The call was impulsive, made with shaking hands and a racing heart.
She didn't plan it—didn't rehearse it like she usually did with everything now. Ava just needed answers. Needed them tonight, or she might tear herself apart.
Leonard picked up on the second ring.
"Ava?" His voice was low, wary.
"I need you to come over," she said, forcing her tone to stay steady. "Both of you."
There was a pause.
"Luca too?" he asked, cautiously.
"Yeah. Luca, too."
Another pause, heavier this time.
"We'll be there in twenty."
She hung up without another word and paced her tiny apartment like a trapped animal.
Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening. Every second stretched and snapped.
By the time a knock sounded at her door, her palms were slick with sweat.
She opened it to find them both standing there—Leonard with his usual lazy smirk that didn't reach his eyes, and Luca, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking awkward, uncertain.
"Come in," she said, stepping aside.
They entered, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Ava closed the door, leaning against it for a heartbeat longer than necessary to gather herself.
The apartment suddenly felt too small for what she was about to do.
They sat—Leonard slouched on the couch like he owned it, Luca perched stiffly on the edge of the armchair, glancing around like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"So," Leonard drawled. "What's this about, Ava?"
She ignored him. Walked straight to the kitchen, grabbed three glasses, and poured water into them with hands steadier than she felt.
With Luca still looking around her living room.
"You said Luca grew up with you," she started casually, carrying the glasses over. "Since you were kids."
Leonard nodded slowly. "Yeah."
"Did you ever find out who his real parents were?"
Leonard's mouth twisted. "Why the sudden interest?"
"Humour me."
A beat. Then another. Leonard shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "Lucien said they were dead. Car crash. No records. Just a kid with no past."
Ava sat across from them, studying every shift in their expressions.
"And you never wondered?" she pressed, her voice low. "Never thought it was strange?"
Leonard's jaw tightened. Luca looked uncomfortable, glancing between them like he'd missed the memo.
Ava leaned forward slightly, tapping her glass with a fingernail.
"Funny thing," she said softly. "I knew a boy once. Had the same eyes. The same stubborn frown when he was confused."
Leonard shifted. His shoulders stiffened.
Luca frowned. "What are you talking about?"
She smiled tightly.
"Nothing. Just a memory."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, sharp and brittle.
This still does not explain who Lucien is related to Leonard; he is hiding something from her, and she has to find out what it is.
But the first step is to confirm Luca as her brother. But how? How can she get him to take off his shirt?
She looks over and sees the mocktails she had prepared earlier. If she 'spills the drink,' he will have no other choice but to take off his shirt.
Leonard goes to the living room, and he and Luca are talking and not noticing her 'big plan.'
Well, here goes nothing.
She carries the tray carelessly, she 'trips' and 'accidentally' knocked over the glass of mocktails, splashing right across Luca's chest.
"Shit—sorry!" she gasped, grabbing napkins and rushing over.
Luca stood abruptly, shaking out his soaked shirt.
"Take it off," Leonard said quickly, voice a little too sharp.
Ava froze, hearing the panic under Leonard's words.
Too late.
Luca peeled off his shirt with a grimace.
And there it was.
On the left side of his ribs, just under his heart—
A birthmark.
Shaped like a small, tilted A.
The exact mirror of the one Ava had carried her whole life.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
She staggered back, hand flying to her mouth.
Leonard was on his feet instantly.
"Alright, we gotta go," he said, grabbing Luca's jacket and thrusting it into his arms.
"What—why?" Luca asked, bewildered, but obedient.
Leonard's eyes locked with Ava's across the room.
A silent warning.
Not now.
Not yet.
He practically shoved Luca toward the door, not giving her a chance to speak, to explain, to scream or cry or do any of the thousand things bursting inside her.
Ava didn't move.
She just stood there, clutching the soaked napkins, watching as the door slammed shut behind them.
The silence afterwards was deafening.
She collapsed onto the couch, pressing her forehead into her palms, shaking with the weight of it all.
He's alive.
He's here.
He's my brother.
Later that night, she couldn't keep it inside anymore.
She sat across from Tanya and Marco at the kitchen table, the lights too bright, the house too quiet.
"I found him," she said, voice cracking. "Alex. My brother. Luca is Alex."
She expected shock. Relief. Maybe tears.
Instead, Tanya and Marco exchanged a look—heavy, tired—and Tanya sighed.
Marco rubbed a hand over his face.
"You knew," Ava whispered, heart plummeting.
Neither of them answered.
"You knew?" she said louder, pushing back from the table.
"We had our suspicions," Tanya said carefully. "But it wasn't our place."
"Not your place?!" Ava's voice broke. "He's my brother! My family!"
Marco stood, voice firm but sad.
"There were people involved, Ava. Dangerous people. We couldn't risk it."
She shook her head, backing away from them both, her chest heaving.
"You let me believe I was alone," she rasped.
Tanya's eyes glistened, but she didn't argue.
Ava turned away from them, hands trembling.
This whole time…
Secrets. Lies. Even from the people who claimed to love her.
She wasn't alone anymore.
But she had never felt more abandoned.
And somewhere out there, Luca was living under someone else's name, someone else's lies.
Not for long, she promised herself.
She was going to tell him everything.
Even if it meant burning everything else down to get there.
She barely slept.
The house felt colder now.
Every picture on the wall, every mug in the cupboard—suddenly it all looked fake, staged, like she was a guest inside someone else's life.
At some point after midnight, Ava found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by old photo albums Tanya kept hidden in the bottom drawer.
She flipped through them blindly, hoping for a thread, a clue—anything that would make sense of this new world she'd been shoved into.
Her fingers brushed against a loose page tucked between two albums.
A letter.
She pulled it out carefully, heart thudding.
The paper was yellowed with age, the handwriting delicate, almost rushed.
Her mother's handwriting.
"If anything happens to me... find Alex. Follow the A."
Ava gasped, her free hand clamping over her mouth.
Follow the A.
The birthmark.
The one they both shared.
Tears blurred her vision, but she forced herself to keep reading.
There were more names mentioned—none she recognized immediately—except one, scribbled hurriedly near the bottom like a last desperate thought.
Lucien Crane Du Callian.
A chill skated down her spine.
Lucien—the man Leonard and Luca worked for.
The man who had somehow found her brother and kept him all these years without ever letting him know who he really was.
Or maybe Lucien knew exactly what he was doing.
Ava shoved the letter into her pocket and stood, breathing hard.
Everything clicked into place with terrifying clarity:
The missing pieces.
The looks Tanya and Marco exchanged when she asked about her past.
The way Leonard panicked tonight when he saw her recognize the birthmark.
They were protecting her.
Or maybe they were protecting themselves.
But from what?
And why?
She needed answers.
She needed Luca.
And this time, no one—not Leonard, not Tanya, not even Lucien—was going to stop her.
She grabbed her jacket and keys, heart pounding, mind racing.
Tomorrow, she was going to find Luca.
She was going to tell him
everything.
Even if it tore her whole life apart.
Especially if it did.