Chapter 60

Narrator’s POV

The sun continued its cycle of rising and setting over the city, but for Avery Von Carter, time was a measurement of Tiffany’s absence. The days bled into weeks, and every hour felt like a knife twisting in her chest.

She had been raised to believe in the inviolability of her power. Her resources were vast, her influence a current that moved markets and men.

The Von Carter name carried weight in places where doors did not exist for others. She had believed, with an arrogance born of wealth, that her power and name would bring Tiffany back.

She believed that with enough pressure, she could unearth the coordinates of her lover’s exile. But nothing came.

It was as if Tiffany Kingiston had vanished into thin air. Everywhere Avery turned, she hit walls.

Walls of silence. Walls of feigned ignorance, built by someone who knew how to disappear.

She stormed the corridors of the university, demanding answers from professors, shaking down teaching assistants, and cornering the janitor. She deployed Reynolds, her efficient Chief of Staff, sending him into the underbelly of information brokers.

She called in markers from people who owed her family debts spanning generations, instructing them to find a sign of Tiffany’s passing. Each time, Reynolds returned to the penthouse with the same defeated words:

“No response, Avery. No trail. No one knows where she’s gone.”

Avery hated those words. They tasted like ash.

Her desperation, once a controlled burn, grew sharp and consuming. She could not sleep.

Her nights were spent pacing the penthouse, the city lights below a parody of energy. Her reflection in the mirror became unrecognizable—dark shadows under her eyes, her lips dry from too much coffee and not enough rest.

Her demeanor cracked, revealing a raw vulnerability she had never allowed the world to see. Finally, the moment arrived: the first official confrontation between Avery and the Kingistons.

She remembered the drive to their walled estate. The mansion loomed like a fortress, wrapped in an air of cold aristocracy.

The black gates creaked open, revealing gardens that seemed soulless, pruned of warmth. Avery stepped out of the sedan, her fury a cloak beneath her coat.

Her heels struck the gravel like gunfire. Reynolds attempted a caution, murmuring as he approached the entrance:

“Avery, please, remember. Diplomacy. We need to secure their cooperation.”

Avery cut him off, eyes blazing, turning on him a glare that froze hostile shareholders.

“Diplomacy won’t bring her back, Reynolds. It won’t work on him. I need answers, and I need them now.”

The inside of the mansion smelled of old wood, cigar smoke, and the stagnant air of generations of wealth. Mr. Kingiston sat behind his desk in a worn leather chair, his hands folded.

His face was a mask of indifference, a facade Avery despised. His eyes, cold as chipped diamonds, darted toward Avery with the authority of a man used to being obeyed.

Robin was there too. He stood near the marble fireplace, his posture tense.

His gaze avoided hers, fixed on a spot of wallpaper. His knuckles were bone-white, as if he held onto a truth too tight.

Avery wasted no time on pleasantries. She stormed forward, her voice slicing through the velvet silence.

“Where is she?” she demanded, the words ringing with authority. “Where the hell is Tiffany?”

Mr. Kingiston lifted an eyebrow, a gesture of dismissal.

“Ms. Carter, I don’t appreciate your tone inside my home. If you expect me to cooperate with this interrogation—”

Avery did not let him finish. She slammed her palm against the edge of his desk, the sound echoing off the high ceiling.

Her jaw was tight, trembling with dangerous rage.

“Don’t you dare play games with me, Mr. Kingiston. You know who I am, and you know what I am capable of. Your company, your reputation—they are all within my reach. Now, tell me where she went!”

At the sound of Avery’s voice, Robin flinched. His eyes flickered toward Mr. Kingiston, then down at the floor.

For a moment, Avery caught that hesitation, and her instinct screamed: Robin knows more than he is letting on.

Mr. Kingiston sighed, an exhalation that suggested he was indulging a difficult child.

“She said she had to leave. That’s all. Where to, Ms. Carter? She never told us. She was insistent on her privacy.”

Avery clenched her fists until her nails bit into her skin.

“Do you expect me to believe that? She walked out of her life with nothing? Without telling her father? You’re her father!”

For the first time, Mr. Kingiston’s mask cracked—a flicker of discomfort crossed his face.

But before Avery could press the advantage, Robin stepped in, his voice low and unsteady.

“She left with her mother.”

The words were forced out as though speaking them made them dangerous. Avery’s eyes snapped to him, cold as honed daggers.

“What did you just say?”

