Morning light streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting a warm glow across the sleek furnishings.
Ava stirred, momentarily disoriented as the unfamiliar luxury of her surroundings settled around her like a heavy, comforting blanket.
Then she remembered.
The night before, the whispered conversation by the fire. Damian's hand brushing against hers, the steady rise and fall of his breath as he kept watch nearby while she drifted off. A memory Ava wasn't supposed to have, a connection she never meant to nurture.
But she had.
As she sat up, the scent of fresh coffee drifted toward her, rich and inviting. Her gaze landed on Damian standing in the open kitchen, dressed casually in a navy sweater and dark jeans — still intimidating in presence, yet somehow softer than the ruthless CEO everyone whispered about.
He glanced over his shoulder and caught her watching.
"Morning," he greeted, his voice low and rough from sleep.
Ava's pulse jumped. "Morning."
She rose and crossed the room, feeling uncomfortably aware of her rumpled clothes and the lingering scent of the cheap perfume she'd worn the day before — a stark contrast to his world of wealth and polish.
"You didn't have to stay out here all night," Ava said, attempting a lightness she didn't feel.
"I wasn't about to leave you alone in a place you've never been," Damian replied, pouring a second cup of coffee. He set it on the marble counter and slid it toward her. "I promised you'd be safe."
Ava hesitated before accepting it. "Thank you."
Their fingers brushed briefly when she took the cup, sending a jolt up her arm. She glanced up and found Damian watching her, his expression unreadable but his gaze impossibly intense.
The air between them thickened.
"You have a habit of showing up in my head when I least expect it," Damian murmured, as though confessing a sin.
Ava's breath caught. "I shouldn't be here."
"Maybe," he agreed, a crooked half-smile playing on his lips. "But I don't regret it."
Ava looked away, heart thundering.
She couldn't afford this — whatever this was. It was dangerous in a different way than people accused Damian of being. Not with violence or scandal, but with the quiet way he saw her. The way no one else ever had.
"I need to go," Ava whispered, though her feet didn't move.
Damian stepped closer, closing the space between them with maddening ease. He didn't touch her, but she felt him everywhere — in the way his voice dropped to a hush, in the pull of his gaze.
"I won't stop you," he said, his tone a velvet promise. "But if you go back to him, knowing how it feels to be here, with someone who actually sees you — it'll be harder every time."
Ava's throat stucked. She hated how right he was.
"I don't have a choice, Damian. You don't understand."
"I understand more than you think," he countered, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
The touch was featherlight, but it sent a shiver down her spine.
Ava closed her eyes for a moment, gathering the frayed edges of her resolve.
"I can't ruin your reputation over… whatever this is."
A low, humorless laugh escaped Damian.
"You think I care about my reputation? Ava, they've been calling me a monster since the day I took over this company. A scandal is nothing new."
She opened her eyes to find him impossibly close, his face a study in restraint.
"Let me take you away from all of it," he murmured.
It was reckless….Dangerous. Exactly what she'd sworn to avoid.
But God, how she wanted to say yes.
Before she could form a reply, the shrill ring of Ava's phone shattered the moment.
She jolted, her trembling hands fumbling to retrieve it from her bag.
Bryan.
Her brows knitted.
"I have to go," she said quickly, avoiding Damian's gaze.
He caught her wrist gently. "Ava—"
But she was already backing away, desperate to escape before she did something irreversible.
"I'll see you at the hotel," she called over her shoulder, heart pounding as she fled toward the elevator.
The doors slid shut behind her, cutting off the sight of him standing there, watching her go.
Later that afternoon, Ava moved through the hotel lobby like a ghost. Every whispered conversation, every sidelong glance felt amplified. Had people noticed her absence last night? Had someone seen her leaving Cross Tower?
She didn't know.
But what unsettled her more was the absence of Damian.
He wasn't in his office. His car hadn't been seen out front. No cryptic messages. No lingering stares.
The ache of his absence surprised her.
By the time her shift neared its end, Ava's nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She ducked into the staff locker room, desperate for a moment alone, only to find a crisp white envelope resting inside her locker.
No name….. No markings.
Heart hammering, she tore it open.
Inside, a single note written in that same bold, masculine script she recognized from the keycard.
Meet me tonight… Suite 48. Don't be afraid.
No signature. But she didn't need one.
Ava pressed the note to her chest, the paper crinkling against her racing heartbeat. She should ignore it. Throw it away. Pretend none of this had happened.
But she wouldn't.
Couldn't.
The forbidden thrill of it all was like a drug — and she was already too far gone.
With trembling fingers, Ava slipped the note back into the envelope and tucked it into her pocket, her mind spinning with possibilities.
What did he want?
Why now?
And why, despite every warning in her head, was she already planning what to wear?