My 22nd birthday was supposed to be perfect, the night I finally confessed my love to Ethan Vance, my guardian and the only family I had left.
I found him in his study, surrounded by the familiar scent of old books and leather, but his smile vanished as I told him, "I want you, Ethan. Not as a guardian. Not as a father figure. I'm in love with you."
His words, sharp and dismissive, cut me deeper than any knife: "Don't be ridiculous, Ava. You're my ward. You're a child. I raised you! To even think of me that way is… inappropriate. It's wrong."