Page 23 of Claiming Pretty

I ignored him. He didn’t matter right now. Nothing did except her.

The weight of her gaze was crushing, and all I could think about was explaining, begging for forgiveness if that’s what it took.

I’m sorry. I was only trying to protect you.

I took another step toward her, my hand reaching out as if I could erase the hurt with a single touch, but before I could speak, the sound of the front door opening and closing cut through the air.

The click of heels on the stairs followed, precise and deliberate, and then Ebony’s voice, expectant but laced with worry, a sharp contrast to the charged atmosphere in the room.

“Ava?”

Ava turned toward the sound, her expression flickering with relief and something else—something I couldn’t name.

She must have called Ebony to let her know she was back.

But I wasn’t ready for interruptions. Not now, not when everything was unraveling.

“Wait—Ava,” I said again, desperate to keep her attention, to say what I needed to say before she could turn away. Before I lost her completely.

“Just a minute, Ebony,” Ava called out, her voice steady, too steady. “I’m in the bathroom.”

Then she turned to Ty.To Ty.Not to me. Her gaze was sharp, her voice low and urgent. “Get him out of here.”

The words hit me like a slap, a cold wave crashing over the fire of my anger.Get him out of here.Like they were a team. Like they were against me.

Ty didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the collar of my shirt, his grip firm and unyielding. Before I could process it, he was dragging me toward the balcony door.

“What the fuck—?” I started to fight him, shoving back against his grip, my fists ready to fly.

But Ty leaned in close, his voice cutting through my fury like steel. “Don’t be a fucking eejit. Not here.”

His tone was sharp and urgent—a warning.

A crack of logic seeped into my desperation, cooling the reckless edge of my anger.

He was right. Not here. Not now.

We couldn’t let Ebony—or her damn bodyguards—catch us here.

I clenched my fists, every muscle in my body screaming for a fight, but I forced myself to nod.

Relief flashed across Ty’s face for a brief moment before he pushed the balcony door open, the cool night air rushing in like a slap. He nudged me forward.

I slipped out onto Ava’s dark balcony, the faint scent of ivy and damp stone wrapping around us.

Behind me, Ebony’s voice drifted through the quiet night, elated and warm. “Ava! My goodness. My driver said you weren’t at the Sheraton. What happened to you?”

The stone balustrade was slick under my palm as Ty and I climbed over it, the ivy tangled and twisting, threatening to snag on every step.

My breath came fast and sharp, my pulse pounding in my ears as I led him through the shadows and through a rusted side gate onto the property next door.

And then suddenly I was alone with mydeadbrother.

Ty stared at the front door of the mansion next to Ava’s—the one I’d been calling home for the last few months—his eyes lingering on the intricate wrought-iron fixtures, his hands shoved casually into his pockets, like he hadn’t just upended my entire world.

“So,” he said, his tone infuriatingly casual, “are you going to invite me in?”

I stared at my twin, my mind still trying to process that he was standing there in front of me on the front lawn under the dim moonlight.

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