The charity gala was a forest of diamonds, designer gowns, and insincere smiles.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled like frozen stars above silk-draped tables. Cameras flashed at the entrance as the city's elite arrived one by one—politicians, CEOs, celebrities, and sharks in tuxedos pretending to be gentlemen.
And then the room froze.
Because she arrived.
Ava Harper—no, Ava Blackwood—stepped out of the limousine like a goddess who had stopped caring what mortals thought.
She wore a floor-length midnight-black gown with a slit that reached her thigh and a neckline that dipped just enough to tease headlines. Her hair was pinned in loose waves, her heels tall enough to step over the past. The sapphire earrings on her ears weren't borrowed—they were Blackwood.
On her arm, Damian looked like sin dressed in Armani. Every inch the husband the media loved to stalk: tall, cold, and terrifyingly elegant.
The cameras lost their minds.
Flash.Flash.Flash.
"Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood! Over here!"
"Ava, what's it like being married to the city's most eligible bachelor?"
"Damian—was this love at first sight?"
He didn't flinch.
He leaned down just enough to murmur against her ear.
"Smile, Mrs. Blackwood. You've already won."
And she did.
Because the second they entered the ballroom, Ava's eyes met his.
Ethan.
Her ex-fiancé.
Standing frozen near the champagne fountain, his glass halfway to his lips, his face losing all color as he saw her—saw them.
His jaw clenched. Emily, clinging to his side in a tight red dress, tried to smile.
But her smile faltered the moment Ava stepped into full view.
Ava didn't break eye contact.
She didn't flinch.
She only let Damian guide her to their table at the front, where the media's attention didn't just follow—it devoured them.
Ethan stormed over moments later, breaking all pretense.
"Ava," he hissed under his breath. "What the hell is this?"
She turned slightly, sipping her champagne, voice cool. "This? This is my husband. Is there a problem?"
"You married him?" Ethan nearly spat. "For what—money? Status?"
Damian straightened slowly.
"I'd watch your tone," he said, deadly calm. "That's my wife you're speaking to."
"You don't even know her."
"Oh," Damian said with a smirk. "I know enough. For example, I know she upgraded."
Emily stepped forward, lips pursed. "Ava, this is petty. Just because Ethan made a mistake—"
Ava's expression didn't change.
"Sleeping with your best friend isn't a mistake, Emily. It's a decision. One you both made while I was picking out flowers."
Emily flushed crimson. People were starting to glance their way.
Ava tilted her head, smile razor-sharp.
"I hope you two are happy. Really. Because we are."
She reached for Damian's hand and laced their fingers together. It felt like slipping into armor.
He played along flawlessly.
With his free hand, he slid a possessive touch around her waist, drawing her closer until they looked every bit like a dangerously in-love power couple.
And then he kissed her.
Slow. Bold. Public.
Long enough to silence the whispers.
Deep enough to burn Ethan's pride.
When they finally pulled apart, Ava turned to her ex with a calm blink.
"If you'll excuse us, we're needed on stage."
They walked away without another glance.
And behind them, Ethan looked like the man who'd lost everything…
Because he had.