Ava Hart hated waiting.
Especially in skyscrapers like this one—where the air smelled of imported leather, ruthless ambition, and secrets so tightly sealed they seemed to crackle in the silence.
Thorne International's headquarters loomed above Manhattan like a fortress, all glass and steel, cold and untouchable. Inside, it was a kingdom ruled by Damien Thorne—a man who had mastered power with a gaze sharp enough to cut through boardrooms and hearts alike.
She adjusted the collar of her navy blazer and took a slow breath. This was the moment she had fought tooth and nail to reach. Not as the daughter of a disgraced senator, but as Ava Hart, the woman who would build her own legacy.
The elevator hummed upward, every floor ticking by like the countdown to a new life—or the end of one.
Her reflection stared back—hair pulled into a no-nonsense twist, makeup flawless but not overdone, eyes blazing with everything she refused to admit aloud: hope, fear, and a touch of desperation.
"Miss Hart?" The receptionist's voice startled her from her thoughts. "Mr. Thorne is ready for you."
She nodded and stepped into the vast, glass-walled office. Damien stood before the panoramic city view, phone pressed to his ear, posture rigid and commanding.
When he ended the call and turned, their eyes locked.
The headlines didn't do him justice. Damien Thorne wasn't just a billionaire—he was a force of nature.
She squared her shoulders and said, "I'm here to offer you a deal."
The silence stretched between them, thick as the polished mahogany desk that separated Ava from the man whose reputation could bury hers in a heartbeat.
Damien's dark eyes studied her—not with curiosity, but as if weighing her worth like an asset or liability. The kind of scrutiny that had made so many crumble before him.
"So," he said finally, voice low and controlled, "you want to make a deal. What's your angle, Miss Hart?"
She took a steadying breath. "You're a master at controlling narratives. But lately, the headlines have been... complicated. Hostile takeovers, boardroom battles, personal scandals. You need a softer image—someone who can rewrite your story."
Damien arched an eyebrow. "And you think you're that someone?"
Her lips twitched into a small, confident smile. "Not just think—I know."
He studied her a moment longer, then gestured to the chair opposite him. "Talk."
Ava sank into the seat, heart pounding in sync with the city's pulse below. This was her shot.
"I want to propose a fake engagement," she said, words carefully chosen. "You and me. It would soften your public image, give the media a distraction, and help both of us. I get the client I need to launch my PR startup. You get the goodwill and stability you crave."
Damien's eyes narrowed. "Fake engagement?"
She nodded. "Yes. No legal contracts, no real feelings—just optics. A business arrangement."
He laughed then—a rare, cold sound. "You want to pretend to be my fiancee."
"That's right."
He leaned back, fingers steepled. "And what's stopping me from walking out the door and forgetting this conversation ever happened?"
Ava met his gaze, steady and fierce. "Because you need me. And I need you. That's the deal."
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Damien's expression shifted—something softer, almost reluctant. "Fine. But on my terms."
Damien's voice dropped to a measured calm. "If we're doing this, there are rules. I don't do public displays unless they serve a purpose. No surprises, no emotional entanglements."
Ava's eyes flickered, but she didn't back down. "Agreed. It's business."
He stood, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window, the city sprawled beneath him like a chessboard. "You'll move in. Not a hotel, not a temporary suite. My penthouse."
The words hit Ava like a punch. Sharing space with a man like Damien Thorne was a risk—one she hadn't fully prepared for.
"I have a business to run," she said carefully.
Damien didn't turn. "You'll make it work. We'll live this charade 24/7. And I get final say on what's shared with the press."
The air between them crackled. The terms were harsh but clear—this wasn't just a simple deal. It was a collision of two worlds.
Ava swallowed hard. "Deal."
Damien's lips curled into something close to a smirk. "Good. Welcome to the Thorne family, Miss Hart."
She rose, feeling the weight of the moment settling on her shoulders—equal parts opportunity and a storm she couldn't yet see coming.
As she turned to leave, Damien's voice stopped her.
"One more thing."
She paused.
"Don't fall in love."
Ava's heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she walked away from the glass fortress that was Damien's office. Every step echoed like a countdown to a future she wasn't sure she was ready for.
