Ten years ago, I learned that home isn't always a safe haven.

I remember the events of that night as if they happened yesterday. The sound of shattering glass, the roar of my father’s anger after losing at gambling once again. The pungent stench of alcohol on his breath whenever he stumbled home late, his eyes bloodshot as he lurched toward Mom, who was trying desperately to calm him down.

I remember hiding behind the sofa, clutching my knees, pressing my small hands tightly over my ears. But the terrifying sounds could never truly be blocked out.

On that final night, I watched my father’s massive hand clamp around Mom's throat, slamming her against the wall. As she gasped for air, her eyes met mine with a terror I will never forget for the rest of my life, pleading with a desperate glance for me to run outside.

I screamed. I can't remember what I shouted. All I recall next was the wail of police sirens, the red and blue lights flashing through the window, and Mom being rushed to the hospital with dark, hand-shaped bruises blooming across her neck.

My father was imprisoned after that.

“Are you nervous?” Mom’s voice snapped me back to reality.

I raised my head and looked toward the front seat of the car. She was smiling at me through the rearview mirror.

I glanced out the window. The city skyline was gradually giving way to a succession of increasingly grand estates. Palm trees lined the boulevard, their fronds catching the late afternoon sunlight that reflected off the glass facades of distant high-rises.

“A little.”

“It's going to be okay.” I offered a faint smile at her comforting words.

Mom always said that.

It's going to be okay.

It was the exact same phrase she had whispered to me on that fateful night.

Ten years had passed since the incident, yet the memory remained deeply etched into our minds, leaving behind a profound trauma that time had failed to erase.

I drew a slow, deliberate breath. I didn't want to dwell on the past today. This was supposed to be a fresh start.

I looked at Mom. She genuinely looked happy, and after everything she had endured, she deserved it more than anyone.

Her marriage to Robert Walsh had changed everything.

He was a man whose name had once graced the pages of a business magazine I idly flipped through in an airport lounge. A director, an investor, an owner of multiple enterprises, and who knew what else. To me, however, he was simply the man who made my mother smile like a smitten teenager.

And that was more than enough.

“Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Are you happy?”

She paused for a few seconds before her face lit up. “Very.”

I returned her smile. “Then I'm happy too.”

The car finally came to a smooth halt.

I stared at the imposing structure towering before us.

“Wow.”

That was the only word I managed to utter.

The very first thought that crossed my mind upon seeing the property was that my mother had completely lost her mind.

Calling it a house felt like an understatement; it was a grand mansion.

The three-story white estate sat proudly atop a hillside, surrounded by sprawling manicured gardens, towering palm trees, and a heavy black wrought-iron gate that looked considerably more expensive than every home I had ever lived in combined.

From my seat inside the car, I could catch a glimpse of a swimming pool at the side of the property, complete with an elegant cabana and rows of pristine sun loungers.

I swallowed hard.

“Mom.”

“Hm?”

“Are you sure this is the right house?”

My mother let out a soft laugh from the front. “Very funny, Avery.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” she chuckled softly.

I turned my gaze back to the mansion before us. “Is this a home or a resort?”

“A home.”

“A five-star hotel would probably pale in comparison.”

My mother glanced back at me through the mirror, a gentle smile gracing her features—a smile I had seen far more frequently as of late. The smile of a woman deeply in love. And I couldn't possibly resent her for it.

Following her divorce from my father ten years ago, I had never seen her this radiant.

At the very least, someone was getting their happy ending.

I just wasn't quite sure if I would ever get mine.

A uniformed attendant was already waiting outside and promptly opened the door for us.

I took a long, steadying breath.

“Ready?” Mom asked.

“No.”

She chuckled gently.

I stepped out of the vehicle.

The humid Miami heat immediately wrapped around me, threatening to make my hair frizz within seconds. I adjusted my light jacket while taking in our grand surroundings.

This was utterly surreal.

The grand front doors swung open, and a tall man with dark, styled hair stepped out to greet us.

“Welcome home.”

Robert.

I had never met him in person prior to the wedding, though he had always been exceptionally warm toward me in our brief calls.

“Avery,” he said, his face breaking into a welcoming smile. “It's good to finally have you here.”

I returned his smile politely. “Thank you.”

He embraced my mother first before turning his attention back to me. “I'm glad you're here.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

It was a harmless white lie.

I didn't actually know if I was glad to be here; I simply knew I had no other alternative. My studies had been transferred to a university in Miami, the lease on my previous apartment had expired, and my mother, after years of standing alone, had finally decided she wanted to build a new life.

I was not going to be the person who ruined it for her.

We stepped inside. The interior of the mansion proved to be even more lavish than its exterior.

Soaring ceilings. Grand marble staircases. Crystal chandeliers. Paintings that likely cost more than the first car my mother ever owned.

I tried my best not to look entirely awestruck.

“Your room has been prepared,” Robert informed me warmly. “If there's anything you dislike, just let the staff know.”

“Thank you.”

He offered a kind smile. “Make yourself right at home.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the sharp sound of descending footsteps from the floor above made me pause.

Someone was walking down the stairs.

I couldn't fathom why my entire body suddenly went rigid. Perhaps it was simply the overwhelming sensation of being watched.

I turned my head toward the figure that had just emerged into view.

My world ground to a sudden halt.

A man stood at the top landing of the staircase—a tall, commanding figure with slightly tousled black hair, clad in a plain black t-shirt and dark trousers. His sharp, piercing gaze instantly locked onto mine.

I stopped breathing altogether.

It couldn't be.

There was no way he was here.

The man descended another step.

His face had matured significantly since I last saw him five years ago. His jawline was more defined, his shoulders broader, and a faint, thin scar rested near his eyebrow. Yet I would recognize those eyes among a crowd of thousands.

The very eyes that used to gaze at me with endless warmth.

The eyes that had once convinced me that a first love could be a forever love.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.

Luca.

His name echoed relentlessly in my mind.

The man who had once been my absolute everything.

For five long years, I had tried to erase his memory from my mind. And now, he was standing just a few feet away from me.

***