Inheritance of Lies (Bound by Blood and Billionaires)

Ava Carter had grown used to small-town silence — the kind that hummed between flickering diner lights and the sound of the same customers ordering the same coffee every morning. Life in Brookdale was predictable. Safe. Ordinary. And suffocating. Every day followed the same rhythm: the scent of burnt toast, the clang of the cash register, the squeak of the diner door that stuck no matter how many times she oiled it. Old men in flannel shirts discussed fishing trips they’d never take. Mothers gossiped about who was cheating on who. Teenagers complained about how there was nothing to do, and yet no one ever left. At twenty-three, Ava had spent her entire life trying to blend in, to be no one special. Raised in the town’s foster system, she worked double shifts at Rosie’s Diner and rented a cramped attic above a bookstore, her dreams of escaping buried under unpaid bills and the ache of wondering where she came from. The townspeople called her “the quiet girl with big eyes and too many questions.” They meant it kindly — most of the time. But there were questions she’d long stopped asking, because no one ever had answers. Who were her parents? Why had she been left on the orphanage’s doorstep wrapped in a white blanket with no note? The only thing she’d ever kept from her past was a small silver pendant engraved with a strange symbol — a broken circle with a single line cutting through it. She’d shown it once to a librarian who loved puzzles. He’d said it looked ancient, maybe Celtic, but no one could tell for sure. Every night, Ava would hold that pendant in her hand and whisper to the darkness, “I don’t need to be special. I just want to belong somewhere.” But somewhere deep inside, she knew she didn’t belong in Brookdale. Not really. She felt it in the way people sometimes stared at her — as if she reminded them of something they couldn’t quite place. She felt it when strange men in suits came through town asking questions that always seemed to stop when she walked by. That night, the rain fell harder than usual. Thunder rumbled low across the sky, shaking the glass panes of the diner. Rosie had already gone home, leaving Ava to close up alone. She hummed softly as she wiped the counter, her reflection stretching across the silver surface. The neon sign outside buzzed, painting her face in pink and blue light. The sound of her old laptop broke the silence — a single ping. Ava frowned. She rarely got emails. Her laptop was a decade old, its battery swollen, its fan louder than a jet engine. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to the small corner table where she’d left it charging. The subject line made her freeze. “BLACKWOOD INDUSTRIES – INTERVIEW INVITATION.” Her brows furrowed. That couldn’t be right. Blackwood Industries was the most powerful tech empire in the country. They built satellites, weapons, medical AI — things that belonged to another world entirely. People in Brookdale barely had working Wi-Fi. Ava clicked on the message. The email was short. Too short. > Ms. Ava Carter, Your application has been pre-approved. Report to Blackwood Tower, Downtown, Monday, 9:00 A.M. Further instructions will follow. - Recruitment Division, Blackwood Industries Her heart thudded in her chest. She hadn’t applied. She didn’t even have a résumé that wasn’t coffee-stained. She scrolled to the bottom of the message. No contact number. No attachments. Just one line written in bold italics: “We’ve been expecting you.” Ava’s breath caught. She turned off the laptop and pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the sudden rush of unease. Maybe it was a scam. Or a prank. Someone from town could’ve sent it — there were a few bored teenagers who liked messing with her. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple. Blackwood Tower wasn’t a place people joked about. It was a fortress of glass and steel standing above the capital — rumored to house not just scientists and engineers, but something darker. Some said the company was building machines that could predict the future. Others said it was involved in secret government projects no one dared to speak about. Ava brushed the thought aside, forcing a laugh that sounded too thin. “You’re losing it,” she muttered to herself, locking up the diner and stepping outside. The rain had eased into a drizzle, and the streets were nearly empty. Her boots splashed through shallow puddles as she crossed the road to her building. The sign for the bookstore below flickered weakly — Halloway Books – Since 1969. She pushed open the side door, her steps echoing on the narrow staircase. Her attic room smelled faintly of dust and rain. She changed into an oversized sweater and sat by the window, staring at the pendant again. The broken circle glinted faintly under the streetlight. We’ve been expecting you. The words echoed in her head like a warning. Maybe she should delete the email and forget it ever happened. But something about it felt different. The pendant seemed to hum faintly in her hand, as if reacting to the thought. Ava stood and peered through the thin curtains. That was when she noticed it. Across the street, a black car sat parked at the curb — its engine low, headlights off. She could barely make out the outline of someone sitting behind the wheel. Her throat went dry. The car hadn’t been there earlier. She pulled the curtain shut quickly, her pulse racing. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe it was nothing. But even as she turned off the lamp and climbed into bed, the feeling wouldn’t leave her — that tonight, in the quiet town of Brookdale, someone had finally found her. And this time, whoever they were… they weren’t planning to let her go. Outside her window, the black car idled in silence — headlights off — as if waiting.