By morning, Lucan Tower felt alive again — and not in a good way.
The elevators were too crowded, the whispers too coordinated.
Screens in the lobby looped a single quote:
"Partnership isn't risk. It's evolution." — Ava Hart
Half the building seemed ready to applaud.
The other half looked like they were counting her minutes.
On the forty-eighth floor, Natalie slid into Ava's office without knocking.
She carried two coffees and a stack of printed articles.
"Congratulations," she said dryly. "You've officially divided the internet."
Ava skimmed a headline.
'Lucan Corp's Power Couple: Innovation or Illusion?'
"Good," she said. "Division means attention."
"Attention means exposure," Natalie countered. "And exposure means target."
Ava took a slow sip. "I've been a target since the first meeting."
Natalie studied her for a second, then smiled faintly.
"You're starting to sound like him."
"Or he's starting to sound like me."
"Either way," Natalie said, "Vanessa just booked an unscheduled interview with BloomStreet Finance. Live. In an hour."
Ava's grip on the cup stilled. "He knows?"
"He will in three minutes."
The boardroom was already lit when Ava arrived.
Ethan stood at the far end, jacket on, expression unreadable.
Vanessa was on the screen — perfect posture, flawless lighting, smile sharp enough to cut.
Interviewer: "So the rumors of a Lucan-Hart partnership—true?"
Vanessa: "Partnership is an interesting word. Let's say Miss Hart is… an experiment in messaging. Mr. Lucan enjoys experiments."
The interviewer laughed. Ava felt the blood rise in her throat.
Ethan's eyes stayed on the screen, unmoving.
When Vanessa finished, he said simply, "Mute it."
The sound vanished.
For a few seconds, silence.
Then Ethan turned to her. "She's trying to frame you as a distraction."
"Then we change the frame."
He raised an eyebrow. "How?"
Ava met his gaze. "You've spent years making Lucan untouchable. I'll make it unavoidable."
By noon she was standing before a wall of cameras again — no teleprompter, no script, just conviction wrapped in calm.
"Lucan Corp isn't experimenting with change," she said. "We're becoming it. And yes, collaboration at this level looks unusual. It should. That's what evolution is — uncomfortable until it's necessary."
The press room went still.
Someone asked if she was confirming the "rumored alliance."
Ava smiled.
"It's not rumor when it works."
The footage spread faster than anything Vanessa could spin.
Back upstairs, Ethan was waiting in the hallway outside the elevators.
He didn't speak as she approached; he just handed her a folded note.
She opened it.
You took the fire out of her hands.
Next time, warn me before you light one.
Ava looked up. "You're not angry."
"I'm never angry," he said. "But I'm curious."
"About what?"
"How far you're willing to go before you stop asking for permission."
Ava exhaled slowly. "You made me stop asking."
Ethan's gaze didn't move. "That was the point."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Through the glass behind him, the skyline burned gold in the late-day light.
Somewhere down below, the city kept talking—too fast, too loud, too sure of its story.
Ava finally said, "You know she won't stop."
"I'm counting on it."
"She'll come for me next."
"I know," Ethan said quietly. "That's when she'll make her first mistake."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then," he said, "we make one for her."
That night, long after the offices emptied, Ava found herself alone on the observation deck outside the executive lounge.
Rain traced thin lines across the glass.
From here the city looked peaceful, unreal — a network of moving lights pretending to be permanent.
Her phone buzzed once.
E. Lucan: They'll hit the media again tomorrow. Don't flinch.
She typed back:
You trained me not to.
The cursor blinked.
Then his reply came:
Good. Now let's see if they were watching.
Ava pocketed the phone, eyes on the skyline.
Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the clouds, low and patient.
War didn't always start with explosions.
Sometimes it began with applause.
And tonight, Lucan Tower was glowing