Chapter 8 Ava's POV

Nicholas didn't move. He just stood there, rigid, his jaw tight, his hand still gripping the edge of the table.

The light from the hallway caught half his face, sharp enough to show every line of strain and anger.

Yet, for the first time, his silence didn't feel loud. It felt suffocating.

His silence wasn't waiting for a storm to come. It was the storm itself.

He hadn't spoken since the phone call with the authorities ended.

"Nicholas," I whispered, standing behind him, with my arms folded to steady my trembling hands.

"Say something... please."

He turned slowly, and when his eyes locked with mine, I wished he hadn't.

They had no softness in them, only fury.

"You think a blanket can erase what you did?"

His voice came very low, calculated, yet bitter enough to break me.

"Do you even understand what this is to me?"

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. No words came.

"I didn't plan for this. I didn't ask for the triplets to-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence or say the word 'missing' again like it's casual. Like they're misplaced documents. They are children. My children," he voiced out, harsh and sudden.

"And they're mine too!" I shot back without thinking.

His eyes fluttered.

Once, Twice. Shocked, I couldn't help but confront him.

I regretted it immediately.

"No, Ava," he said with a bitter laugh.

"You were a womb, a temporary vessel".

"That was the contract, wasn't it?"

"You weren't supposed to feel anything but now you're here, emotionally invested yet irresponsible enough to walk away and leave my kids vulnerable to God knows what."

"I went out for forty-five minutes!" I yelled.

"I left them with someone you approved! A licensed nanny! I didn't dump them in the woods!"

"Don't twist this," he said, grinding his teeth as he spoke.

"This isn't about your damn errands; this is about your judgment. I entrusted you, I gave you space in my house. In their lives. You held them, fed them, smiled at them, yet you failed them in the most crucial moment."

The words landed heavy, stronger than any slap.

My voice broke.

"You think I don't feel guilty? You think I'm not dying inside every second, wondering where they are, if they're crying, if they're cold, if they're alive?"

He stared at me for a long time.

"I think you always find a way to make their pain about you."

Then he walked past me, down the hall, and into the study, slamming the door shut.

And just like that, I couldn't hold back the sob in my throat anymore.

I dropped to the ground onto the cold marble, knees to my chest, then pressed my hands against my ears, trying to shut out the sound of his words replaying like a cruel song.

"A womb. A temporary vessel."

God.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was just a contract.

But my heart didn't get the memo.

I cared so deeply it felt like my chest would break.

***

The next morning was unnaturally quiet.

The house had never felt so empty, no crying, no giggles, no tiny footsteps echoing down the hallway.

The kids room door remained closed.

Nicholas hadn't come out of his study.

Not once.

The staff walked on eggshells, and the air in the house was thick with fear and guilt.

The police returned with updates, but nothing conclusive.

No ransom calls, no camera footage, no witnesses. Nothing.

Like they vanished into thin air.

And the silence between Nicholas and me turned into a wall I couldn't climb, no matter how I tried.

Still, I tried.

I knocked on his study door. "Nicholas... please. Just talk to me."

No answer.

I left him food, water, and updates, but he never responded.

By the third day, I stopped trying.

But on the fourth, he surprised me.

I was on the couch, flipping through old photos of the triplets, my chest ached, every picture was a wound reopening when he entered the room.

He looked tired.

Rough, hair messy, shirt rumpled, and eyes hollow, like the light inside him had been stolen overnight.

He said nothing for a few seconds.

Then he whispered, "Have you eaten today?"

I nodded, surprised.

"Liar," he said softly.

Then sat across from me.

"I thought you were done with me," I said quietly, trying not to fall for the slight softness in his tone.

"I am done with you. But I'm not done with them," he said.

"And right now, you're the only one who might still know anything that could help."

His words burned, but I understood.

I sat straighter.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything, every phone call, every place you went, every interaction you had this week. I want to know which nanny you spoke to, and who she let into the house. What was the last time she saw them? I want every detail, no matter how small."

I let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Okay."

I told him everything, every damn thing I could recall. Even things I didn't think mattered.

Nicholas scribbled notes, eyes sharp and focused.

"I'll have them back," he whispered under his breath.

"Even if I have to rip the world apart."

The fire in his voice made something inside me ache.

The Nicholas I once feared wasn't cruel, he was simply a man who had lost too much to risk losing more.

Just then, his phone buzzed.

A text.

He read it.

His jaw clenched.

"What is it?" I asked.

He stood slowly, turning the screen to show me.

Private Number:

"You took something from me. Now I've taken something from you. I hope you enjoy the fun. Don't forget your time is ticking. Tick, tick."

I went cold all over.

Nicholas froze, staring at the message with eyes wide like he'd seen a ghost.

Then he whispered, "This isn't random..."

"What do you mean?"

His lips pressed together.

"I have enemies, Ava. Enemies that smile in boardrooms and strike in shadows. Someone wants revenge, and they're using the only leverage I have left."

I stood too.

"You think someone you wronged took them?"

He nodded once.

And then?

He looked me dead in the eyes and said

"And now you will help me get them back- whatever it costs."