Rain's POV
He slammed the door in my face.
Seb. No—Sebastian. He hadn't looked at me like that since I was seventeen. Since he stopped seeing me as anything more than a background blur. He used to soften. Used to care.
But now?
He looked at me like I was filth on his shoes.
Because of her.
Because of Ava and her fake little pout and her baby voice and her oversized hoodies like she's some helpless child instead of a manipulative brat who knows exactly what she's doing.
I watched her once, from the hallway—she crawled into his lap with a juice box like a toddler, rambling about cartoons, pressing kisses to his cheek while giggling like she owned him.
And he let her.
The same man who once said I was too clingy if I so much as touched his arm.
She gets to wrap herself around him like a limb.
She gets to call him Seb.
She gets to cry in his bed and wear his shirts and make him smile.
I don't even remember the last time he smiled at me.
And he thinks I'm going to go away quietly?
No.
No.
I drove faster than I should've. Didn't even wait for the gates to open—just swerved around when the security guard hesitated. Let him try to stop me. Let anyone try.
I was at the front door before I realized what I was doing.
I had a key. I shouldn't have. I never gave it back.
Stormed into the house, heels echoing like a warning bell.
"Ava!" I screamed, walking past the foyer. "You wanna play games? Let's play."
Silence. Upstairs? Maybe hiding? Or maybe she was with him—clinging to his neck, whispering lies into his ear.
The framed photo of them by the stairs—her kissing his cheek, both laughing—I knocked it off the shelf.
It shattered like my patience.
I turned toward the living room and froze.
Ava stood there.
Alone.
Hair wet from a shower, Sebastian's sweatshirt hanging off her like a flag. She blinked at me, like she hadn't expected me to get this far.
"You need help," she said softly.
I laughed. "You need to disappear."
She stepped forward. "I already did. From every guy, from every club, from every mistake. I stopped, Rain. I stopped for him. Can you say the same?"
I didn't care.
"You're poison. And he's too blind to see it."
"No," she said, voice calm, terrifyingly calm. "You're mad because he sees me."
She tilted her head.
"He never let you in, did he?"
My breath hitched.
She knew.
She knew everything.
That I tried, for years. That I waited. That I watched. That I loved him before she ever existed.
And he never looked at me the way he looked at her on his worst days.
"I swear," I said, stepping closer, "if you don't walk away, I'll—"
"You'll what?" she snapped, eyes blazing now. "Get me kicked out of his life? Good luck. You had years and he still chose me. So go ahead, scream. Break things. Burn down the whole damn house—he'll still pick me."
She was trembling now, fists clenched.
"I know you've been watching. Stalking. Listening. But you don't scare me. You pity me. That's why you want him—because you're obsessed with the idea that if someone like him wanted you, then maybe you weren't so empty."
I slapped her.
Or… tried to.
But she caught my wrist.
Eyes sharp. Like glass.
And then—his voice.
Cold. Sharp. From the doorway.
"Rain."
I turned.
He was there.
Jaw tight. Eyes like fire. And behind him?
Two guards.
"Don't come back," he said. "Ever."
He didn't even wait for me to speak. Just nodded once at the guards.
They stepped forward.
As they dragged me out, I screamed his name, but he never looked back.
Never flinched.
She stood in the doorway, watching.
And she smiled.