CHAPTER 195: HAUNTED IN SLEEP? HUNTED AWAKE

How could Alaric forget the voice of the man who was haunting Aveline?

He carefully shifted Aveline from his arms onto the pillow.

Aveline stirred, her brows knitting. A soft protest slipped past her lips, a faint murmur as she reached instinctively for the warmth she had lost. Her hand brushed the empty space beside her.

Alaric froze, his chest tightening at the sight. He eased back down, letting her fingers curl into his shirt until her breathing steadied again. She clung unconsciously, as though even in dreams she sought his presence.

Damien’s threats could wait. Alaric gently pressed his thumbs in circular motions on her temple to smooth her brows, ignoring the voice from the phone.

When he placed his phone to his ear, "Damien Ashford," he hissed through his teeth, without raising his voice.

A cold scoff answered him. [Alaric Lancaster, you think you got her? Just wait and watch...]

The line went dead.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Aveline’s steady breathing. Alaric sat in silence, staring at the darkness, his hand instinctively caressing her head. His eyes burned with fury, a storm behind the calm mask he wore.

Damien might be caged, but a man like him never accepts defeat. His reach was long, his poison deep.

Alaric’s mind raced. Who had smuggled a phone into Damien’s cell?

A prison guard?

Where government employees are underpaid, it wasn’t difficult to make them greedy for a chunk of money.

How had Damien even gotten Aveline’s number?

Alaric didn’t believe Damien could have memorized Aveline’s contact number.

Someone on the outside was feeding him information, working in the shadows for Damien. Damien could have many such people. Finding them wouldn’t be easy.

He leaned back, gaze fixed on the ceiling, every muscle taut. If Damien could reach them now, what would he dare once the chains slipped further?

Alaric brushed a strand of hair from Aveline’s cheek, a vow settling heavy in his chest. ’No matter what Damien planned, I would meet it head-on. For you.’

He lay back down on the bed only after sending the number to Ezra to look into it.

....

In the morning,

Dawn crept through the heavy curtains of the penthouse, casting soft shadows across the bedroom. Alaric stirred first, as he always did, his internal clock precise even in sleep.

The first thing he saw was Aveline’s face, peaceful in slumber, her dark lashes casting delicate crescents against her cheeks. For a moment, he allowed himself this, the simple luxury of watching her breathe, of seeing her safe and peaceful next to him.

He rose quietly, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. With practiced silence, he drew back the curtains, letting filtered morning light spill across the room.

The city sprawled below them, already alive with the hum of light morning traffic, but up here, in their cocoon of glass and steel, everything felt suspended in time.

He went to the gym, showered, yet Aveline was still in bed. As far as he knew, Aveline had a good morning routine, and she wasn’t so physically exhausted the previous evening.

So he sat by her bedside, checked her body temperature, and then gently woke her up. "Sunshine..."

She hummed as she opened her sleepy eyes to meet him.

"Are you alright?"

She blinked in daze. Was she alright?

No.

She didn’t want to go outside. Not because she feared Damien. But because she feared failing to identify the difference between reality and imagination if Damien wasn’t in prison.

But she only hummed in response as she pulled herself up to lean against the headboard. "I will come downstairs in ten minutes." Then she kissed his cheek and went to the ensuite.

She couldn’t stop living in fear of encountering Damien. So she chose to start her day, though she had delayed it far too long.

Alaric wanted to go with her to Grace and Bloom, but he knew she would refuse him. So he sent a message to Ezra.

Aveline did deny Ezra following her, but she agreed upon Alaric’s insistence.

....

Ezra quietly followed Aveline to Grace and Bloom, waiting outside the meeting room while she completed the meeting with her team. Then he stayed downstairs when she was working in her office, and it was time for her to meet some vendors for the Cullens’ event.

Ezra quietly followed her to the catering service team and watched as she tasted some food and asked for changes and modifications before they headed to the wallpaper factory. She finalized the design, quality, finishing, and material with swift precision.

All of this was something new for Ezra. He was impressed by how decisive and precise her selections were without getting confused with details or overwhelmed by conversation.

Then they headed to the lighting shop. It wasn’t a showroom, it was in a local market. Ezra never thought Aveline would walk those crowded, narrow paths through the puddles on her heels.

That made him realize she might have grown up as the treasured daughter of the Laurents, but when it came to work, she was like any other small-scale businesswoman. She didn’t order people around, and she was efficient too.

