Chapter 43:
Hope House** **Ava**
It was Saturday, a day that dawned with whispers of yesterday’s whirlwind—a dinner party that had unfolded in a frenzy, yet it ended on a note of triumph. I found a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing that despite the chaos, it had all come together beautifully. Rising from my bed, I ambled toward the bathroom, diving into my morning routine. Ethan had returned home with me after the festivities, but he opted not to stay the night. He had an early start this morning, and he didn’t want to disturb my slumber when it was time for him to leave. As I brushed my teeth, memories of yesterday’s showdown played in my mind like a vivid movie reel. When Emma had confronted me, I was ready for battle, steeling myself for an unforgettable face-off. The moment Rowan stepped into the fray, catching this fragile confrontation, I was acutely aware of his presence, a sensation Emma failed to perceive. The whole scene had unfolded like a prelude to a grand tragedy, and oh, how I longed for Rowan to see through the veil of Emma’s deceit. Everyone idolized Emma; they painted her as the epitome of perfection, blind to the metamorphosis she had undergone. The girl who once was had been swallowed by this version who had molded herself into something much more sinister, possibly shaped by the heartache of losing Rowan. Perhaps her career as a lawyer, with its relentless drive, had unhinged her compassion. Whatever the reason, one thing was undeniable—she had changed, and not for the better. Once I finished in the bathroom, I stepped into the shower, its warmth wrapping around me like a soothing embrace. I emerged quickly, feeling somewhat invigorated as I moved to my bedroom, where I retrieved my casual yet comfortable outfit—jeans, a t-shirt, and flat shoes—my armor for the day ahead. Descending the stairs, I began preparing breakfast, my thoughts consumed by my upcoming meeting with Mary at Hope House at nine. This was a routine that played out every time we organized an event, a rhythm I had become accustomed to. As I savored my meal, the sudden vibration of my phone interrupted my reverie. “Morning beautiful,” the text from Ethan read. A smile danced on my lips. How wonderful it felt to be desired, to be someone’s cherished thought. It was everything I had longed for with Rowan, yet he had always held back, allowing my heart to flounder in uncertainty. Now, I relished having a man who genuinely treasured me; in many ways, that was all I could ask for. “Morning to you too! 😊” I replied, my heart fluttering. “What plans do you have for today?” he texted back. “Nothing much! Just stopping by Hope House, and then I’ll be meeting Letty later in the evening,” I replied, a lightness teasing at my demeanor. “Sounds good. I miss you already,” came his response. “Really? You miss me or just my… well, you know,” I teased, my pulse racing from this new-found boldness that was both thrilling and terrifying. “Both? Damn, I’m hard just thinking about how good you feel,” he replied, his honesty enveloping me in warmth. “Seriously?” I typed, grinning. The knowledge that I could incite such desire in him was intoxicating. Memories of Rowan flickered through my mind, but they were now shrouded in doubt; did he experience arousal because of me, or because he was lost in thoughts of Emma? “YES… Which is utterly embarrassing since I’m in a squad car and I’m pretty sure my partner’s noticed my hard dick,” he sent back, provoking a laugh that bubbled up within me. “Oh, you poor baby. Maybe I can fix that for you later,” I flirted back. “Are you up for that? I was pretty rough last night; you sure you aren’t sore?” I responded with another grin emoji, feeling a flutter of exhilaration. “I’m sure. No worries!” His text arrived a few moments later. “I guess I need to ramp up my game. The intention was for you to remember every thrust with every step you take.” Finishing my breakfast, I stacked the dishes in the sink, making a mental note to wash them later as excitement bubbled within me. “You can make it up to me later,” I replied, feeling buoyant. When silence stretched between us, I realized it was time to leave. I gathered my things, locked up the house, and slipped into my car, giddiness surging through me as I drove toward Hope House. For the first time in what felt like ages, I sensed that life was aligning in my favor. Hope House loomed ahead, a striking masterpiece that married sleek contemporary design with inviting warmth. The architecture boasted clean lines and expansive glass windows, dressed in soft palettes that harmonized with the verdant surroundings. As I steered along the long, tree-lined driveway, I felt a swell of pride. The grand double-height glass doors stood imposingly, flanked by tall, ornamental columns that beckoned me inside. Stepping through those doors, I was greeted by a breathtaking foyer where a chandelier sparkled like a cluster of stars. Every detail struck a perfect balance between beauty and functionality; the living room bathed in sunlight with plush, comfortable sofas inviting laughter and conversation. The kitchen was a culinary dream—equipped with top-of-the-line appliances, sleek marble countertops, and an expansive island perfect for gathering. Every spacious bedroom passed my vision, each uniquely adorned to cater to the preferences of the children residing there, ensuring they felt the comfort of ‘home.’ Beyond that, recreational areas flourished—game rooms, a home theater, a library, a gym, and even an indoor pool, all designed to cultivate joy. I cherished this place as both a sanctuary and a source of hope, a paradigm of my dreams for these children as much as it was for Noah. The Hope Foundation remained my pride and joy—a testament to our relentless effort to shape lives for the better. As I entered the living room, little voices erupted with energy, all clamoring to greet me. It was a lazy day for them—a chance to relax and unwind. I embraced as many kids as I could, soaking in their exuberance, before turning to find the older ones sprawled comfortably on the sofas. “Hi, Ava!” they greeted in cheerful unison. “Hey, everyone!” I returned, my heart swelling as I soaked in the warmth of their smiles. “Does anyone know where Mary is?” “She’s in the office,” came the reply from Kira, a seventeen-year-old who’d endured the heartbreak of being kicked out of her home after an unplanned pregnancy. Two years under our roof had transformed her into a determined mother to her baby, Monica—an effervescent spirit adored by all. “Thank you!” I said, and with each step toward the office, I was met with smiles and waves from the children and staff. Upon entering the office, I found Mary seated at her desk, a magazine open in her hands. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she looked up. “Your face is all over the magazines,” she said, handing me the magazine she was perusing. The front page featured a captivating picture of me delivering my speech from the previous evening. “AVA SHARP TURNS OUT TO BE THE MYSTERIOUS FOUNDER OF HOPE FOUNDATION, THE LARGEST MOST SUCCESSFUL CHILDREN’S FOUNDATION IN THE COUNTRY,” the headline proclaimed. I suppressed a snort as I dropped the magazine back onto the desk. “There are several more with the same spiel, and frankly, I couldn’t care less. Can we focus on the work at hand?” “Sure,” she conceded, shuffling the magazines aside. “Give me the report so far.” “Everything is good. The party was a hit, and as of yesterday, the donations have doubled.” She passed a stack of papers my way, and as I perused them, I was pleasantly surprised by our progress. Donating for recognition was one thing; as long as it helped the kids, that was what mattered to me. “If you look here,” Mary pointed to a figure in the report, “You’ll see that your ex-husband donated ten million dollars last night.” The revelation left me momentarily speechless. Rowan, our most significant benefactor, had never announced such a grand gesture in a single donation before. “Impressive, right?” she asked, beaming with a sense of accomplishment. Nodding, my gaze returned to the paper. Over time, Rowan had contributed nearly seventy million dollars since I had launched Hope Foundation, a figure that only now began to sink in. Just as I was about to respond to Ethan’s message, a tremor coursed through the air, and Mary's panicked voice broke me from my thoughts. “Ava! Your—” “Spit it out!” I urged, anxiety gnawing at me in a sudden wave. Her demeanor was etched in terror. “Your house… it’s been torched,” she finally managed, the words slashing through me like icy daggers.