Chapter 37 Ava
Chapter thirty-seven
Ava
I wake up early—earlier than usual, before Elijah.
He’s still asleep, the sheets tangled around his hips, one arm sprawled over my pillow like he was reaching for me in his sleep.
His face is softer in the quiet morning light.
The lines around his mouth relaxed. His lips parted slightly. I could watch him forever.
Instead, I slide out of bed quietly and pad barefoot to the kitchen.
There’s a sticky note pad next to the coffee machine. I grab a pen and leave him a note.
My cheeks warm writing it, but it feels right. I’m not just obeying—I’m participating. I want him to know I’m leaning in. That I’m choosing this, because I trust him.
When I arrive at the store, it’s not even time to open yet.
Everything looks normal—so normal it almost feels like the last three weeks never happened.
As if my beloved bookstore hadn’t been torn apart by a lunatic with a grudge.
I have to admit, the team Elijah hired did an exceptional job.
If it weren’t for the buzz still circulating in the neighborhood, no one would ever suspect what happened.
Everything is pristine. The shelves are perfectly aligned, the windows spotless, the scent of fresh paint and lemon cleaner still lingering faintly in the air.
The decorators and cleaning crew worked magic, but I still see the differences—subtle, almost invisible to anyone else, but undeniable to me. Something’s shifted.
Still, as soon as I walk through the door and hear Mia’s cheerful greeting from behind the counter, I feel a flicker of comfort.
Just for a moment, it feels like everything is the way it was before—the way it should be.
Before the stalker. Before the fear. Before the creeping feeling that someone is always watching from the shadows.
The morning rush is calm. Familiar. The hum of conversation, the soft ding of the register, the rustle of pages being flipped—it’s the kind of rhythm that makes my bones feel settled again.
Mia teases me as she wipes down the counter.
“Someone’s glowing,” she says with a knowing grin, one brow raised like she’s already halfway convinced of her own theory.
Sophia, who dropped by to deliver a handmade candle wrapped in kraft paper and twine, arches a brow as she sets the gift down. “You finally let yourself be taken care of?”
“Something like that,” I say, a smile pulling at my lips before I can stop it.
Mia leans on her elbows, chin in hand, practically buzzing. “That smile says a lot more than ‘something like that.’” She nudges the gift toward herself and starts unwrapping it. “Don’t think I won’t pry.”
I shrug, but I can feel the warmth creeping up my neck. It’s not embarrassment, not exactly. It’s that kind of vulnerable, glowing joy that still feels so new, so fragile in its realness.
Sophia gives me a softer look now, more thoughtful. “It’s good, you know. Letting someone hold space for you. You deserve that.”
I don’t answer right away. I just breathe it in—the comfort of routine, the scent of coffee and old books, the steady murmur of people coming and going. And underneath it all, the echo of Elijah’s voice from the night before still lingers in my chest like a heartbeat: I’m here. Now, forever.
“I’m learning,” I finally say.
Mia smiles as she sniffs her new candle—lavender and something woodsy. “Well, you’re clearly doing something right. You’re glowing and you didn’t even threaten to bite anyone this morning.”
“Yet,” I mutter, and they both laugh.
For a moment, everything really does feel okay. Not just okay—hopeful.
After a while, Sophia goes back to her office, and Mia begins helping the first wave of morning customers.
With the front under control, I slip quietly into my small office in the back.
It still smells faintly like fresh paint and coffee beans, and for a brief second, I pretend this is just another normal Tuesday.
I gather the folders and receipts I’ll need to finish the month-end paperwork from home.
It’s not much, but I can’t justify staying here longer than necessary.
Elijah made it clear—insisted—that I shouldn’t be in the store like before.
Not until we know who’s behind all of this.
Who’s watching. Who sent the threats. Who trashed the place like it was nothing.
I wasn’t supposed to leave the apartment without him or someone from Keller’s team.
But this morning, when I woke up and saw him sleeping—actually sleeping, not just pretending for my benefit—I couldn’t bring myself to wake him.
He looked so peaceful, for once not carrying the weight of worry in his shoulders or the tightness around his mouth.
He needs rest. Real rest. And lately, he's barely gotten any.
So I left a note. Just a short one. Told him I was okay, that I’d be quick. That I wouldn’t be alone.
I didn’t call Keller. I didn’t ask someone to come get me.
I know I should have. I know this isn't what trust looks like—at least not in the way Elijah is asking for it. But I'm not used to this. To needing security just to go to my own store. I don’t know how to be someone who needs protecting. And I hate that I might have to learn.
I clutch the folder a little tighter and glance toward the hallway, where I can hear Mia’s voice floating through the shop. Light. Steady. Grounding.
The store feels like home again, and yet I can’t shake the sense that something still lingers in the air. Like the last page of a mystery I haven't read yet. Like a shadow I haven’t quite turned to face.
I exhale slowly and take a step toward the back office door.
Then—movement. Quick, sharp. A flicker in the corner of my vision.
I barely have time to register it before an arm snakes around my waist and yanks me back. A hand presses over my mouth.
My scream dies before it leaves my throat.
