The next morning, Ava stepped into the penthouse meeting room of Calla Luxe's temporary NYC headquarters, a minimalist space perched above SoHo with tall glass windows that cut the skyline like a blade. Around her, the core executive team awaited—each one carefully picked from her rebuilding years in Europe.
She placed the encrypted phone Liam had given her onto the table.
"Before we talk expansion," she said calmly, "we address security."
A murmur of concern rippled through the room.
"Someone tried to warn me last night," she continued. "But I think it was more than that. A message. Someone is watching us—possibly infiltrating us."
Her tech director, a lean, spectacled woman named Mei, leaned forward. "You want a firewall sweep?"
"I want a firewall war," Ava replied. "I want every signal, every access point, every courier and contact triple-checked. Assume breach. Assume threat."
There was a grim silence. Ava stood, walked toward the window.
"Killian won't stop me," she said softly. "But someone else might. And if they get in before we're ready, we lose more than a product line. We lose the message."
"What's the message?" asked Louis, her global strategy advisor.
Ava turned, her face composed but fierce.
"That women can take back everything stolen from them. Publicly. Powerfully. And without mercy."
At the Blake estate, Killian stood in his father's study. A place he rarely visited. A place that reeked of leather, ash, and legacy.
The air was heavy, not just with scent, but with expectation.
Vivienne entered without knocking.
"You had no right to open Project C.L.," she said coldly.
"I had every right," Killian countered. "She's moving against us. I'm not going to wait until our stockholders start betting on her."
Vivienne narrowed her eyes. "You're reacting emotionally."
"No," he snapped. "You are. You always have."
The silence between them stretched until it snapped.
"She humiliated you," Vivienne hissed. "She walked away from this family, this name. And you let her."
Killian's face hardened. "And you think Loughlin will stop her?"
Vivienne smiled tightly. "Loughlin doesn't stop. He removes."
Killian stepped closer. "If anything happens to her, you'll regret it."
"I already regret you thinking she ever loved you more than her revenge."
Vivienne turned and left, heels clicking like a metronome counting down.
At dusk, Ava walked through her Fifth Avenue construction site, hardhat in hand, boots crunching over concrete dust. The flagship Calla Luxe store would soon rise here. Clean lines. Reflective walls. Beauty with sharp edges.
She imagined the ribbon-cutting ceremony. The crowd. The flashbulbs. And across the street, the Blake Holdings window display trying not to glare.
Liam followed behind. "Site's clean for now. But two security consultants quit this morning. One had an unregistered burner phone."
"Buy them out. Keep them quiet," Ava said. "And replace them with ghosts."
"You're starting a war on two fronts, Ava. One corporate. One underground."
She gave a wry smile. "What's new?"
Liam sighed. "There's chatter from Europe. Someone's reaching out to former clients. Old debts."
Her smile faded. "Who?"
"One name came up. Someone who shouldn't still be alive."
Ava looked toward the skyline, jaw tightening.
"Then we dig him up," she said.
Liam nodded slowly. "You sure you want to go back into that?"
"I don't want to. I have to."
Because before she could destroy the Blakes' empire from the outside, she'd have to burn what once chained her from within.
***
Because before she could destroy the Blakes' empire from the outside, she'd have to burn what once chained her from within.
That night, a private jet touched down at a discreet airstrip in Teterboro. The man who stepped off it wasn't listed on any official manifest. No customs clearance. No questions asked.
Loughlin.
Ava had once heard rumors of him back in Europe. Whispers at black-tie fundraisers. Mentions in intelligence files she had bribed her way into reading. He didn't kill in the traditional sense—he erased. Destroyed reputations. Turned friends into traitors. Families into liabilities.
Now he was in New York. Brought in by Vivienne Blake herself.
Inside a black SUV, he opened a dossier with her photo. His lips twitched into a thin smile.
"Pretty. Smart. And angry," he murmured. "Always the most dangerous kind."
In the meantime, Killian returned to his penthouse, but sleep evaded him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ava's smirk. Heard her voice. Felt the sting of how easily she'd walked into his world again.
He sat in the dim kitchen with a glass of whiskey, elbows on the marble counter.
His phone buzzed.
