Chapter 2 Ava's POV

The cemetery was quiet, except for the soft rustle of wind against trees and the sobs from the mourners. The scent of fresh earth hung in the air, and I stood a few feet back from the casket, arms crossed over my chest, trying to ignore the lump in my throat as they lowered her into the ground.

Mrs. Williams had been kind to me, and that word clung to me. She wasn't extravagant or intimidating like I'd feared when we first met, but gentle in asking about my mother's condition.

She always offered tea during our meetings and touched my arm lightly when I looked unsure. We hadn't become friends-how could we, given what I was doing for her? But she made me feel less like a vessel for her babies.

And now she was gone.

The casket sank slowly, and I barely managed to swallow hard when I remembered her laugh. She was excited when she first felt the triplets kick and cried during our last phone call.

The one we'd had just before the accident, before she was taken from her newborn babies, whom she loved so much.

She'd been on the highway, I remembered that much, driving home after visiting the hospital where the nursery was being set up. Her voice had been bright and excited before there was a sharp sound.

Then the phone cut off, so I wasn't sure if I had imagined the scream.

They said it was an accident, a truck swerved into the wrong lane, and it was too sudden and unavoidable.

But still, it didn't feel real.

One day, she was decorating a room for her babies; the next, she was gone.

I turned away before they started throwing dirt over the casket. I couldn't bear to watch that part. I couldn't stand the sound of it either because it would prove she was never coming back.

Back at the house, which was massive and cold, I wandered to the room that had been mine, the one where I was allowed to sleep. I stared out the window, wondering what would happen if I walked out.

If I left everything behind like the babies, the grief, the man who had barely spoken since the funeral arrangements began.

Could I run? Could I live with myself if I did?

I hadn't even held them yet, the triplets. They were barely a week old, still too small to wrap my mind around the idea that they were real.

My body still ached from labor, my mind still foggy from the whirlwind that followed: all the lawyers, press releases, and the funeral arrangements.

And him, Mr. Williams, silent and sharp-eyed, moving through it all coldly like a statue brought to life.

I didn't trust him, I never had, not fully. He was charming when his wife was around, but there was always something behind his eyes, like a quiet calculation, or something colder.

And that she was gone, that calculation had grown teeth and was ready to attack, so I was startled when the door creaked behind me.

But I didn't turn.

I knew it was him by the way the air shifted. He had that presence, a large and heavy one. The kind of presence that made your skin tighten even when he said nothing.

"So this is where you're hiding," he said, his voice low, even.

"I wasn't hiding." I kept my eyes on the window to avoid staring at him. "Just thinking about some things."

He didn't respond at first, but then I heard the click of the door closing and the soft footfalls as he approached.

"I suppose you've been thinking a lot," he said. "Wondering whether to stay or run."

That made me turn, but I did it slowly.

He was standing in the center of the room, dressed in black, but not mourning. There was no grief in his face, only a cold stillness, like he'd already processed the loss and moved past it.

"Am I wrong?" he asked.

I clenched my hands in response. "I... don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore."

He moved closer, and I instinctively stepped back. Just a small motion, but enough that he noticed, and that made his jaw tick.

"You were talking to her," he said flatly. "When she crashed."

My breath caught. "That wasn't...Mr. Williams, I didn't know that..."

"She was calling you," he said, voice still too calm. "Talking to you when she should've had both hands on the wheel. But of course, you couldn't wait, no, you had to tell her about every little ache as if the pregnancy made you part of the family."

"I didn't ask for any of that," I said, my voice shaking. "You hired me, both of you did, and she was the one who called me, so I didn't make her drive and talk..."

"She's dead." He said it with a finality that sucked the air out of the room and out of my lungs.

And then he stepped forward, closing the distance between us.

"You don't get to run," he said, his voice low now and dangerous. "You think you can just disappear and leave them behind? My children?"

"They are her children too," I snapped, instantly regretting the heat in my voice because his eyes flared in reply.

"Yes," he said tightly. "Now that she's gone, I will raise them, but they need someone to care for them, feed them, wake up with them, and bond with them."

He stared at me for a long moment. "You carried them, and you'll stay and raise them." I took another step back. "That's not what we agreed to, the contract was clear-"

"There is no contract anymore," he said coldly. "Not one that matters between us at least."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off sharply. "You live here now, until I say otherwise. This is no longer a discussion, so you don't get to choose."

My throat tightened.

He didn't yell because he didn't need to; the weight of his words was enough. I felt them like chains, invisible but unbreakable, wrapping around my body.

I looked away, blinking hard.

"I want to see them," I whispered, not sure why I said it. Maybe to remind myself why I hadn't run, or to remind him I wouldn't be pushed around so easily.

He paused for a long beat, then turned and left, closing the door with quiet finality even though he didn't bother responding.

And I stood alone, my heart pounding, while silence rushed around me again. But it wasn't comforting anymore.

No, it felt like a warning.