Carrying my newborn in my arms, I didn’t expect my grandpa to ask me this: “I gave you a car, right?”

My mother had told me there wasn’t enough money for formula.

I sat there, numb, while the reality locked into place.

This wasn’t “help.”

This was exploitation.

They didn’t just control me.

They used me.

Wright’s eyes flashed.

“Calling this theft is too mild,” he said. “We’re looking at breach of fiduciary duty, financial fraud, and multiple felony-level offenses.”

Felony.

The word made my brain wobble.

My parents in handcuffs. My sister crying in court. A judge saying their names like criminals.

For a split second, my old conditioning tried to rise: But they’re family.

Then Noah’s face floated into my mind—quiet on my chest, trusting me.

And the cold road.

And the flat tire.

And the Mercedes keys I was never allowed to touch.

Family hadn’t stopped them from hurting me.

Why should it stop consequences?

That evening, the intercom at the gate buzzed.

A staff member called from downstairs. “Sir—there are visitors.”

The security monitor showed three faces pressed into the camera like a bad horror movie: my father, my mother, and Chloe.

Somehow, they’d tracked us here.

My father’s mouth moved before the sound even came through.

“Ava! We know you’re in there! Come out!”

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