A message from an encrypted number:
You still love her. That's why you'll lose.
He stared at it for a full minute before replying:
You think this is about love? You don't know me.
The reply was instant:
Oh, but we do.
Killian deleted the conversation and turned off the phone. But the chill in his spine didn't fade.
Elsewhere in Manhattan, a different conversation was unfolding.
Mei had stayed late at Calla Luxe's tech lab. She was tracing the backdoor breach Ava had suspected.
And she'd found something.
Not a hacker. Not a virus.
An internal tag. A coded signature that hadn't been used in over three years.
It was tied to a shell company—a front Ava had dissolved before she divorced Killian.
Mei called Ava immediately.
"It's not someone new," she said, her voice tight. "It's someone from before. Someone who had access to both your past… and your present."
Ava's silence stretched across the line.
Then, coldly: "Find out who resurrected the shell. And trace every transaction they've made."
Mei hesitated. "Ava… it might lead back to someone you once trusted."
Ava's voice was made of steel. "Then they're the first to burn."
***
Because before she could destroy the Blakes' empire from the outside, she'd have to burn what once chained her from within.
That night, a private jet touched down at a discreet airstrip in Teterboro. The man who stepped off it wasn't listed on any official manifest. No customs clearance. No questions asked.
Loughlin.
Ava had once heard rumors of him back in Europe. Whispers at black-tie fundraisers. Mentions in intelligence files she had bribed her way into reading. He didn't kill in the traditional sense—he erased. Destroyed reputations. Turned friends into traitors. Families into liabilities.
Now he was in New York. Brought in by Vivienne Blake herself.
Inside a black SUV, he opened a dossier with her photo. His lips twitched into a thin smile.
"Pretty. Smart. And angry," he murmured. "Always the most dangerous kind."
In the meantime, Killian returned to his penthouse, but sleep evaded him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ava's smirk. Heard her voice. Felt the sting of how easily she'd walked into his world again.
He sat in the dim kitchen with a glass of whiskey, elbows on the marble counter.
His phone buzzed.
A message from an encrypted number:
You still love her. That's why you'll lose.
He stared at it for a full minute before replying:
You think this is about love? You don't know me.
The reply was instant:
Oh, but we do.
Killian deleted the conversation and turned off the phone. But the chill in his spine didn't fade.
Elsewhere in Manhattan, a different conversation was unfolding.
Mei had stayed late at Calla Luxe's tech lab. She was tracing the backdoor breach Ava had suspected.
And she'd found something.
Not a hacker. Not a virus.
An internal tag. A coded signature that hadn't been used in over three years.
It was tied to a shell company—a front Ava had dissolved before she divorced Killian.
Mei called Ava immediately.
"It's not someone new," she said, her voice tight. "It's someone from before. Someone who had access to both your past… and your present."
Ava's silence stretched across the line.
Then, coldly: "Find out who resurrected the shell. And trace every transaction they've made."
Mei hesitated. "Ava… it might lead back to someone you once trusted."
Ava's voice was made of steel. "Then they're the first to burn."
Outside, the city glittered with late-night buzz—headlights like fireflies, sirens humming like warning bells. Ava stepped out of the building's private elevator and into the wind of the rooftop helipad. She wasn't meeting anyone. She just needed the open air.
She walked to the edge and looked down at the maze of New York.
Somewhere in that chaos, someone had lit the first match. Someone who knew her history—deep, personal, dangerous.
A memory stirred.
Years ago. A rainy night in Budapest. A man in a white coat, blood on his collar. Her signature on a document she didn't remember signing. And a suitcase full of silence.
She thought that part of her life was dead.
She was wrong.
From behind, Liam's voice broke through the wind.
"We found movement in Zurich. That name—the one tied to the shell company—it showed up in an old offshore trust."
She turned slowly.
"Who's behind it?"
Liam hesitated. "Not a who. A what. It's called The Hollow."
Ava's stomach dropped.
"I thought The Hollow was dismantled years ago."
"Apparently not. Or someone's resurrecting it. And they know exactly where to strike."
Ava's jaw set. Her heels clicked once as she stepped away from the edge.
"Then we hit first. Before they realize we've already remembered everything."