The heels clicked across the marble like gunfire.
I adjusted the neckline of the crimson silk gown that Maverick's stylist had selected — tight, scandalously low-cut, and slit high enough to raise eyebrows and questions. Which, I supposed, was the point.
Tonight wasn't about comfort.
It was about optics.
About power.
And above all, about us.
I stared at myself in the mirror, lips a deep wine red, eyes smoky and sharp. The woman staring back didn't look like Ava Morales, the girl who edited Instagram reels at 3AM with takeout and cat hair on her sweatpants.
She looked like a billionaire's fiancée.
The door clicked open behind me. "Are you ready?"
I turned. And there he was.
Maverick Ryder. Sin in a suit. The black tux clung to him like he'd been poured into it, his cufflinks glinting with something expensive and unnecessary. His jaw was freshly shaved, hair perfectly tousled, and the moment he saw me, he stopped walking.
His eyes swept over me, slow, devouring, unapologetic.
"I said I was sending a message," he murmured. "Didn't expect you to scream it."
I gave him a sly smile. "You told them I was yours. I'm just dressing like it."
He took a step closer. Then another. Close enough that I could smell his cologne — dark, expensive, addictive.
"You're dangerous," he said under his breath.
"And you're a liar," I replied sweetly. "So I guess we're a match."
He smirked. "Let's give them a show."
————————————————————
The Ryder Foundation Gala was being held at one of his hotels — the kind of event where old money and new sins met under chandeliers. As soon as we stepped out of the black car, the flashbulbs started.
"Mr. Ryder! Who's the woman on your arm?"
"Are the engagement rumors true?"
"Ava, over here! Are you moving into the Ryder empire permanently?"
I clung to Maverick's arm with the perfect blend of grace and ownership, smiling just enough to keep them guessing. He leaned into me, lips brushing my ear as he whispered, "Keep smiling. They're watching everything."
"They always are," I said through gritted teeth.
Inside, the music pulsed like a heartbeat beneath designer shoes and secrets. We walked the floor like royalty. I sipped champagne like it didn't burn. I nodded at strangers whose names I didn't know. But it wasn't until we stopped near the private VIP terrace that things shifted.
A man approached — older, sharp-eyed, and powerful enough to walk like he owned the city.
"Ah, Maverick. I see your engagement has… elevated your taste." His gaze flicked to me, not even trying to hide the evaluation.
Maverick's posture tightened subtly. "Ava, this is Marcus Graves. Real estate mogul, politician whisperer, and the reason I no longer attend golf weekends."
I offered my hand politely. "A pleasure."
He didn't take it.
Just smiled, like a man who thought politeness was beneath him. "Let's see how long you last, darling."
Maverick's smile was ice. "She'll outlast you."
Graves walked away, and I blinked, stunned. "What the hell was that?"
Maverick's jaw was locked. "He doesn't like that I outbid him on his latest acquisition. He doesn't like that you exist. Or that I look at you like this."
His gaze pinned me.
I swallowed hard. "And how do you look at me?"
"Like I want to break every clause in the contract."
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, another voice cut in.
"She's lovely, Maverick. A rare find."
This time, it was a woman — icy blonde, curves carved from ambition. She looked at me like a threat. And Maverick… like a memory.
"Victoria," he said carefully.
I knew the name. Ex. The kind that didn't go quietly.
"Be good to him, Ava," she purred. "He has a habit of collecting beautiful things and locking them away."
I smiled, all teeth. "Then I guess I'll need to be the one thing he can't cage."
Her smile faded.
Maverick looked down at me like I'd just rewritten the rules.
Later that night, as the gala wrapped up and we stood alone on the rooftop — the same rooftop where it all began — I exhaled for the first time in hours.
"I'm exhausted," I admitted, leaning against the railing.
"You were flawless," he said. "They bought every second."
I looked at him, eyes narrowing. "And what if they hadn't?"
"Then I would've burned the whole room down."
He wasn't joking. Not even a little.
And that was the most terrifying part.
Because Maverick Ryder wasn't just playing a game.
He was playing for keeps.
And I didn't know if I was a piece… or the prize.