Robin swallowed, his throat bobbing. He was trapped.

“She left with her mother. That’s all I know. She didn’t say anything else. I swear.”

Avery narrowed her eyes, stalking closer until the space between them hummed. Robin had no choice but to meet her gaze, a small surrender.

His shoulders stiffened, but his eyes were a torrent of betrayal—nervous and restless, screaming his lie.

“You’re lying,” Avery whispered, her voice trembling with the white-hot intensity of her building fury. “You know something more. I can see it in your eyes, Robin. So why don’t you spit it out before I make sure you regret staying silent for the rest of your worthless life?”

Robin looked away, his lips pressing into a bloodless line. His silence screamed louder than any confession.

Mr. Kingiston cleared his throat, interjecting with an air of finality.

“That is the sum total of our knowledge, Ms. Carter. She left. With her mother. The rest, I assure you, is none of your concern.”

But Avery’s heart twisted. That exchange—Robin’s flicker, the mention of her mother—was the first time she realized there were walls around Tiffany she had not known existed.

Secrets barricaded behind her lover’s soft touches. Something Robin was too afraid to voice.

Something Mr. Kingiston would rather face her wrath than reveal.

She leaned closer to the desk, her voice dropping to a venomous rumble.

“If I find out you are keeping something from me—if I even suspect it—I will come back here. And trust me, Mr. Kingiston, you do not want to see what happens when Avery Von Carter isn’t asking politely anymore.”

Mr. Kingiston did not flinch, but Robin’s face paled, the color draining as he understood the threat.

And yet, Avery walked out of that mansion with nothing. No address. No phone number.

No hint of where Tiffany had gone. Just an aching emptiness.

She had tried everything: interrogations, bribes, power plays. Even Reynolds pulling every string behind the scenes.

But Tiffany had done what Avery thought was impossible—she had erased herself. No matter how hard Avery tried, she could not find her.

What burned more than the failure was the not knowing—the unanswered questions that became her torment. Why did she leave without a word?

Why did she not trust Avery enough to say goodbye? And why did Robin look so terrified, as if the truth was a weight too heavy to let out?

The cruelest twist of fate was this—Avery remained unaware of the secret that could shatter her heart. Tiffany had not just left with her mother.

She had left with her son. And Avery did not know.

Not yet.

The nights turned into months, and Avery’s search led to the same dead end. She commanded armies of detectives and investigators checking every route Tiffany could have taken.

Each report ended the same way: She’s gone.

That word was a burning brand. At first, her energy had been kinetic.

She barely slept, haunted by the phantom sound of Tiffany’s voice. Every morning, Avery walked into the university, her heart holding onto a pathetic flicker of hope—that maybe Tiffany would be there.

But every morning, she was met with the sterile emptiness of that room. Students noticed the shift in her mood.

Professors whispered about her short temper. Avery, the woman who commanded respect, now walked around with shadows under her eyes, her jaw tight, her focus broken.

And still—she searched. Reynolds, burdened and worried, would try to reason with her.

“Avery, you’re pushing yourself past the breaking point. If she wanted to disappear, she made sure she couldn’t be found. Maybe this is what she wanted. Maybe you should respect her decision.”

Avery’s glare sliced through him.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare say that to me, Reynolds. Tiffany didn’t want this. She wouldn’t leave me like this, not in the middle of the night. Not without a reason.”

But the emptiness inside her kept whispering the possibility that he was right. Then came the moment she never thought she would have to enact.

Her obsession led her once more to the Kingiston mansion. This time, she didn’t bother with courtesy.

She barged past the footmen, demanded answers, threatened, interrogated. This time, she cornered Robin.

Alone. She pressed him against the library wall, her hand gripping his collar, her eyes blazing with the fire of a goddess scorned.

“Where is she?!” she hissed, her breath ragged.

Robin’s breath hitched. Her composure cracked, violently, this time.

His eyes darted, his lips trembled, and his voice was a shaking whisper.

“I… I told you! She left with her mother! That’s all I know, Avery! Please!”

Avery spat out the next word like venom.

“Liar! You know more. You’re hiding something. You’ve always been hiding something! And I swear, if you don’t tell me—”

Robin froze, his silence now telling. His fear was palpable.

Avery could smell the cold sweat of a man caught in a bear trap. He was terrified—not just of her fury, but of something bigger.

Something he simply would not dare to speak of. But no matter how hard Avery pressed him, he never broke.

