Chapter 36

Avery’s POV

The idea had been an insistent flame in my mind all day: today, she had to see this part of me. I orchestrated the initial exchange—the perfume, the watch—gifts that spoke the language of my world, the language of the Von Carter name and its untouchable wealth.

But there was another gift I wanted her to receive, one that could not be wrapped in ribbons. I wanted her to see my other world. The sanctuary.

The part of me no one in the corporate sphere bothered to look at—the part where Avery Von Carter was not just a name, not just a fortune, not just a façade of tailoring and intellect. 

When my car pulled to a stop outside the humble gates of the orphanage, the engine died, and Tiffany sat beside me, her curious gaze snapped toward me.

Her voice was laced with a thread of demand. “Avery… where exactly are we? This is hardly a five-star dining experience.”

I managed a smile, though a knot of nerves tightened in my stomach. “Come inside, Professor. It’s the destination.”

She raised a sculpted brow, suspicion lighting her eyes, but she held her tongue, a sign of concession. I stepped out, rounding the hood to hold the gate open.

The warmth of the place hit me. 

It was a complex symphony: the sound of tiny footsteps scurrying across the floor, the laughter echoing from the hall, and the earthy smell of food wafting from the kitchen.

It was my sanctuary. The moment we stepped through the entrance, Fiona appeared—graceful in her functional attire, her presence commanding yet warm.

Bounding forward beside her, propelled by kinetic energy, came Lily. I had no chance to prepare myself, or Tiffany, for what came next.

Lily stopped in her tracks, her intelligent eyes flicking between me and Tiffany. And then, without warning, she blurted out, her voice ringing clear in the hall:

“Avery! She’s definitely your girlfriend! She’s pretty!”

The earth might as well have opened up beneath my shoes. I flinched.

My mouth fell open, a silent scream of horror written on my face. “Lily!” I hissed, my voice sharp with embarrassment. “Shut up! What is this girlfriend thing you’re obsessed with?”

Behind us, Fiona’s composure shattered. 

She burst into unrestrained laughter, the sound filling the hall.

Tiffany stood frozen, her lips twitching as she battled a war between amusement, shock, and professional mortification. “Lily!” I groaned, dragging a trembling hand across my burning face. “Honestly, this child—”

Fiona managed to compose herself, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. She stepped forward, rescuing us both.

She met Tiffany with a welcoming grin. “Professor Rose, please, do come in. Ignore the little commander; she thinks Avery is too beautiful not to have a steady beau.”

Grateful for the intervention, I muttered a silent thanks and followed them inside, casting one last pleading look at Lily.

The moment we entered the room, the horde of children noticed us.

Our chatter fell silent, the quiet lasting for one beat, before erupting into a cacophony of squeals and hurried footsteps. I watched Tiffany stiffen beside me, overwhelmed by the intense attention.

I lifted my hand—a gesture they recognized—to quell the chaos and spoke, my voice projecting warmth and control. “My dear little pocket bombs,” I announced, my voice carrying over their residual giggles, “Meet her. She’s my professor, Ms. Tiffany Rose. She teaches me everything I know at university. And since today is her birthday, I thought to give her a surprise by bringing her to meet all of you.”

A hush fell again. 

But this time, it was a profound, reverent quiet.

Then, in spontaneous harmony, every child in the room chorused—

“Happy Birthday!”

The look on Tiffany’s face… it was beyond anything I had dared to imagine. Her lips parted in astonishment, her dark eyes softened with a kind of unguarded, childlike joy I had never witnessed.

It was as though their sincere wish had cracked open a hidden, fortified chamber deep within her heart. She whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “Thank you… all of you.”

I, standing beside her, felt my chest tighten with a sense of righteous triumph. I had done this. I had brought her here.

Seeing her like this—unmasked, moved, vulnerable—felt like the most important decision I had ever made. But of course, Tiffany being Tiffany, the moment passed.

She turned toward me, her eyes narrowing with a flash of professional severity. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked, bewildered by the shift in mood.

She shot me a look that was sharp and scolding. “You fool. You should have told me we were coming here! I can’t believe you dragged me into a room full of such little cutie pies empty-handed! It’s unethical!”

“Professor—”

“Don’t ‘professor’ me, Avery. I’ve already ordered cake. Two, actually. When the delivery comes, you’re going to fetch them.”

I blinked, fighting a laugh at the authority in her tone. “Yes, ma’am. Consider it done.”