Then I feel a sharp prick on my neck, an acrid taste hits me immediately. Chemical. Wrong.
I struggle—fighting, kicking, elbowing—but everything tilts sideways. The folders in my hand scatter across the floor. My legs go weak.
The world blurs. Sounds fade. My heartbeat crashes in my ears.
And then—darkness swallows everything.
Elijah
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the silence. No soft footsteps. No humming from the kitchen. No scent of her coffee drifting from the counter. Just quiet.
I sit up slowly, rubbing sleep from my eyes—but something feels off. The side of the bed where she should be is cold. Her book is gone. So is her phone.
I glance at the clock. 9 a.m. Damn. I slept longer than I should have.
Apparently, my body finally gave in. I didn’t even stir when Ava got out of bed.
A sharp pulse of unease flickers in my gut.
I push off the blanket and step into the hallway. “Princess?” I call, hoping—praying—she’s just in the kitchen. Maybe she needed space. Maybe she didn’t want to wake me.
No answer.
That’s when I see the note on the counter.
No mention of Keller. No escort. I freeze. The air shifts.
The silence turns hostile.
I snatch my phone and dial her. Straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail.
“Damn it,” I mutter, trying a third time.
Still nothing.
I call Keller. He picks up on the second ring.
“She left alone,” I say, already moving, already pulling on clothes. “She’s at the store.”
Keller curses. “Tracking her phone now. ETA five minutes.”
My chest tightens with every passing second. She’d never ignore my calls. Not now. Not after what we’ve been through. Not after the threats. My blood runs cold. She didn’t just leave without telling me. Something settles into my mind, she’s gone.
And if someone touched her, if someone took her, there won’t be a place on this planet they can hide from me.
I replay that note in my head over and over as I move, as I search, as I call again and again. Still nothing.
Then I call Mia.
She answers fast, cheerful at first. “Elijah?”
“Mia… Ava. Did she come in?”
A pause. Then, cautious: “Yep… I thought you knew…”
My stomach drops into a pit.
“Mia,” I snap, voice sharp as a blade, “when did she leave?”
“She… she hasn’t. She said she was going to her office…”
She doesn’t get to finish the sentence before I practically bark at her.
“Mia, go check her office. Now. Her phone’s not responding, and I need to know if she’s still there.”
Please. Let her have just forgotten to charge it. Please.
Seconds tick by like hours. Then Mia’s voice comes back—shaking.
“Elijah… She's not here. Her phone’s on the floor. The screen cracked. And the papers she was … ” A breath. “They’re scattered everywhere.”
The air leaves my lungs. The world tilts, folds in on itself.
She 's gone.
Someone took the woman I love. While I was FUCKING sleeping.
I’m already moving, already calling Kai, already telling Keller to ping the tracker in her bracelet. The one I never told her about. The one that could be her goddamn lifeline.
“Tell me you’re watching her signal,” I growl into the phone as I throw open the hidden drawer where I keep the guns I swore I wouldn’t need anymore.
Fuck.
“The tracker,” I bark. “Ava’s bracelet. Tell me you’re watching the signal.”
A pause. Too long.
Kai’s voice comes low. Serious. “The primary signal went dark about forty minutes ago.”
My chest constricts. “What does that mean?”
“The tracker transmits once every two hours,” Keller explains. “The bead’s too small for a constant signal—no battery. It works like a beacon. The last ping came in almost an hour ago. That means we’ll get another one soon.”
I spin on him, fury simmering just beneath the surface. “We have to wait a fucking hour to find out where she is?”
Keller stays calm, but his jaw tightens. “It’s the best we’ve got without her phone. We’ll get a location.”
“That lunatic has my woman, and you’re telling me to wait?” My voice cracks with rage, with fear. “What if he’s already hurt her? What if she’s out there, terrified, and I’m standing here doing nothing?”
Right now, I don’t give a damn about Keller, or the Kingstons, or whatever underground war is brewing beneath our feet.
I only care about her.
I need Ava home. I need to see her breathing, crying, cursing me out—anything that proves she’s still alive. Still whole. Still fucking mine.
I shove my hands into my hair, trying to hold myself together, but the clock is ticking too loudly in my head. Every second feels like a scream.
“She trusted me to keep her safe,” I grit out. “And I let her walk right into this.”
Kade answers over speaker. “We’ve got satellites queued. As soon as it fires, we’ll have a location.”
But they don’t understand.
I’m already strapping on my shoulder holster. Already loading the pistol I haven’t used in years. The old instincts snap into place like they never left.
Because the man I became to leave that life behind—the tattoo artist, the calm, reformed protector—that man is gone now.
They don’t know what I know. What she’s survived. What she’s afraid of. What she doesn’t believe she deserves.
And now she’s out there. Terrified. Alone. Because I let her leave.
I slam my fist against the wall, pain blooming across my knuckles, grounding me in fury. I taste blood in my mouth from how hard I’m clenching my jaw.
“I’m going to find her,” I whisper.
And God help the man who took her. Because if he hurts her. If he even touches her. They’ll never find enough of him to bury.
And I will tear the city apart to bring her home.