Deception in his arms

Chapter One: The noise on set faded into a dull hum in Ava’s mind. She stood in the shadows, holding a half-empty tray of coffees, the scent of cream and caramel mixing with the sharp tang of stage lights. “Hey, dumbie! Come get us some more drinks!” The words hit her like a slap. She didn’t flinch. She never did anymore. She just kept her gaze fixed on the ground, pretending she didn’t hear. But someone else chimed in, louder and meaner. “Didn’t you hear him?” Ava slowly rose, eyes cast low. She walked past cameras and cables, ignoring the smirks. She got the drinks. Handed them over without looking up. Then returned to her usual place behind the camera — where she belonged. Unseen. Unheard. When the director shouted, “Action,” she stilled — watching others live the life she dreamed of. When he yelled, “Cut,” she rushed onto the set to fix costumes, smooth out collars, adjust hems — the invisible hands that kept the show running. She had auditioned for roles like these. Time and time again. But no one wanted a lead who couldn’t speak. So now, she fetched coffee. And fixed buttons. And tried not to break. But today, something inside her felt closer to cracking. She clutched her bag and stepped outside as the day ended. The cold air stung her eyes, and the tears she’d fought back all day spilled instantly. She wiped them fast, like they didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter. Her boots hit the stairs one heavy step at a time. The sky had darkened. “Ava.” The voice froze her. She turned. Brian Her father’s driver — and the head of their personal security. He stood beside one of their sleek family cars — a Mercedes-Maybach S580, shining even in the dull twilight. His suit was creased, his smile forced, and sweat dotted his forehead despite the chill. “Miss Rai,” he said more gently. “Mr. Rai asked me to pick you up personally.” Of course he did. Her father probably threatened Brian to make sure he succeeded. Ava held up a hand to sign: I’m not going. But Brian, like most people in her father’s household, didn’t understand sign language. No one ever bothered to learn. She sighed and pulled out her phone. “I can come back on my own.” Brian leaned forward, reading the message twice. “Miss Rai, it’s not safe for you to be out here alone. Your father’s worried. You haven’t been home in two days…” Of course he was worried. Not for her. But for his contract. Ava’s fingers flew again, signing rapidly now — not for Brian’s benefit, but because it was the only language her rage could live in. > “Your master has two daughters. Maybe his precious Olivia Rai should marry the billionaire instead. I’m not his pawn. I’ll come back when I’m ready — and I will not marry that man.” Brian blinked, trying to keep up. He couldn’t. She didn’t wait. Ava turned, raised her hand to hail a taxi, and slipped inside before Kyle could speak again. The door shut. And for the first time that day, Ava let herself breathe. In the taxi, Ava heaved a deep sigh. Houses blurred past the window like fading memories, disappearing into the dusk. She was grateful to the driver—not just for the ride, but for getting her closer to the only joy she had left: the beaming faces of the children at her NGO, and Diane, her best friend, her voice when the world refused to hear her. "Madam, are you getting down or not?" the taxi driver’s shout jerked her from her thoughts. He had been speaking, but she hadn’t heard a word—her mind had drifted too far. She signed an apology, but when he looked at her blankly, she quickly typed it out on her phone and showed it to him, before paying the fare. This was her life—explaining herself in a world that never truly listened. She stepped out and stood in front of the small, run-down house she had spent most of her childhood in. It looked even more tired than she remembered. The silence was odd—unnerving, even. Usually, the place buzzed with laughter and chatter. Her chest tightened with panic. Had something happened to the children? Without thinking, she rushed toward the building. The wooden stairs groaned beneath her hurried footsteps, and she nearly tripped as fear pushed her forward. She burst through the front door. Darkness. Silence. Her hands trembled as she reached into her purse, fumbling for her phone to use its flashlight. Then— “Happy birthday, Miss Ava!” The lights flicked on, and tiny voices surrounded her. Seven children ran toward her, wrapping their small arms around her as she crouched down to meet them, overwhelmed. Diane stood to the side, smiling, waiting patiently for her turn. Ava