Without waiting, she moved away from me. She did not seek out the sofa, did not settle into the small comfort that was the only concession to adult furnishing.

As she lowered herself onto the mat, right there among the expectant children. “Alright,” she said, her voice lighter now, stripped of its scholarly weight. “Tell me your names. Each and every one of them.”

One by one, they did. She repeated them, her voice clear and precise, storing them in her mind as if they were precious data points.

Soon, laughter erupted again—hers mingling with theirs. She clapped her hands at their jokes, leaned closer to hear their whispers, and listened to their stories about their day as if each word mattered.

I stood back against the wall, spellbound, watching her. She looked… natural. Effortless.

As though she had not just discovered this world, but had known them, and this space, all her life. And me?

I was lost in thought. For the first time, I was not seeing her as just Professor Tiffany Rose Kingston, the icy academic.

I was seeing her as Tiffany. The woman who could walk into a room of strangers—children, no less—and make it feel like home.

“Too precious to lose, isn’t she?” The words startled me, breaking through my thoughts.

I turned and found Fiona standing at my side, her gaze fixed on Tiffany, her smile knowing and gentle. 

I swallowed hard, the denial dying in my throat. “She is.”

Fiona’s hand brushed my arm, a maternal, guiding pressure. “Don’t let her slip away then, Avery. This is the real currency.”

I turned to her, alarmed by the bluntness of the advice, but before I could respond, she added with a wry smile, “Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy the show while I take a look at dinner preparation.”

She walked away, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, my eyes glued to the sight of Tiffany laughing freely with children who had only just met her. In that moment, I knew Fiona was right.

I could not lose her. I just did not know if I would ever be allowed to truly have her.

The delivery boy finally arrived, his hands balancing a magnificent frosted cake that smelled of vanilla and strawberries. I went outside to collect it, shaking my head with a proprietary smile.

Tiffany had ordered two cakes, not one—one massive cake, large enough for the entire population of children, and another smaller, elegant one meant for a private celebration. Typical of her: never doing things halfway, always operating on two scales at once.

When I carried them inside, the children’s eyes widened, their collective gasp of surprise and squeals filling the room. Tiffany had gathered them in a circle on the floor, cross-legged, as though she had been one of them, the ringleader, for years.

She clapped her hands when she saw me and exclaimed, “There it is! My rescue!”

I set the cakes down on the nearest table, rolling my eyes. “Rescue? Professor, I was the one who brought you here. This is not a rescue; this is a delivery.”

“Yes, Avery, and then you abandoned me to suffer the emotional guilt of coming empty-handed,” she teased, her lips curving into a smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle with joy. “So technically, this was your mistake, not mine, and you are correcting it.”

The children giggled at our public, ridiculous banter, and I bit back my smirk. Tiffany really did not need their encouragement—she was far too good at making me stumble and look foolish.

“Alright,” she said, standing with a graceful flourish, her hand brushing invisible dust off her dress. “Shall we?”

She placed the large cake on the mat in the center, kneeling down again with the children crowded around her. They leaned close, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Tiffany lit the candles—simple, tall, brightly coloured ones, nothing extravagant—and looked at them all, her face solemn. “Do you know why we have candles?” she asked softly, her voice hushed, commanding instant attention.

Tiny heads shook in unison.

“Because,” she explained, her voice warm and steady, taking on the tone of a master storyteller, “they remind us that even when the room is dark, light exists. Every year, when we celebrate a birthday, we remind ourselves to keep shining. Even if it’s only a small light, we should never let it go out.”

The children stared at her with wide-eyed, silent reverence. And me?

My throat tightened, a lump forming there. She did not even know it, but she had just spoken the truest thing about herself.

Tiffany was light—a flickering, defiant, beautiful light, one she perhaps did not even realize she carried. She inhaled, closed her eyes for a heartbeat, and then opened them again, her composure reasserted. “Alright. On three, we blow them out together. Ready?”

“One… two… three!”

The children blew with all their might, sending the flames dancing and then sputtering out. Cheers erupted, their laughter spilling into every corner of the room like music.

Tiffany clapped along with them, her smile wide and radiant. When she sliced the cake, she did not serve herself first.

She meticulously handed the first piece to Lily, who had been watching eagerly, frosting already on her mind. Lily accepted it with a triumphant grin and promptly smeared a little of the pink frosting on her nose, sending the other kids into fits of hysterical laughter.

“You’re supposed to eat it, not wear it!” Tiffany teased, wiping Lily’s nose with a tissue. Then she served every single child before finally taking a piece for herself.