He repeated the same words over and over:

“She left with her mother. She didn’t say where.”

And Avery, with a fire raging in her chest, left again, with nothing but bitter ash. The cruelest part?

She still didn’t know. She didn’t know about the little boy Tiffany tucked into a small, unfamiliar bed each night.

Didn’t know about the laughter that echoed in Tiffany’s new, quiet home. Didn’t know that Tiffany had built a hidden world where Avery’s name was never spoken, but where her memory lingered in Tiffany’s heart.

Avery Von Carter had all the power, all the wealth, all the influence in the world. But she couldn’t find her.

And Tiffany—carrying a secret Avery never imagined—lived in a deafening silence, raising her son with her mother by her side. Yet in the stillness of every night, when Avery lay awake in her cold room, she swore she could hear Tiffany whisper her name on the wind.

The ache never dulled for Avery. It became part of her pulse.

Tiffany’s world was quiet—deceptively so. It was a world built on silence, but it was far from peaceful.

The small house she had chosen was a brutal opposite of the life she left behind. Yet, it was safe.

Safe for Ethan, who had adjusted, finding joy in the simplest things—the sun-drenched garden, the stray cat, the friends in the park. But Tiffany?

Her nights were weighted by regrets. After tucking Ethan into his wooden bed, she often sat by the window, arms wrapped around her frame, whispering Avery’s name into the dark.

One night, her mother, Eleanor, came in, holding a cup of tea. Eleanor spoke in a low voice, full of understanding.

“You’re torturing yourself, Tiffany. You’ve done what you had to do. You made the necessary choice.”

Tiffany’s lips trembled, but she couldn’t deny it.

“Then why does it feel like I ripped my own heart out? Why does it feel like I can’t breathe without her, Mother?”

Eleanor set the cup down, her eyes firm.

“Because love doesn’t vanish just because it’s forbidden, my child. It simply goes into hiding.”

Tiffany pressed her palms to her face, her tears hot against her skin. She couldn’t tell Avery the truth—not about Ethan, the little boy who was now her entire universe.

And certainly not about the true, corrosive danger Robin had revealed, a whisper of a threat he’d dropped before she left. Avery’s fire was magnificent, but it was a wildfire; it would consume everything for love.

And Tiffany could not let her burn for her.

“You’re protecting her,” her mother said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But, child… who’s protecting you from the consequences of that sacrifice?”

Tiffany had no answer. She only had Ethan.

And the secret that Avery still didn’t know—that the little boy was hers to raise. Meanwhile, Avery’s obsession shifted, growing colder, sharper.

She started interrogating Robin’s associates, his partners, anyone who owed him a favor. She pressed Mr. Kingiston again, in the presence of his senior staff, daring him to lie to her face.

Avery’s voice was low, menacing, a coiled threat.

“Do you think you can hide her from me forever? Do you believe I won’t find her? Every wall, Mr. Kingiston, has cracks. Every secret, eventually, bleeds.”

Kingiston faltered. His lifelong bravado slipped.

Avery saw it—the flash of fear—and it fueled her more. Robin, meanwhile, looked smaller, defeated every time their paths crossed.

Avery’s presence was rattling his core. He gave her nothing in terms of information, but his fear gave her something else: certainty.

Tiffany had not left of her own free will. There was a reason.

A desperate threat. And Avery swore, as she slammed her fists against her desk one whiskey-fueled night, that no matter the cost, she would tear down every wall until she uncovered it.

Thinking of her, she closed her eyes. Back in the small house, Tiffany tucked Ethan in tighter.

He stirred, mumbling in his sleep. “Mama… why are you sad?” the little voice whispered.

Tiffany froze, her heart breaking at the clarity of his question. She kissed his forehead, forcing a fragile smile.

“I’m not sad, baby. I’m just… tired.”

But when she turned off the lamp, she stood in the doorway, clutching her chest, where the phantom pain of Avery’s absence resided. Avery’s face haunted her.

The last harsh words they exchanged replayed in her mind like a broken record. And every night, Tiffany whispered the same thing, a plea for forgiveness:

“I’m sorry, Avery. I’m so terribly sorry.”

While Avery sharpened her obsession into a blade, tearing at walls across the world, Tiffany stitched her brokenness into smiles for her son. Two worlds apart—one burning with fire, the other hiding behind a curtain of silence—both bound by a love that refused to die.