"Enemies wear many faces—some sharp with hatred, others soft with false smiles. Ava had learned to fear both. But nothing unsettled her more than realizing sometimes the enemy of your enemy is far more dangerous than the enemy you already know."
Isabella was not a woman who wasted time sulking.
The night of the gala had burned her pride to ashes.
Seeing Dante's lips on Ava's hand, hearing his words of ownership—it had been like watching someone steal her birthright. But Isabella had always been cleverer than most, patient where others were rash. If Dante wanted to parade his little conquest, fine. She would bide her time.
But patience didn't mean inaction.
And so, two days later, Isabella slipped into a dimly lit cigar lounge tucked inside one of Moretti's neutral business districts, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. A man was already waiting for her, his chair tipped back, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
Ethan.
He looked exactly as she imagined Ava's ex would: smug, bitter, with that restless energy of someone who believed the world owed him more than it had given. His jaw tightened when he saw her approach, suspicion flashing in his eyes.
"You're late," he muttered.
"I like to make an entrance," Isabella replied smoothly, sliding into the seat opposite him. "You must be Ethan."
He narrowed his eyes. "And you are?"
"A friend," Isabella said, her lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Though, in truth, I don't give a damn about you. What I care about is Ava."
At the mention of her name, Ethan's fingers curled around his glass. "What about her?"
"She's… inconvenient," Isabella said, swirling the stem of her martini glass. "And I suspect you feel the same."
Ethan leaned forward, suspicion sharpening into curiosity. "What's your motive ?"
"My motive," Isabella purred, "is Dante Moretti. He's mine. He just doesn't realize it yet. Ava is in the way. But you…" She studied him with feline amusement. "You have history with her. Wounds. Anger. Perhaps even unfinished business."
Ethan scoffed, but the vein at his temple twitched. "She left me. Ran off like I was nothing. And now she's sleeping her way up the ladder, from what I hear."
Isabella's smile widened like a blade. "Exactly. Doesn't it make your blood boil, knowing she traded you in for power? That she's playing dress-up in a world she doesn't belong in?"
His jaw clenched. "I want her to pay."
"Then we have common ground," Isabella said softly. "Because so do I."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with mutual hatred of the same woman. Then Isabella leaned closer, her perfume wrapping around him like smoke.
"Here's what I propose," she whispered. "You and I… we work together. You rattle Ava. Break her composure. Remind her of her past. If we shake her badly enough, Dante will begin to doubt her. And when she falls, we'll both have what we want."
Ethan studied her, suspicion still lingering in his eyes—but beneath it, Isabella saw the hunger. The bruised ego. The desperate need for revenge.
Slowly, a smirk curved his lips. "I like the way you think."
"Good," Isabella said, clinking her glass against his. "Then let's make her life hell."
Ava never should have opened that note.
Her instincts had screamed at her to ignore it, but curiosity—and some foolish corner of her heart that still craved closure—had driven her steps toward the east lounge.
When she opened the door, Ethan was already waiting.
"Hello, Ava."
The sound of his voice was like a ghost dragging chains across her memory. Ava froze in the doorway, every muscle tightening. He looked the same: tall, dark-haired, eyes sharp and arrogant. But there was something crueler in his expression now, something bitter that hadn't been there before.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice hard.
He spread his arms, mocking. "What, no hug? No kiss? After all the nights you spent in my bed, I thought you'd be happier to see me."
Her stomach twisted. "Don't. Don't you dare try to rewrite history. You cheated on me. With my best friend."
Ethan's smirk faltered for just a second, then returned sharper. "And you ran, Ava. Straight into the arms of another man. Tell me, how long did it take before you spread your legs for Moretti? A week? Two?"
Her hand trembled at her side, anger flaring. "You don't get to talk about him."
"Oh, I think I do," Ethan sneered, stepping closer. "Because I know you. You're fragile. Needy. You always were. And Dante? He'll get bored. Men like him don't keep women like you. You're just another notch on his belt."
Ava's chest heaved, fury and pain crashing through her.
"That's where you're wrong," she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "Dante sees me. The real me. Something you never cared to do."
Ethan's eyes darkened. For a flicker of a moment, she saw it—the bruised ego Isabella had tugged at, the venom she had nurtured.
"Pathetic," he spat. "You think you've won, but when he drops you—and he will—I'll be there to laugh in your face."
He lunged closer, too close, his hand catching her wrist. Ava stiffened, panic flashing in her chest.
But before he could tighten his grip, a shadow fell over the doorway.
"Let her go."
The voice was cold steel. Deadly.
Ava turned—and there was Dante.
He filled the doorway like a storm, his suit crisp, his eyes burning with lethal fury. Every line of his body radiated danger.
Ethan froze, his grip loosening automatically. Dante stepped forward, and in that moment, the air itself seemed to thicken.
"Ethan," Dante called, his tone dripping contempt. "The ex who thought himself a man."
Ethan swallowed, trying to mask his fear with bravado. "This isn't your business, Moretti."
"Oh, but it is," Dante said softly, his voice deadly calm. "Because she is mine. Which means anyone that touches her, anything that hurts her—" His smile was ice. "—answers to me."
He moved so quickly Ava barely saw it. One second, Ethan stood sneering. The next, Dante had him pinned against the wall, his hand wrapped around Ethan's throat.
Ava gasped. "Dante—"
"Stay back," Dante ordered, not taking his eyes off Ethan. "This won't take long."
Ethan's face reddened as he struggled, his bravado shattering into panic. "You can't— Moretti, this is assault—"
"This is mercy," Dante growled. "Because if you ever so much as look at her again, you won't leave breathing."
He released him suddenly, and Ethan stumbled, gasping, clutching at his throat.
"Get out," Dante said, his voice sharp as a blade. "And pray I never see your face again."
Ethan staggered toward the door, shooting one last venomous glare at Ava. "This isn't over."
Then he was gone.
Silence crashed into the room like a wave. Ava's knees threatened to give way, but Dante was already there, pulling her against his chest.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was tight, his hand cupping her face, searching her for injuries.
"No," Ava whispered, though her chest still heaved. "But he… he said things…"
Dante's eyes darkened with rage. "Words of a coward. They mean nothing."
"But Isabella—"
Dante stilled. "What about her?"
Ava hesitated. She didn't have proof yet. But deep down, she knew Isabella had orchestrated this. Ethan's sudden appearance, the perfectly timed note—it was too neat, too cruel.
"Nothing," Ava whispered finally. "Not yet."
Dante studied her, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but he didn't press. Instead, he held her tighter, his voice a low promise against her hair.
"No one touches you. No one. As long as I live, Ava, you're untouchable."
Ava clung to him, her heart still racing—but somewhere, far away, Isabella was smiling.
Because the first strike had been made. And the war was only just beginning.
"Dante's eyes narrowed, his tone like steel wrapped in fire. "If she thinks aligning with him will save her, she's wrong. Because the moment they move against you, Ava…" He leaned closer, his voice a deadly promise. "…they've already signed their death warrant."