Ava didn't sleep.
Even with Bryan's drunken snores echoing from the bedroom, the apartment felt claustrophobic, as though the walls themselves leaned in, conspiring against her.
Every creak of the floorboards, every distant car horn made her pulse quicken.
She clutched the keycard Damian had given her, the edges pressing into her palm like a lifeline. The memory of his voice, low and insistent, replayed in her head.
"You can't stay here tonight."
Ava rose quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping man in the next room. She grabbed a small overnight bag — just essentials. Nothing that would raise suspicion if Bryan noticed. Toothbrush, a pair of jeans, a sweater.
And the keycard.
As the clock neared midnight, she slipped out the door.
The night air hit her skin like a slap, cool and bracing. The streets were quieter now, the city's usual chaos dulled to a hum. Ava kept her head down, the weight of what she was doing heavy on her shoulders.
This wasn't an innocent favor. She wasn't going to a friend's. She was walking into the arms of a man she barely knew but couldn't seem to resist.
And yet, it felt inevitable.
When she arrived at Cross Tower, the doorman greeted her with a polite nod, as if women like her showed up at all hours regularly. She wasn't one of them. She wasn't the type men like Damian noticed — but he had.
The elevator ride stretched endlessly. The numbers above the doors blinked higher and higher until it stopped at the top floor.
The penthouse.
Ava stepped out onto a floor that didn't even feel like it belonged in the same city. Everything gleamed. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the city skyline, glittering like spilled diamonds. Sleek, modern furniture sat tastefully arranged in the sprawling open space.
And there he was.
Damian stood by the window, phone in one hand, glass of something dark in the other. He turned when the elevator doors slid open, his eyes finding hers instantly.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, quietly, he set down the phone and crossed the room.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," Damian admitted, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it.
"I shouldn't have," Ava whispered.
"But you did."
The air between them shifted, Heavy….Loaded.
Damian stopped a few feet from her, his gaze dropping briefly to the overnight bag in her hand. "Did he see you leave?"
"No. He was passed out."
A muscle ticked in Damian's jaw. "You shouldn't have to live like that."
Ava's throat tightened. "It's not as simple as walking away, Damian. You don't know what it's like."
"I don't," he agreed, his voice low. "But I want to."
She looked up sharply. "Why?"
A faint smile touched his lips, one she wasn't sure anyone else ever saw. "Because for the first time in a long time, there's someone I can't stop thinking about. And it's not because of business, power, or gain. It's you, Ava."
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
"Damian…"
He stepped closer, the warmth of his presence wrapping around her like a blanket. "I don't care about the rumors. The whispers. People have painted me as a monster for years. Let them talk."
She hesitated, emotion clogging her throat. "They say you're dangerous."
"They say a lot of things. The only thing that matters to me is what you believe."
Ava swallowed hard. "I don't know what to believe."
"Then let me show you."
Before she could reply, his hand brushed hers. Not grabbing, not forcing — just a tentative, careful touch, like testing if she'd pull away.
She didn't.
Ava's breath hitched. The world outside those windows could have ended, and she wouldn't have noticed. Her entire focus narrowed to the man standing before her, the way his thumb grazed the inside of her wrist, the look in his eyes, intense and unguarded.
"I should be terrified of how you make me feel," Ava whispered.
His lips curved. "Are you?"
"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "But I don't want to be."
Damian's hand cupped her cheek, the roughness of his palm contrasting the gentleness of the gesture. She leaned into it without meaning to, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"I'm not asking for anything you're not ready to give," Damian murmured. "But don't go back there tonight."
Ava's resolve cracked. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the loneliness, the growing storm inside her chest — or maybe it was him. The man she shouldn't want but did.
She nodded, the tiniest dip of her chin.
Relief flickered across his face, and without another word, Damian led her deeper into the penthouse. Not to a bedroom, but to a large den where a fire burned low in the hearth. A thick throw blanket lay draped over the couch. It was clear he wasn't about to press his advantage.
Ava's throat tightened.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Damian's gaze softened. "You're safe here. I swear it."
She believed him. God help her, she did.
He turned to leave, but Ava reached out, fingers catching his sleeve. He looked back.
"Would you… stay a little longer?" she asked, her voice hesitant.
His expression shifted — surprised, then something deepen.
Without a word, he sank into the armchair opposite the couch. Ava settled under the blanket, the warmth of the fire easing the tension in her bones.
For a while, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn't awkward, but heavy with things neither dared say aloud.
Eventually, Ava's eyelids grew heavy, and her head dipped against the couch cushion.
She heard Damian's voice, soft, a murmur at the edge of sleep. "I swear I'll fix this, Ava. I'll make him pay for everything he's done."
And then — before sleep claimed her — his fingers brushed hers again. Not possessive, not demanding. Just there.
And Ava didn't pull away.