had completely forgotten. Tears pooled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. One by one, she hugged each child tightly, as if anchoring herself to their warmth. Then she stood and embraced Diane, and finally Granny Beatrice, the elderly woman who helped them run the NGO like a quiet guardian angel. I love you guys. Thank you so much, she signed, her hands shaky. Diane wiped her tears gently and pulled her into another hug. The room was decorated simply—faded balloons, paper ribbons, and no extravagant lights—but to Ava, it was beautiful. Perfect. As a child, her birthdays had been invisible. While her half-sister’s every milestone was celebrated, Ava was pushed to the corner. The Rai family treated her like an extra burden—someone to be fed, clothed, and forgotten. Her silence had only made it easier for them to ignore her. But here, in this modest home, she had found something real. Family. Ava smiled as the children sang to her, each mispronounced word and off-key note melting her heart. Diane brought out a small cake with a candle, and Granny Beatrice lit it. “Make a wish! Make a wish!” the kids shouted, bouncing with excitement. Ava closed her eyes and made a silent wish. She cut the cake and fed the children before they all shared the slices. The laughter lingered like music in the air. Later that night, when everyone had fallen asleep, Ava stepped out into the cold. That creeping fear had returned—the one that always reminded her not to get too happy. Because whenever she did, the world would find a way to snatch it all back. She climbed up to the small balcony—a place she always came to think and dance away her thoughts. She had forgotten her blanket inside, but the cold didn’t matter. The moon hung brightly overhead, casting a silver glow that made the night feel like dawn. She tilted her head up, staring into the stars, reaching for one as if she could touch it. Then, she let her hand fall—and with it, all her restraint. She began to dance. Slowly at first, her bare feet gliding across the balcony floor. She spun gently, arms slicing through the air like poetry, as if she could rewrite her pain. She moved with a grace born of longing—her dress fluttering with every turn. She reached out, then pulled inward, a quiet battle between holding on and letting go. Her heart pounded in rhythm with her steps. But as she twirled again, a sharp slip stole her balance— She fell hard, breath catching in her throat. "Ava!" Diane was instantly by her side. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Her voice trembled as she checked Ava’s arms and knees. Relief washed over her when she found no injuries. She wrapped the blanket she’d brought around Ava’s shoulders and helped her sit on the wooden chair beside the railing. "What’s wrong?" Diane asked softly, but Ava didn’t move. She didn’t sign, didn’t type. Diane sat beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “We’re best friends. No secrets. I know you always come up here and dance when something’s wrong. You’ve been out here for two nights in a row. Tell me—did that wicked stepmother of yours do something again? I swear I’ll teach her a lesson.” Ava slowly turned to her and began typing. Don’t do anything. My family can make you disappear. Diane chuckled. “Well, now you’re finally responding.” But her smile faded. She glanced around, then leaned in, her voice hushed. “You know you can talk to me, right? I mean, actually speak.” Ava turned her face away. She didn’t respond. Diane sighed and reached into her hoodie pocket. “A man brought this earlier. I wanted you to open it first.” She handed over an envelope, her fingers brushing Ava’s with quiet concern. Ava took it with trembling hands, already bracing herself for the worst. And the worst came. Her eyes filled again—this time, she didn’t bother wiping the tears away. Diane, alarmed, took the letter and read it. Her face fell. “They want us to leave?” she whispered. “They’re throwing us out?” The letter was blunt and cold: They had one week to vacate the building. It was now the property of Ethan Todd and Mr. Tony Rai. Diane’s arms wrapped around her again, tight and trembling. “How could your father do this?” she whispered. “And that Ethan... what did we ever do to him?” Ava didn’t answer. She just sobbed, silent and broken. This was her fault. She had brought this upon them—on the children, on Diane, on Granny Beatrice. She knew her father would never forget, never forgive, and yet she still came here. She still tried to build something for herself in a place he could reach. And Ethan Todd... ---