When she finally took a bite, her eyes widened playfully, and she gave a slow, satisfied nod. “Mmm! Not bad at all, is it?”

“Yaaay!” the children shouted, mouths full of cake. Even Fiona had come back in, standing in the doorway, her smile soft and knowing.

She caught my eye and gave a significant nod—her silent way of saying, Look at her. Remember this. This is the truth.

I could not not look. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in her tailored dress, eating birthday cake with children who had smudged frosting on their cheeks and joy on their lips.

She did not care about appearances, or how undignified it looked for a professor, for a family heiress. She was present.

And I realized, with a clarity that struck deep into my soul—she belonged here as much as I did. After the cake, came the chocolates Emily had packed.

Tiffany took on the role of chief distributor, crouching low to meet each child’s eyes, calling them by name as though they were cherished friends. “Here you go, Adams.”

“This one’s for you, Moly—don’t share unless you truly want to, okay?”

“Ah, Lily. You already had cake on your nose, let’s not try this on your forehead too, alright?”

The children adored her. And honestly? I could not blame them.

I leaned against the wall, arms folded, just watching. My heart tugged at every laugh, every gesture she made.

She was not faking it. She was not just humoring them because I had brought her here.

She was happy. And that scared me.

Because the more I saw her like this, the more violently I wanted to keep her in this world—my world. Not the cold halls of business empires, not the suffocating lectures of the university, but here.

Where love was raw, messy, and fundamentally real. But could I?

After an hour of games, chatter, and stories, the children began to wind down. Some leaned sleepily against Tiffany.

One tiny girl crawled onto her lap and nestled against her, refusing to move. Tiffany instinctively stroked her hair, her voice soft as she hummed a tune I could not quite catch.

Fiona approached again, this time addressing Tiffany directly, her face full of admiration. “You’ve made them very happy today, Professor Rose,” she said warmly.

Tiffany looked up, startled, and shook her head. “No… they’ve made me happy, Fiona. Truly. I—I didn’t know…”

She trailed off, then glanced at me, her eyes softer than I had ever seen them, bare. “…Thank you, Avery. For bringing me here. For this.”

The sincerity in her tone knocked the air from my lungs. I opened my mouth, then shut it, unsure if any simple words would do justice to what she had just given me.

Instead, I forced the smirk back onto my face. “Well, Professor, consider this your birthday adventure. No Von Carter trip is complete without a few mandatory surprises and a near-death experience from a frosting ambush.”

She chuckled, the sound fragile and beautiful, but her gaze lingered on me a moment longer, like she was trying to read the confession hidden behind the mask. She looked away, focusing back on the small weight of the child in her lap.

When it was time to leave, the children hugged her one by one, some shyly, some with bold, unrestrained energy. Lily, of course, was the last.

“Once again Happy birthday, pretty lady,” she said with a mischievous grin. “But I still think you’re Avery’s girlfriend.”

I tripped over my own feet. “Lily!”

Fiona burst into laughter, and Tiffany—oh, Tiffany laughed too, the sound so bright that I could not even manage to be angry. She crouched to Lily’s height, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “You’re very clever, aren’t you?”

Lily nodded proudly, while I groaned, accepting my defeat. On the way back, the silence between us was thick, charged, filled with the weight of unspoken words and shared vulnerability.

Tiffany stared out the window, her reflection faint in the glass, her expression thoughtful, wistful. The Professor was gone; the woman remained.

Finally, she spoke, her voice low, reflective, startling in the quiet of the car. “Avery… you have so many sides I never imagined. Sometimes I wonder if I even know you at all. Which one is the real one?”

I gripped the steering wheel, my throat dry. “Maybe one day you will. Not the Von Carter version. Just… me.”

She turned her head then, meeting my eyes in the darkness of the car. In her gaze was something that made my heart stutter—something between raw recognition and a fear of what that recognition might mean.

Though she did not reply, I knew she had heard me.

❖ 

Tiffany’s POV

Birthdays had never meant much to me. They were usually quiet, controlled days—at best, a polite dinner with a few acquaintances; at worst, a day I buried myself beneath an avalanche of work, avoiding the reminder that time was slipping by.

But today… Avery Von Carter had ripped up the blueprint and had other, chaotic plans. When her sleek black car rolled to a stop outside an unfamiliar, unpretentious gate, I frowned.

This was not an exclusive restaurant, or a manicured corporate park, or even some absurdly extravagant Von Carter surprise. The place looked humble, lived-in, functional.

