The photo dropped at 9:03 a.m.
Averie was mid-bite of toast when her phone buzzed - and then buzzed again. And again. Text after text, notification after notification.
Her heart froze before she even looked.
She didn't need to.
She knew.
When she finally glanced at the screen, it hit like a punch to the ribs.
Langford Heiress Locked in Secret Embrace With Rival's Son
Exclusive: The Feud Continues Behind Closed Doors... and Trees.
There it was. The picture.
Her. Wes. Pressed against the willow tree. His hand in her hair. Her body curved into his.
Intimate. Exposed. Undeniable.
"Oh my God," she whispered.
The article didn't just show the photo. It named names. Her name. His. Their families.
The decades of bad blood.
And then it got worse.
Her father's voice cut across the kitchen like a whip. "Averie."
She looked up, slowly.
He was holding his own phone, jaw clenched, eyes cold enough to freeze fire.
"You're trending nationwide," he said flatly. "Congratulations."
She opened her mouth. "Dad - "
"Save it," he barked, slamming his phone on the counter. "Do you even realize what
you've done?"
"I was careful," she said, rising from her chair. "We were alone."
"Clearly not alone enough," he snapped. "You've humiliated this family. You've spit on everything I've built."
She stepped toward him, heat building in her chest. "No, you built this. This lie. This glass house where I'm supposed to smile and stay silent and pretend I don't exist outside your damn headlines."
His eyes flared. "You think this is about you? This is about power, Averie. About perception. Do you know how fast the wolves come when they smell weakness?"
"I'm not weakness," Averie said, voice trembling. "I'm finally awake."
He stared at her for a long, awful moment.
"You don't get to decide that," Averie said, her voice rising despite the lump in her throat.
"I already have," her father replied coldly, like the decision had never been hers to begin with.
She didn't cry.
Not until she was alone.
In her room, blinds drawn, phone buzzing relentlessly.
Wes hadn't messaged her.
Not once.
She texted him - no answer.
Called twice - straight to voicemail.
Her hands shook as she tried again.
Nothing.
By late afternoon, she couldn't take it.
She slipped out, again.
She took the long way to his house - wore sunglasses and a hoodie like that could hide her.
But when she got there, the garage was empty.
His truck was gone.
No one answered the door.
And his brother, Trace, stood on the porch, arms crossed.
"You need to go," he said firmly.
"Where is he?" Averie asked, stepping forward.
"Gone," Trace replied flatly. "Your family made sure of that."
"What?" she said, barely able to breathe.
Trace stepped down a stair. "A job offer out of state came through. Real sudden. Real... convenient."
Averie's blood ran cold. "He didn't tell me - he wouldn't just leave - "
"I told him not to," Trace cut in. "But they gave him a choice. Leave town, or see you destroyed."
She felt dizzy.
"You're lying," Averie whispered, but her voice was paper-thin.
"Am I?" Trace said. "Then why haven't you heard from him?"
Averie staggered back a step, the air thick like smoke in her lungs.
Trace paused, something like sympathy flickering behind his frustration.
"He left you a letter," he said finally. "Didn't want to. But he did."
He handed it over, then walked inside, the door shutting gently behind him.
Averie stared at the envelope in her hands.
No name on the front.
Just one sentence:
"This isn't goodbye. It's a promise."