The morning sunlight did nothing to warm Ava as she stepped into the office. Whispers followed her like smoke, some about her work, others about the man who dropped her off at the door. The fractures between her old world and Dante's empire were widening, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to hold the pieces together.
The alarm clock chimed with a merciless tone, cutting through the thick cocoon of warmth Ava had built around herself. She groaned softly, burrowing into the sheets for one more stolen moment of peace. The scent clinging to the fabric was Dante's cologne, faint but unmistakable, like smoke and cedarwood. It was intoxicating, grounding, but also dangerous.
For a moment she breathed on it, his words from last night sink on her.
"You're not ready to go back to work".
Her lips parted with a sigh. She was ready. She had to be. Work wasn't just a job for her; it was her anchor, the one place where she could prove she wasn't defined by betrayal, by the men in her life, by the chaos of falling for a Don.
Slipping out of bed, she dressed quickly in a navy blouse and a fitted skirt, tying her hair back with efficient precision. She checked her reflection, pinching color into her cheeks. Strong, Confident, Untouchable.
Or at least, that's what she wanted the world to see.
When she descended into the marble kitchen, Dante was already there, leaning against the counter in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was too composed for this early hour, a storm wrapped in silk. His eyes cut to her immediately, and she felt pinned in place.
"You're dressed." His voice was quiet, but the weight in it was undeniable.
"I have to go in," Ava said, reaching for her bag.
He stepped into her path, a large frame blocking her way with the kind of effortless dominance that always made her heart skip. "No. You're not well enough yet.
You need rest."
She tilted her chin stubbornly. "I've already taken enough time off. People are whispering, Dante. If I disappear for another week, they'll think I can't handle pressure. And in my field, that's a death sentence.'
His hand curled around the strap of her bag, holding it hostage. Let them whisper. My people can deal with it."
"I'm not asking your people to," she shot back, fire sparking in her chest. "This is my job. My career.
You can't keep me locked away like--like I'm some fragile thing."
His eyes narrowed, unreadable, and for a heartbeat the room filled with that electric tension that always lived between them. A mixture of desire and fury, of dominance and defiance.
Finally, with a sharp exhale, Dante released her bag
"Why so stubborn ," he muttered, though there was something almost reverent in his tone. "Fine. But Marco will drive you. And he doesn't leave your side.
"Fine," she echoed, though her heart softened just a little. He wasn't trying to control her–at least not entirely. He was trying to protect her. And that was dangerous,because if she let herself feel the full weight of that, she'd fall harder than she already had.
The ride to the firm was silent but watchful. Marco sat in the front seat, eyes scanning every car, every shadow. Ava hated the way her life had become recently with constant surveillance, yet she felt strangely comforted by it.
When she walked through the glass doors of Callaham Marketing, heels clicking against polished floors, she forced her spine straight. She belonged here. She had earned her place.
But the air inside was different. Colder. Conversations hushed when she entered. She caught the way two junior associates exchanged glances, their whispers slicing through her composure.
Her desk had been stacked with files, more than usual, like someone had deliberately left her drowning in work. Her inbox pinged relentlessly with client emails marked urgent. And sitting just across from her, too composed and too watchful, was Claire.
"Good morning," Claire said sweetly, her lips curved in a smile that never reached her eyes.
Ava's stomach tightened. Every interaction with Claire felt like walking across cracked glass.
"Morning," she murmured, sliding into her chair.
Claire's gaze lingered. "Rough weekend? You look.. tired."
Ava forced a smile. "I'm fine. Thanks for your concern.
Claire nodded her head. "Of course. Just... you should relax yourself. Mistakes tend to happen when people rush back before they're ready."
The implication stung. Ava clenched her jaw, refusing to give Claire the satisfaction of a reaction.
She buried herself in the files, focusing on numbers, pitches, deadlines. But Claire's words hung like smoke in the air, and whispers seemed to follow her from room to room.
By noon, Ava was deep in preparation for a client presentation when she noticed something off. The slides had errors--numbers transposed, graphics missing. But she hadn't made those mistakes. She remembered finishing the deck a few weeks ago,
Her pulse quickened. Someone had tampered with her work.
Across the table, Claire hid her smirk behind a sip of coffee.
Ava's nails dug into the folder. She already knows who is responsible but She wouldn't let Claire win.
Not this time.
She excused herself and rebuilt the presentation in record time, her hands shaking but precise. When she walked into the boardroom, Dante's voice echoed in her head: you're not ready,you'll break.
But she didn't break. She stood before the clients, fire in her voice, confidence radiating from every line of her pitch. And when the clients nodded, impressed, she felt something shift inside her. She wasn't just surviving--she was fighting back.
when the day finally ended, Ava collapsed into her chair, exhaustion crashing over her. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the silence.
Until she heard Claire's voice.
"You're good," Claire said softly, leaning against her desk. "Better than I thought. But you'll slip eventually.Everyone does."
Ava met her gaze, steel in her eyes. "And when I don't?"
Claire's smile was poisonous. "Then maybe I'll have to help you along".
For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them--past betrayals, present rivalries, and future battles all tangled into one.
And Ava realized, with a clarity that chilled her, that Claire wasn't just a petty rival anymore. She was a weapon.
That evening, Marco drove Ava home. Dante was waiting on the balcony, his expression dark as thunder the moment he saw her pale face.
"You pushed yourself," he accused.
"I survived," Ava corrected, chin high. "And I will keep surviving. But Dante..." Her voice cracked just slightly.
"Say no more." His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing against her skin with surprising gentleness.
His eyes burned with fury. "No one touches what's mine. Not in business....
The city lights bled faintly through the curtains, a golden glow that touched the edges of the room but never reached its heart. The penthouse was quiet, save for the faint hum of traffic below and the deliberate clink of crystal as Dante set his glass of wine aside.
"You need rest."
His voice was low, commanding, the kind that left little room for argument. Ava sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, staring down at the silk sheets as though they could shield her from him. She should have been used to his dominance by now, but every time he used that tone, it stirred a storm inside her.