I turned to her, arching a skeptical brow. “Avery,” I asked, a thread of suspicion weaving through my voice, “where exactly are we? I believe I recall you promising me a destination.”

She only smiled—that infuriating, beautiful smile that both intrigued and irritated me. “Come inside, Professor. You’ll see.”

I followed her through the gate, though my high heels clicked against the worn stone in a moment of hesitation. Inside, two figures appeared in the modest hall—one older woman, the supervisor, and a little girl who darted forward with the fearless energy only children possessed.

The girl froze when she saw me standing beside Avery. Her eyes, wide and perceptive, lit up with mischief, and then she blurted out words that made my jaw slacken in disbelief.

“Avery! She’s definitely your girlfriend! She’s pretty!”

For a split second, I lost my breath. Girlfriend?

My first instinct screamed to look at Avery—and when I did, the sight nearly cracked my composure. Her face burned a violent crimson, her lips stammering, horrified.

“Lily! Shut up—what is this girlfriend thing you keep bringing up?!” she hissed, her voice a mix of fury and embarrassment.

The woman, Fiona, burst into uncontrollable, magnificent laughter, unable to contain herself. I pressed my lips together, trying to appear composed and mortified, but a powerful, irresistible amusement tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Avery looked like she wanted the concrete floor to swallow her whole, and I was not about to rescue her. Not yet.

The child turned to me again, her grin as bold as before. Before Avery could combust entirely, Fiona stepped forward.

She looked at me, her smile warm and genuine, and said, “Professor Rose, welcome. Please, come in.”

Professor. The word hit me strangely, almost tenderly, spoken in this setting. Avery, usually encased in her family armor, looked exposed, stripped of her usual confidence.

But here, in this humble space, a profound truth slipped through: she was cared for, protected, truly loved. I filed that piece of information away as we walked deeper inside.

The main hall smelled of chalk, clean disinfectant, and warm bread. Children gathered, their curious eyes darting toward me. I felt their stares like a physical weight, though I knew they were not unkind—simply honest, unfiltered.

Avery cleared her throat, her voice taking on a different texture—warm, resonant with the kind of affection I had never heard in a lecture hall.

“My dear little pocket bombs,” she announced, “meet her—she’s my professor, Ms. Tiffany Rose. She teaches me at the university. And since it’s her birthday today, I thought to give her a surprise. I brought her to you all.”

Pocket bombs. I almost smiled fully. It was so perfectly, ridiculously her.

The children blinked for a silent moment, and then in a magnificent, chaotic harmony, they all shouted, “Happy Birthday!”

I froze. My chest tightened in a way I had not felt in years. Their voices were not polished, but pure, bursting with sincerity.

I swallowed hard, my lips trembling as I whispered, almost without conscious control, “Thank you… all of you.”

The words came out softer than I intended, my voice betraying the emotional tremor in my soul. It was not just gratitude—it was something deeper, something vital that I could not yet name.

Instinctively, I pulled out my phone, scrolling quickly. Avery leaned closer, her expression questioning. “What are you doing? Are you calling a ride?”

I shot her a sharp, scolding look, lowering my voice to a hiss. “You fool! You should have told me beforehand that we’re coming here! How could you bring me in front of such little cutie pies empty-handed? I’ve ordered cake—two cakes, in fact. When the delivery boy arrives, you are going to go and get them.”

Before she could argue, I abandoned the lone, plush sofa. It felt wrong to sit in luxury while small faces looked up at me with such eager, honest smiles.

So I sat on the mat, knees folding under me with easy flexibility, and asked the nearest boy, “What’s your name?”

The boy told me, shyly. I repeated it, praising it, asking about his favorite color. Soon, another chimed in, and then another.

Within minutes, laughter bubbled around us, the children tugging at my sleeves, showing me their tiny treasures, their prized possessions. Somewhere in the periphery, I felt Avery’s eyes on me.

I did not look up. If I did, I might crumble.

Because sitting there, surrounded by these children who expected nothing but my presence, I realized how hollow my previous thirty-five birthdays had been. No expensive dinner, no perfect bouquet, no flawlessly wrapped gift could compare to this surge of genuine connection.

The cakes arrived shortly after. Two warm, massive boxes that smelled heavenly.

Avery carried them in, her face radiating mock annoyance and underlying pride, and the children erupted in cheers. “See?” I teased her, clapping hands lightly. “My rescue has arrived.”

