The morning after the hotel's extravagant auction event dawned grey and unremarkable, the city cloaked in mist as if it too were trying to forget the secrets whispered in lavish ballrooms.
Ava stood by the window of her modest apartment, a cup of weak coffee growing cold in her hand. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass….tired, pale, and carrying shadows beneath her eyes that no amount of sleep could erase.
Bryan had come home hours after the incident. He didn't apologize, he never did. Instead, he'd stumbled into bed, the sour smell of whiskey trailing behind him. The weight of his careless presence had made Ava's stomach turn.
She shouldn't have been surprised. This was her life now…. silence, loneliness, and the constant ache of what she no longer had.
The memory of Damian Cross's voice, the way he'd stepped between her and Bryan with quiet authority, surfaced uninvited. No one had ever done that for her before. Certainly not Bryan.
Ava shook her head, setting the cup aside. She refused to let herself dwell on it. Men like Damian didn't come to the rescue of women like her. Last night was a fluke, a rare intersection of their vastly different worlds.
She checked her phone. A message from Mr. Carter blinked on the screen.
"Report to my office before your shift start….urgent."
Ava's stomach tightened. In the hospitality business, urgent messages rarely meant good news.
The hotel was unusually quiet for a weekday morning. The gleaming marble floors echoed beneath her heels as she made her way to the administrative wing. She rehearsed possible scenarios in her head — maybe someone had lodged a complaint about her. Perhaps Bryan's drunken outburst had drawn attention. Or worse, Mr. Cross himself had left word about her, and she was about to be fired.
Ava drew in a calming breath before knocking on the office door.
"Come in."
Mr. Carter didn't bother looking up from his computer when she entered. He gestured for her to close the door and sit. The air felt heavier in the enclosed space.
"I assume you're aware of the incident involving your… husband last night," Carter began, his tone clipped.
"I am," Ava admitted softly.
"Under normal circumstances, a situation like that could have cost you your job. This establishment values discretion and a scandal-free reputation." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "However, Mr. Cross has made it clear that no such action is to be taken against you."
Ava blinked. "He did?"
Carter finally looked up, his sharp eyes assessing her. "In fact, he's requested your assistance this afternoon…directly."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.
"Why?" she blurted before she could stop herself.
Carter raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you made an impression. I suggest you consider yourself fortunate. No one declines a request from Damian Cross."
Ava's heart rate quickened. "What kind of assistance?"
"He'll explain it himself. Be in Suite 1503 at three o'clock sharp. And, Ava," Carter added, fixing her with a pointed look, "whatever happens behind that door is none of the hotel's concern. Do you understand?"
She swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
By the time the clock struck three, Ava's nerves were frayed. She stood outside the penthouse suite, the corridor eerily silent, saved for the muffled hum of the city below. The number 1503 gleamed in polished gold, the very sight of it making her stomach twist.
This was a mistake.
She should turn around, make some excuse, and avoid whatever it was Damian Cross wanted from her. Nothing good ever came from being summoned by a man like him.
But her feet betrayed her. One knock, and the door opened almost immediately.
Damian's assistant, a sleek woman in a charcoal suit, stepped aside wordlessly to let her in.
The suite was understated elegance — shades of slate and ivory, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline. And there, by the window, stood Damian Cross himself, a glass of something amber in his hand.
He turned at her arrival, his gaze locking onto hers with unnerving precision.
"Thank you for coming," he said, his voice a smooth blend of command and something softer she couldn't quite name.
Ava swallowed hard. "Mr. Cross. I… wasn't sure what you needed."
He gestured for her to sit in one of the plush chairs facing the windows. She did, perching stiffly on the edge.
Damian remained standing, studying her the way one might assess a particularly fascinating puzzle.
"You handled yourself well last night," he said after a long moment. "Better than most would in your position."
"I was just doing my job."
His lips twitched in something almost resembling a smile. "I doubt that was in your job description."
Ava's fingers tightened in her lap. "If this is about what happened with my husband, I apologize. It won't happen again."
"You shouldn't be the one apologizing."
The statement, so matter-of-fact, struck her breathless.
"I asked you here because I don't like unresolved situations," Damian continued. "And last night left several."
Ava frowned. "I don't understand."
He set his glass down, finally moving to sit across from her. The space between them felt charged, the city sprawling endlessly behind him.
"I find myself… intrigued by you, Ava."
Her heart stuttered. "Mr. Cross—"
"Damian."
She stared at him, heat rising to her cheeks. No one called him by his first name. Not employees…Not associates… Not anyone in her world.
"I don't think this is appropriate," she murmured, though a part of her betrayed her, wishing she could let the walls drop for a single moment.
"Probably not," he agreed, his tone wry. "And yet, here we are."
Ava didn't know what to say. She should shut this down, remind him — and herself — that she was married, that this could only end badly. But then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice lowering.
"You don't belong in the life you're living, Ava. And you know it."
Her breath hitched.
Damian straightened, as though granting her mercy from his intense scrutiny.
"I won't ask anything of you if you're not willing to give," he said. "But I want you to understand something — I protect what matters to me. And for reasons I don't fully comprehend yet, you do."
Before she could process his words, his assistant reappeared at the door.
"Mr. Cross, your next meeting is waiting."
Damian nodded but didn't take his eyes off Ava.
"This conversation isn't over."
He rose, leaving her alone in the expansive room, heart pounding, her carefully constructed world tilting on its axis.
Ava stood on shaky legs, exiting the suite. The corridor seemed endless, the weight of his words echoing in her ears.
She had the sinking feeling that her life, the one she barely clung to, had just shifted in a way she could never undo.