stand between me and every doubt I’ve ever carried.
I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes—not from weakness, but from relief. From the overwhelming flood of love and protection he offers. For once, someone sees me. All of me. And fights for me.
George lets out a low, bitter laugh — smooth, but sharp enough to wound. “Oh, please,” he drawls. “I was her first, Elijah. Have you forgotten that? The one who taught her what love felt like — and lust, too, for that matter.”
My stomach turns. That word—lust—coming from his mouth makes my skin crawl. He doesn’t say it with affection or memory. He says it to humiliate me. To reduce me to a conquest. To remind me of a time when I don’t know better.
When I didn’t know myself.
But Elijah doesn’t flinch. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, his eyes sharpening as a slow, controlled.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing as a slow, controlled smile curves his lips. Not amused. Not rattled. Lethal.
“Lust?” he says, voice like steel wrapped in silk. “You wouldn’t recognize real lust if it slapped you across the face. That’s easy. That’s what cowards give when they’ve got nothing real to offer.”
He steps closer, every word heavy.
“You handed her ‘lust’ like it was some kind of trophy — something for you. But here’s the truth, George — it isn’t lust if she doesn’t cum. It’s ego. It’s a show. It’s you using her as a reflection of yourself.”
The air changes. He doesn’t stop.
“Love is different,” he says. “Real love isn’t a game. It’s not about performing. It’s patience. It’s earning it every single day. It’s waking up and choosing her. Seeing her. Loving her — without limits, without conditions, without expecting anything back.”
Then he looks at me. The hardness in him softens the instant our eyes meet.
“I didn’t give Ava lust. I gave her what it’s like to be truly loved. Cherished. Worshiped. And I’ll keep giving it to her — every day I’m lucky enough to call her mine.”
George’s smile falters, the arrogance slipping beneath the weight of Elijah’s words. For a second, he tries to recover—jaw clenched, nostrils flaring—but he can’t match what’s just been said. He turns his gaze to me, maybe expecting shame, maybe hoping to find doubt. Regret.
He finds neither.
I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and slide my hand into Elijah’s. My voice is quiet, but steady as steel.
“With him, I finally know what it means to be seen. You? You never even bother to look.”
Elijah turns back to George, still composed, but with a final edge that cuts deep.
“You may have been the first to touch her, George. But I’ll be the last. And the only one who ever makes her come undone in ways you wouldn’t even understand.”
George stares at him, jaw locked, throat working like he wants to speak—but nothing comes. The silence says more than he ever could.
He turns and walks away, slower this time, like the weight of his own irrelevance has finally caught up to him.
As he disappears into the crowd, Elijah turns to me and lifts my hand to his lips.
“You okay, baby girl?”
I nod, the tightness in my chest finally beginning to ease.
“Damn, that felt good to say.”
Once George is gone, the gallery air feels easier to breathe again—but something inside me still trembles. Not fear anymore. Just… rawness. The way Elijah stands there—unflinching, unshakable—shatters something quietly leftover inside me. The last pieces of doubt.
Still, I can’t quite speak as we step out onto the quieter street outside the exhibit. Elijah holds my hand like he always does: possessive but gentle, thumb sweeping slow circles against my knuckles. He doesn’t say anything until we’re around the corner, away from watching eyes.
Then, he stops and turns toward me, cupping my face with both hands.
“Hey.” His voice is low and careful. “Talk to me. What are you feeling right now?”
I blink up at him, eyes still burning a little. “Like I might fall apart if you let go of me.”
“I’m not going to let go. Ever.”
Tears well again—not from sadness, but from something warmer, something that feels like being rewritten in real time.
“You don’t just defend me,” I whisper. “You see me. All of me. You made him feel small… without even raising your voice.”
Elijah brushes his thumb beneath my eye, catching a tear.
“Because he is small, Ava. And you … you’re fucking amazing. If he couldn’t see that, it’s only because he was too busy looking at his own reflection.”
I let out a soft, shaky laugh through the emotion. “And you? What are you looking at?”
He smiles. “Everything I never knew I needed. And everything I’m going to spend the rest of my life protecting.”
The words settle over me like a warm blanket. I don’t need to question them. I feel their truth in my bones.
After a moment, Elijah leans in and kisses my forehead.
Then my nose. Then the corner of my mouth, until I’m smiling again.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says gently. “Too many ghosts and overpriced wine in there.”
I nod. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere with coffee. And something chocolatey. You deserve both.”
I raise a brow. “Are you trying to bribe me into smiling?”
“Is it working?”
I laugh then—finally—and he grins like that’s the only answer he needs.