She had just agreed to a contract that blurred the line between business and something far more dangerous. Pretending to be engaged to the most feared man in the city was supposed to be a means to an end—a way to save her fledgling company and carve out a place for herself beyond her father's shadow.
But as the city's skyline faded behind her, so did her certainty.
Don't fall in love.
The words weren't just a warning. They were a challenge. A threat. Damien Thorne wasn't just protecting his empire—he was guarding his heart with walls Ava had no idea how to breach.
Back in her apartment, she sank onto the edge of the couch, the room suddenly too quiet. Her phone buzzed—a message from Lena, her best friend and partner in this gamble.
"So, you really did it. What's next? World domination or just trying not to lose your mind?"
Ava smiled, fingers trembling slightly. "Both," she typed back.
Meanwhile, in his penthouse high above the city, Damien stood alone, staring at the reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. The man in the glass looked powerful, untouchable—but Ava had already cracked a fissure in his carefully constructed armor.
He touched the cold glass, as if reaching for something he couldn't have. The piano in the corner called to him—a secret sanctuary he rarely visited. Tonight, maybe, he'd play. Not for anyone else, but for himself.
Because pretending was one thing. Feeling was another. And neither could be controlled forever.
The gala had barely ended when Ava found herself in Damien's penthouse, the city lights glittering beneath them like a million tiny witnesses. The grandeur of the space was intimidating—the sharp angles, the glass walls, the silence that felt almost too heavy.
Damien poured two glasses of whiskey, handing one to Ava without a word. She accepted, fingers brushing his for a moment longer than necessary.
"Not bad for a fake fiancee," Damien said, his voice low but carrying a hint of something softer.
Ava raised an eyebrow. "You're not so bad for an Ice King, either."
He smirked but didn't take a sip. Instead, he moved to the grand piano in the corner and sat down. The room seemed to breathe with anticipation.
"Play something," Ava challenged, folding her arms.
Damien's fingers hovered over the keys, hesitant. Then, with surprising tenderness, music filled the room—soft, haunting notes that revealed a side of him few ever saw.
For a moment, the walls around them fell away.
When the last note faded, Ava was the first to speak. "You hide a lot behind that cold exterior."
Damien looked at her, eyes unreadable. "And you think you can see through it?"
"I don't just think. I know."
They stood there, the distance between them charged with something neither dared name.
Then Damien's phone buzzed, breaking the spell. He checked the screen, tension returning to his features.
"Business never sleeps," he muttered.
Ava took a slow sip of her whiskey, the warmth spreading through her. "Neither do I."
The game had begun—and neither was ready for the rules to change.
The first morning sunlight slipped through the sheer curtains of Damien's penthouse, painting soft gold streaks across the polished floors. Ava stirred awake, the unfamiliar weight of the bed and the silence around her pulling her slowly from sleep. For a moment, the reality of the previous night pressed down—she was really here, living with Damien Thorne.
She sat up, fingers brushing against the cool sheets, heart pounding as she caught a glimpse of the sleek, minimalist space around her. Everything was immaculate, every detail curated with ruthless precision—like its owner. It wasn't home. Not yet.
Her phone buzzed quietly on the bedside table—a message from Lena, full of sarcastic emojis and a reminder that the real work was just beginning. Ava smiled, a flicker of determination rising despite the uncertainty.
In the kitchen, Damien was already up, methodically preparing coffee with the kind of focus that made it seem like a ritual. He didn't look up as she entered, but the air shifted with his presence—commanding, unyielding.
"I'm here," she said simply.
He handed her a steaming mug without breaking his routine. "Good. You'll need your energy."
The tension was palpable, a fragile dance of cohabitation where every glance, every word was measured.
As Ava sipped her coffee, her mind raced. This wasn't just a fake engagement. It was a collision of two worlds—her chaotic, hopeful one against his controlled, guarded existence. And somewhere in the space between, something unpredictable was starting to take root.
Damien finally looked at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Remember the rules. This is business."
Ava met his gaze steadily. "For now."
But neither of them believed it was just business anymore.