Though he hadn’t held prejudice against her, he started genuinely admiring her work ethic.

Protecting her through the crowd of people in the market, he said, "I will get the car, Ms. Laurent." He jogged to the parking area and drove the car to the pickup circle.

He waited while she talked to a street flower vendor and bought a bunch of hydrangeas. And that’s when he noticed him.

Damien Ashford walking towards Aveline.

Ezra sprang out of the car, rushing towards Aveline. But he was confused when Aveline passed by Damien as if she didn’t know him.

"Aveline Laurent!"

And that’s when Aveline halted.

Aveline breathed out slowly. She had seen Damien and assumed him as her imagination. Hearing him? She wasn’t imagining him.

But she feared turning around and finding Damien not there. What if she was imagining his voice too?

As if to clear her confusion, she noticed Ezra standing beside her, and his expression was complex.

’So Damien is really out,’ she thought as she turned around.

Damien was in his suit, but it didn’t fit him like it always had. His hair was neat, and his smirk scornful.

"Pretending not to see me, Aveline? Or has your memory gotten so selective you forgot the man you once called husband?"

Of course, Aveline wasn’t going to reveal her tremulous thoughts to Damien and watch him gloat. She smoothed the hydrangeas against her palm, her voice cool as ice.

"Not memory, Damien. Relevance. You don’t hold enough of it for me to spare even a glance."

That irritated Damien, but he clenched his teeth while watching her. How unaffected she looked. She wasn’t anxious due to his appearance, nor afraid.

Anyway, he said through his teeth, "Grandmother is critical. She is asking for you."

Aveline recalled, it was around this time Eleanor Ashford had a heart attack. But why would Eleanor ask for her?

Didn’t Eleanor hate her for ruining the Ashfords?

Nevertheless, Aveline couldn’t bring herself to ignore Eleanor, who was on her deathbed. "I’ll visit her."

She turned to leave, but Damien interrupted, "At Ashford mansion."

She turned around, casting him a sharp glance, but walked away with Ezra in tow.

Damien: "..."

He couldn’t help but wonder if the Aveline he married was just a woman with a mask on. Because Aveline was the kind of person who got worried about a random person falling on the footpath.

Hence, her cold reaction to his grandmother’s situation was bone-chilling.

...

At Ashford Estate,

Aveline entered the Ashford estate. Once, its grandeur had been something the Ashfords had flaunted. Immaculate gardens, polished marble fountains, hedges cut into perfect shapes.

But now, everything looked desolate.

The iron gates creaked on their hinges, vines choking their bars. The driveway was carpeted with fallen leaves and weeds that had grown taller than her.

The once-manicured lawns were patchy and wild, the pool water a stagnant green, collecting flies. The fountain stood silent, layered with grime, and the once-proud white walls bore streaks of dirt.

She slowed her steps, her gaze sweeping the decay. This wasn’t neglect. It was abandonment. The Ashford estate mirrored Damien himself, rot hidden beneath the fake elegance.

Damien smirked when he spotted Aveline’s car pulling up the drive. Lifting his phone, he muttered into it, "I told you she would come."

A voice on the other end answered, low and cutting. [Then manipulate her. Emotionally blackmail her into staying there. Alaric should lose his cool.]

Damien merely hummed, lips curving in satisfaction as he ended the call. He adjusted his cuffs, descending the staircase to greet her.

But the moment he stepped into the grand foyer, his face darkened, the smugness bleeding away. His eyes narrowed sharply, and his smirk faltered.

Because Aveline wasn’t walking in alone.

She entered with her head high, shoulders squared. Draped across her frame was a long coat, not hers, but Alaric’s. It fluttered as she moved, a quiet banner of protection. And her hand was wrapped firmly around Alaric’s arm, as if they were entering a gala rather than his crumbling home.

Alaric’s gaze locked with Damien’s across the marble floor, unreadable and sharp as steel. No words needed to be spoken.

’Alaric Lancaster, you think you got her? Just wait and watch.’

That was what Damien had told Alaric without truly knowing Aveline.

She doesn’t read her story backwards. She had called Alaric the moment she got in the car after meeting Damien.

Alaric’s presence said enough, and Damien’s expression revealed everything.

Damien’s hand curled into a fist at his side, rage searing his gut. The woman he thought he could summon and manipulate had walked into his mansion not as his pawn, but as a player.