Chapter 3

Pain, white-hot and blinding, ripped through Ava' s leg. The dog' s teeth sank into her calf, and she screamed, a raw, animal sound of agony. She kicked out instinctively, her foot connecting with the dog's snout. It yelped and loosened its grip for a split second, just long enough for her to scramble away, dragging her bleeding leg behind her.

She lurched for the janitorial closet, the only flimsy barrier she had. She threw herself inside, pulling the door shut just as the dog slammed its body against it. The thin wood shuddered, splintering near the hinges. The dog was snarling, scratching, throwing its full weight against the door. It wouldn't hold for long.

Blood was pouring from the wound in her leg, soaking her jeans and pooling on the dirty floor. She was trapped. Liam and Chloe were gone, off to celebrate a victory built on lies while she was left here to die. The hope she' d clung to, the foolish belief that they might come to their senses, evaporated completely. There was no one coming for her from that family.

Her hand, slick with her own blood, fumbled for the burner phone. Her first call had been to Liam, the brother. Her second had been a desperate plea to Chloe, the sister. There was only one number left to try in that poisoned family tree. Maybe Chloe, with her manipulative tears, would answer. Maybe hearing Ava' s actual pain would be enough.

She dialed Chloe's number. It rang and rang. Finally, Chloe picked up.

"Ava? I thought Liam told you not to call again," Chloe's voice was sharp, annoyed. "We're about to board our flight."

"Chloe, the dog got out," Ava gasped, her voice weak from pain and blood loss. "It attacked me. My leg... it's bleeding so much. You have to call someone. Call the police. Anything."

There was a pause. For a heart-stopping moment, Ava thought she heard a flicker of concern. She was wrong.

"Oh, Ava, you're always so dramatic," Chloe sighed, the sound exasperated. "Are you sure you didn't just provoke it? You need to learn to be gentle. Maybe this is part of the lesson. You need to face your fears."

The casual cruelty, the complete dismissal of her life-threatening situation, was more devastating than the dog bite. Chloe wasn' t just a manipulative girl; she was a monster. She was listening to Ava bleed out and telling her it was a learning experience.

"I am not being dramatic! I am going to die in here!" Ava shrieked, her voice cracking with hysteria.

"Don't be silly," Chloe said, her voice turning syrupy sweet again, as if talking to a difficult child. "Just be quiet and think about what you did to our family. Think about how you made me feel. When you're truly sorry, maybe we can talk about letting you out. Have a good reflection, sis. Bye-bye."

The line went dead.

This time, the silence that followed was different. It wasn't filled with naive hope or desperate pleading. It was filled with the cold, hard clarity of absolute abandonment. They weren't coming back. They didn't care if she lived or died. They had thrown her away like trash.

The last vestige of her desire for their acceptance crumbled into dust. She was not a part of their family. She had never been. She was just a prop, a temporary fixture they had tired of.

The dog renewed its assault on the closet door, and a large crack appeared in the wood. Time was running out.

A new thought, sharp and clear, cut through the fog of pain. To hell with the Millers. She didn't need them. She needed help. Real help.

With trembling fingers, she dialed the three numbers she should have dialed from the very beginning.

9-1-1.

A calm, professional voice answered immediately. "911, what's your emergency?"

"Help me," Ava choked out, tears of relief and terror streaming down her face. "I'm trapped in a dog kennel at the Westwood Animal Shelter. A dog is trying to get to me. I've been bitten. I'm bleeding."

"Okay, ma'am, stay on the line with me," the dispatcher said, her voice steady and reassuring. "I'm dispatching paramedics and police to your location right now. Can you tell me your name?"

"Ava. Ava Smith."

"Okay, Ava. Help is on the way. Can you tell me exactly where you are in the building?"

"A small kennel... in the back. In a closet," she gasped, her vision starting to blur at the edges. "The door is breaking."

"Ava, I need you to stay with me. The units are just a few minutes out. Can you tell me about the bleeding?"

As she tried to answer, the wooden shelves above her, destabilized by the dog's relentless assault on the closet structure, gave way. A heavy bucket of cleaning supplies crashed down, striking her on the head and shoulder. The phone flew from her hand, skittering across the floor. Black spots danced in her vision. The last thing she heard before the world went hazy was the splintering of the closet door.

The dog was getting in.

From the phone on the floor, the dispatcher's voice was a tiny, tinny sound of panic. "Ava? Ava, are you still there? Can you hear me?"

Ava couldn't answer. She was slumped on the floor, barely conscious, as the snarling dog finally broke through the shattered door, its eyes fixed on her. She tried to crawl backward, her injured leg leaving a thick smear of blood on the concrete. The dispatcher's voice continued, a frantic, distant plea from a world Ava was rapidly leaving.

"The team is on site, Ava, but they're saying the building is locked. They can't get in. Ava, listen to me. If you can hear me, you need to tell me how to get to you."

But Ava could only watch in silent horror as the dog gathered itself to lunge again, its shadow falling over her broken body.