Chapter 85- Whispers Behind Closed Doors

**Ava's Point of View**

When I finally stirred mid-afternoon, everything around me felt… peaceful. For once, there was no weight on my chest, no tightness in my lungs, no lingering dread hanging in the corners of the room. Just light, soft and golden, pouring in through the curtains, and a strange but pleasant warmth in my chest.

Guilt did find its way in, though—slight, quiet, but there. I’d slept far too long, and I knew it. The ache behind my eyes reminded me that last night hadn’t exactly ended with grace. A headache throbbed at my temples, dull but persistent, and with it came the foggy blur of memories from the evening before.

Still, despite the discomfort, I felt something I hadn’t in weeks—happiness. A real, raw kind of contentment that started in my bones.

Baby Damon stirred gently in my arms. I cradled him closer, marveling again at the miracle that he was. I’d gotten up to feed him earlier, in the soft hush of dawn, but judging by the way he squirmed now, he was ready for more.

As if summoned by his hunger, the maid appeared at the door, rolling in a tray of food. The warm aroma of something buttery filled the room. I smiled instinctively. The first tray held baby food and a few small containers of medicine. But then I noticed a second tray—one clearly meant for me.

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring that,” I said, starting to rise. “I could’ve just come downstairs—”

She cut me off gently with a lifted palm and a smile. “It’s no trouble at all, miss. I’m happy to bring it up.”

She began to lay everything out neatly on the side table. “I brought some aspirin too—for your head.”

I blinked. “Wait—how did you know I had a headache?”

She gave a knowing look, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “You and Master Damon came home… quite intoxicated last night. The entire staff heard you in the kitchen.”

I froze. “Oh no.”

She only giggled. “Don’t worry. It was nice to see you both letting loose. You’ve been through so much. Honestly, it was refreshing.”

“Well, I barely remember anything after we left the restaurant,” I admitted sheepishly, taking the aspirin and swallowing it quickly with a glass of water.

As if on cue, Baby Damon let out a small wail.

“Sounds like someone’s ready for lunch.”

“Thank you, but I’ve got it from here,” I told her softly, already pulling him to my chest.

She gave a respectful nod and left the room quietly. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to bask in the serenity—just me and my son, our breathing in sync.

She reminded me of Maria, I realized with a pang. The way she cared, the gentle tone. That memory ached in a way I hadn’t expected.

Later, after feeding and playing with Baby Damon for a while, I reached for my phone. I wanted to call Damon, just to hear his voice—but the call went straight to voicemail. I frowned, but brushed it off. He was likely just caught up with something important.

Eventually, Maria came sweeping into the room like she owned the place, scooping Baby Damon up in one swift motion.

“It’s my turn,” she declared.

I smirked. “What am I supposed to do, huh? You keep barging in and stealing my baby.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Go clean your closet. I peeked earlier—it looks like a war zone in there.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, but only because you bribed me with free babysitting.”

As she carried Baby Damon out, I stretched and headed toward the walk-in.

Ten minutes into folding clothes and sorting through a sea of misplaced socks, I paused. Something was off.

I poked my head out into the hall and called for the maid. When she appeared, I asked, “Hey, have you seen my pink silk nightdress? Or Damon’s navy-blue polo? The one he always wears?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure… Valia’s been offering to help with the laundry lately. Maybe she picked it up? I can ask her—”

My body tensed immediately at the sound of her name. Of course. Why was it always Valia? Why did everything odd, everything misplaced, always seem to trail back to her?

“No, it’s okay. I’ll speak to her myself,” I said with forced calm, already making my way downstairs.

Her door was shut. I knocked once. No answer.

“Well, it’s my house,” I muttered under my breath, fingers wrapping around the doorknob. I turned it slowly and stepped inside.

The room was neat. Suspiciously neat.

A queen-sized bed, neatly made with pale blue sheets, sat in the center. A modest dresser, a mirror with a few combs and perfume bottles… nothing that screamed thief or manipulator. For a moment, I questioned myself. What was I doing?

But that feeling—that gnawing suspicion I couldn’t shake—pushed me to keep looking.

I opened the dresser drawers. Empty. Moved to the nightstand. Nothing. Crawled beneath the bed. Dust. I let out a slow, frustrated breath.

Maybe I was overthinking.

But then I opened the closet. And there they were.

Not just hand-me-downs or gifted clothing. My missing items.

My silk nightgown. My favorite robe. Even red lace lingerie that Damon had bought me for our anniversary—hanging neatly on her rack like it belonged to her.

And there—tucked in the back, beneath a pile of folded towels—were Damon’s shirts. His cologne still clung to them. Unwashed. Like she had stolen them from the hamper and kept them for… what? To sniff? To wear.

A cold wave of horror rolled over me.

It didn’t stop there. I found one of Baby Damon’s onesies tucked in the drawer. It read Mama on the front.

That was the moment my panic fully bloomed.

I tore through another shelf, searching for anything else—and found it: an alarming amount of iron supplements. Bottles and bottles. Liquids, pills… even what looked like a rusted iron rock.

What the hell was she doing with this much iron? No human could need this. No one could be that anemic without needing a transfusion, and she never mentioned a single medical condition.

Something was seriously wrong with Valia.

But before I could begin to form an escape plan, I heard the front door creak open.

Her voice rang out—shaken, sharp.

“Who’s in here?”

My breath hitched.

Too late. I was caught.