Ava's POV
I swear I baked the cookies myself.
Okay. Technically, I bought them from this cute French patisserie downtown and stuffed them in one of our cookie jars after burning the first batch at 2 a.m.—but whatever. That counts, right?
He was back.
Seb.
My dad. My world. My personal menace and the only person I've ever lied this much to.
I couldn't stop smiling. My cheeks hurt. My heart was doing somersaults. He was finally back, and I had jumped on him in public like a total lunatic, nearly knocked him out, and forgot how to breathe for a second.
Now I was home. In our glass mansion overlooking the city like we were Gotham's villains or something. I kicked off my shoes and practically floated into the kitchen, still wearing my uniform and that stupid lovesick grin.
Seb was upstairs, probably unpacking his trench coats and British attitude.
I reached into the cabinet, yanked open the glass cookie jar, and shoved the bakery-wrapped cookies inside. Then I carefully placed one on a vintage porcelain plate, sprinkled some powdered sugar for the aesthetic, and stepped back.
Totally innocent. Totally domestic. Totally not the same girl who had peeled out of the school parking lot last week on a blood-red Ducati wearing leather and cursing at the traffic.
Oh—right.
The bike.
Crap.
I grabbed the hem of my skirt and ran barefoot through the marble hallway, heading for the hidden back entrance that opened to the underground garage. I had exactly five minutes before Seb came downstairs and smelled something suspicious—like Ducati fumes and rebellion.
I flung the heavy door open, breathless, and there it was.
My baby. Matte red. Black rims. Helmet still dangling from the handle.
Sebastian Chen would murder me if he found out I'd been riding again. I was grounded for three months the last time. Said it was too dangerous. Said he'd buy me a horse instead.
A horse.
I shoved the bike behind the Rolls Royce, tossed a blanket over it, and whispered, "You never saw me."
I was halfway back to the kitchen when I heard his voice.
"Ava."
I froze.
Busted?
My heart stopped. I turned around slowly, clutching the cookie plate like it was a holy relic. He stood at the base of the stairs—hair tousled, dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, tattoos peeking beneath the fabric, jaw clenched in that terrifyingly calm way he had.
His eyes narrowed. "What were you doing in the garage?"
Think. Think. Think.
"I was...making sure the Tesla charger works?"
Dead silence.
He raised a brow. "In your school uniform. Barefoot. With cookies."
I held up the plate like a peace offering. "I made these for you?"
He said nothing.
Then his eyes softened. Just barely. His lips twitched like he was holding back a smirk.
"Bring them here, princess."
Princess. God. My knees almost buckled.
I walked toward him, innocent and sugary sweet on the outside—but screaming inside.
Because if he ever found out the truth?
About the clubs. The boys. The bike. The real me...
Pretty lies were all I had left.
And I was about to choke on them.