AVA'S POV
The scent of scorched wood clung to the air like a bitter perfume.
I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until the door to Ethan's office creaked open and he stepped out, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled, eyes shadowed with something too dark to name.
He didn't see me at first.
I watched him from the top of the staircase. From the safety of distance. My fingers tightened around the banister.
This mansion had so many corridors, so many corners, and yet
I always found myself circling back to this one man who could unravel me with a single glance.
"Ethan," I called quietly.
His head turned. A flicker of surprise, then retreat. His walls slammed up like a fortress. "Ava."
We hadn't spoken since the disaster in the drawing room, the
argument, the accusations, the barely veiled pain.
"I heard you canceled the Paris trip."
"I wasn't in the mood to be surrounded by people pretending
to care."
"Isn't that what we do every day?"
