Sebastian's POV
New York was quieter than usual. Or maybe it was me.
I hadn't been sleeping right. Something… off. Like a breath always behind my neck. Like someone watching from across the street, just a second too long.
I hadn't told Ava.
She'd just started laughing again.
Ever since our fight — since that night I caught the smell of smoke in her hair and the bruises she lied about — we'd been rebuilding. Day by day. Her head on my shoulder while we watched movies. Her hands making me tea like I was the one fragile. Her clinging to me like I was the last thing holding her together.
She was mine again.
And I wasn't going to ruin that by telling her that her mother — the woman who broke both of us once already — might be back.
I wanted to believe it was all in my head.
Until it wasn't.
It was late.
Ava was upstairs, humming in the shower. I was halfway through a cup of black coffee, staring out the glass walls of the kitchen. City lights shimmered against the skyline. Reflections blurred. Movement flickered across the glass.
And then came the knock.
Three taps. Soft. Deliberate.
I opened the door and there she was.
Rain.
Her hair was longer, bleached. Eyes the same — dangerous. That same damn smirk on her face. Like she'd never left. Like we hadn't burned our entire world down at sixteen.
"Sebastian," she said, as if we were friends.
I didn't speak. I stepped out, shutting the door behind me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. My voice didn't waver. Cold. Sharp.
She tilted her head. "You always used to ask me that with less clothing involved."
"Don't," I warned.
"Oh, but I came to talk about your daughter," she said, smiling wider. "I know what she's been doing. You think she's so perfect, don't you? But I've seen her. At clubs. With boys. Lying to your face every damn day."
I clenched my fists.
"She stopped," I said. "She told me everything. She's trying—"
"She's just like me," Rain spat. "And you hated me for it. So why do you get to love her?"
Because she's mine.Because she never gave up.Because she chose me.
"Because she's not you," I said, low.
Her smile cracked.
"You're blind," she hissed. "She stole you from me the second she was born. You love her more than you ever loved me."
I stared her down.
"You're right," I said. "I do."
That was when I heard the gasp.
I turned. Ava stood a few feet away — barefoot, hair damp, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Her eyes locked on Rain, wide, and something in her shattered.
She wasn't supposed to hear that.But I was glad she did.
"Ava," I said, stepping toward her.
She didn't move. She was staring at Rain — the woman she never really knew. The one who gave her away like a secret. The one who now looked at her like she was the villain.
Rain stepped forward too.
"Little spy," she said coldly. "He'll hate you again soon enough."
But Ava didn't flinch. Her voice was low, trembling, but firm.
"No," she said. "He won't."
Then she walked to me. Took my hand. Clung to it like oxygen.
Rain stood there for a second too long before disappearing into the night.
I shut the door. Locked it.
And then I turned to Ava, brushing her hair out of her face, checking for tears.
"You okay, baby?"
She nodded, but she was shaking. "I hate her."
"I know."
She looked up at me.
"You won't leave, right?"
My jaw clenched. I pulled her close, buried her into my chest.
"Not now," I whispered. "Not ever."