She raised a single brow at me, unconvinced. “Rescue? Professor, I was the one who brought you here. I am the host.”

I smirked, enjoying the moment of turning the tables. “Yes, Avery. And then you abandoned me to suffer the crushing guilt of arriving empty-handed. So technically, this was your colossal mistake, not mine, and you are correcting the balance.”

The children giggled, siding with me. Avery rolled her eyes but said nothing, defeated by the logic of my argument.

I knelt before the cakes, lighting the candles. Their flames glowed like stars, fragile yet defiant in the afternoon light.

“Do you know why we light candles?” I asked, glancing at the children. They shook their heads, their eyes wide and glued to my face.

“Because even in darkness, there is always light,” I said softly, the words coming from a place deeper than my intellect. “On birthdays, we remind ourselves to keep shining, no matter how small that light might be.”

It was not a line from any academic text. It came from deep inside me, surprising even myself. But when I saw their faces, wide-eyed and mesmerized, I knew it was the truth.

I closed my eyes for a silent heartbeat. I did not wish for wealth or fame or professional recognition. I wished—silently, fiercely—for these children to always keep their magnificent light.

“Alright,” I said finally, opening my eyes, “on three. One, two, three!”

They blew with every bit of air in their lungs, extinguishing the flames in a storm of laughter and excited cheering. My chest swelled as their joy filled the room, and before I knew it, I was laughing fully with them.

The first slice went to Lily, of course. She immediately, and predictably, smeared frosting on her nose.

“You’re supposed to eat it, not wear it, little one!” I teased, dabbing her nose clean with a tissue. She giggled, and I felt a sense of profound happiness.

Later, when the sugar rush gave way to quieter games, a tiny girl, eyes heavy with sleep, crawled onto my lap and nestled against me. I froze at first, then instinctively, unconsciously wrapped my arms around her.

She did not ask for anything, did not expect anything—just rested there, secure and warm. I hummed an old, forgotten tune, one I had not sung since I was a child myself, and she sighed, content.

“You’ve made them very happy today, Professor Rose,” Fiona said as she passed by, her voice full of warmth.

I looked up, startled, and shook my head. “No,” I whispered, “they’ve made me happy, Fiona. Truly. I—I didn’t know…”

I trailed off, then glanced at me, my eyes softer than I had ever seen them, bare. “…Thank you, Avery. For bringing me here. For this.”

The sincerity in her tone knocked the air from my lungs. I opened my mouth, then shut it, unsure if any simple words would do justice to what she had given me.

Instead, I forced the smirk back onto my face. “Well, Professor, consider this your birthday adventure. No Von Carter trip is complete without a few mandatory surprises and a near-death experience from a frosting ambush.”

She chuckled, the sound fragile and beautiful, but her gaze lingered on me a moment longer, like she was trying to read the confession hidden behind the mask. She looked away, focusing back on the small weight of the child in her lap.

When it was time to leave, the children hugged me. Their tiny arms clung tightly, as though afraid I might disappear forever if they let go.

Lily was last, of course. “Once again Happy birthday, pretty lady,” she said brightly, then smirked, the mischievous gleam returning. “But I still think you’re Avery’s girlfriend.”

I could not help it—I burst out laughing, full and unrestrained, the sound feeling magnificent and freeing. Avery groaned in the background, her hands flying to her face, and Fiona joined in, laughing until tears shone in her eyes.

I crouched to Lily’s height, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “You’re very clever, aren’t you? Never stop asking questions.”

She nodded proudly, and I felt something bloom inside me—a complex mixture of joy, ache, and the sting of knowing I had to leave. On the drive back, silence filled the car.

It was thick, charged, heavy with all the unspoken words we had both witnessed. I stared out the window, watching the blur of city lights return, my reflection faint in the glass.

The laughter of the children echoed in my ears. “Avery,” I said finally, my voice lower and more vulnerable than I had intended, “you have so many sides I never imagined. Sometimes I wonder if I even know you at all. Where does Tiffany Rose end and the person who knows those children begin?”

Her knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, turning white. “Maybe one day you will. Not the Von Carter version. Just… me.”

I turned my head then, truly turned, and met her eyes in the dim light. For one breathless heartbeat, I saw the rawness in her gaze, unmasked and real.

It frightened me, because it mirrored something in my own heart, I was not ready to face, something that longed for that very same reality. So, I did not reply.

But I did not look away either. And in the powerful, charged silence, I knew—this birthday was the first one that truly, devastatingly mattered.