Chapter 4

A few days later, another summons. This time, to the Bradford family mansion on Beacon Hill, a formidable fortress of old money and even older secrets. Eleanor Bradford was waiting for me in the formal drawing-room, a place that always made me feel small and out of place. She didn't waste time on pleasantries.

"You've failed, Ava," she stated, her voice sharp as broken glass. "Your primary responsibility was to secure Liam, to provide stability for this family. And you've failed."

I thought of all the times I had secured Liam, pulling him back from the brink of various scandals, smoothing over his indiscretions, always protecting the precious Bradford image. My "failure," it seemed, was not preventing Sophia's pregnancy.

Liam was there too, standing beside a smirking Sophia, who looked entirely too comfortable in the opulent surroundings.

Eleanor slid a thick document across the polished mahogany table. A legal agreement.

"This is for the good of the family," Eleanor said, her eyes cold. "To prevent any... unseemly squabbles over the Bradford legacy in the future."

I picked it up. The language was dense, legalistic, but the core demand was brutally clear. I was to sign away any future maternal claims. I was to agree, legally and bindingly, never to have children with Liam. Sophia' s twins, she explained, needed to be the undisputed, sole heirs. No complications. No other potential Bradford children from Liam muddying the waters.

"It' s the pragmatic solution, Ava," Liam chimed in, his tone condescending. "Think of it this way, you' ll be spared the rigors of childbirth and child-rearing. You can focus on... other things."

Sophia giggled softly.

The rigors of childbirth. The joy of raising a child. My child. Our child. The future they were demanding I sign away.

The weight of their collective cruelty, the years of being treated as a useful but ultimately disposable asset, pressed down on me. They weren't just asking me to step aside for Sophia; they were asking me to erase my own potential future, to become a barren placeholder in Liam' s life.

My past with Liam, the silent endurance of his whims, his affairs, the constant expectation that I would absorb the fallout – it all coalesced into this single, dehumanizing demand. Eleanor had provided me with a roof and an education, yes, but the price was my autonomy, my very womanhood.

I looked at Eleanor, at Liam, at Sophia. Their faces were masks of entitlement and self-interest.

"No," I said, my voice quiet but firm. I pushed the document back across the table. "I won't sign this."

Liam scoffed. "Don't be dramatic, Ava. It's just a piece of paper."

"It's my future," I said. "And it's not for sale."

Eleanor' s eyes narrowed. "Then you understand the alternative. You will leave. With nothing. No support, no references. You will be cut off completely."

"I understand," I said, a strange sense of calm settling over me. The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, hard anger. I chose to leave. I chose myself.

Liam looked at his mother, then back at me, a flicker of something – annoyance? disbelief? – in his eyes. "She's just having a tantrum, Mother. She'll come around."

But I knew I wouldn't. This was the end of Ava Bradford, the compliant fixture. Ava Miller was about to be reborn.