The car waited outside Kingsley Headquarters like a shadow. Black. Polished. Intimidating.
The driver didn’t say a word. Just opened the door and nodded.
I slid in, gripping my coat tighter even though the car was warm. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
Because I’d just sold a year of my life.
No. I’d traded it, for Lily.
The city blurred past the window. Cold gray sky. Angry taxis. My face staring back at me in the glass. Pale. Hollow. A stranger.
In my lap sat the folder.
The contract. Signed. Sealed.
Too late to run.
When we reached the mansion, I had to tilt my head to see the top. All glass and stone. The kind of place that made you feel small before you even stepped inside.
Naomi was already waiting at the door. Arms crossed. Lips pressed into a line so sharp it could cut.
“Miss Reynolds,” she said. Not warm. Not kind. Not even curious. “Follow me.”
The inside of the house was silent. Marble floors, spotless walls. It smelled like expensive polish and rules.
I used to dream of homes like this when I was little.
Ones with warmth. Laughter. Smells of garlic bread and old books.
Not marble floors and closed doors.
“Mr. Kingsley has left instructions,” Naomi said, leading me toward a private elevator. “There are seventeen clauses. You’re expected to follow all of them. No exceptions.”
Seventeen.
She handed me a sheet of paper. Thick. Heavy. Legal.
“Clause One through Four: dress code, media behaviour, meal expectations. No personal guests. No press interaction. You’ll speak only from a pre-approved script.”
I nodded slowly, barely keeping up.
We exited the elevator into a long hallway that looked like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare.
Naomi didn’t stop walking. “You’ll stay in the west wing. You are not permitted in the east wing unless accompanied. That includes Mr. Kingsley’s study, his personal quarters, and the lower level.”
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “You signed a contract. That should be reason enough.”
We stepped into a massive dressing room. Clothes lined the walls. Black. Navy. Gray. Everything was neat, silent and cold.
“You’ll be dressed by the in-house stylist. You don’t choose anything yourself.”
My fingers brushed a soft black dress on the rack. I could tell from the fabric it cost more than my monthly rent.
Naomi didn’t even look at it. “You’ll wear what you’re told. This marriage may be paper, but the image is real.”
I stayed quiet. What was I supposed to say? That I felt like I was suffocating already?
She led me to a grand bedroom with cream walls and gold trim. Too clean. Too perfect.
“This is yours,” she said. “Schedule’s on the nightstand. Tomorrow you’ll attend a charity gala with Mr. Kingsley. The press will be there. Don’t speak unless prompted.”
She turned to go but paused at the door.
“I suggest you read Clause Seventeen. Carefully.”
And then she left.
I stared at the contract in my hand. My throat was tight. My chest was heavier by the second.
This place. These rules. Him.
I sat on the edge of the bed and unfolded the paper again. Skimmed the top. Dress code. Event etiquette. Clause Seven was about keeping a public distance from Damian unless he said otherwise. That made my skin crawl a little.
Then Clause Seventeen.
“Unauthorized access to personal or private quarters, including the east wing, will be considered a breach of contract, subject to financial penalty or immediate contract termination.”
It sounded like jail. But with prettier walls.
I let out a breath and set the paper down. My eyes burned. I didn’t want to cry in a room that wasn’t even mine.
So I stood up. Quiet. Careful.
Maybe a short walk would clear my head.
I stepped into the hallway, bare feet cold against marble.
The silence felt thicker now.
I turned left. Just wandering. Just looking. Trying to remind myself I wasn’t a prisoner.
Then I saw the door. Slightly open. Dark wood. Just enough space to tempt curiosity.
I peeked inside.
It was a different world.
Deep colours. A fireplace. A rich leather chair facing a low table. A black grand piano in the corner. Bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling. On the far desk, a photo.
I stepped closer.
A woman. Her face turned just slightly away. Smiling. Blonde.
Not Naomi.
Definitely not anyone I’d seen before.
Who was she?
Before I could even blink, I heard the click of the door behind me.
And then his voice.
Low. Steady. Dangerous.
“Did you not read Clause Seventeen?”
My body turned before I even meant to. Damian stood in the doorway. No tie. Collar open. Still sharp, still powerful. Even more dangerous this way.
“I— I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t—”
“Intent doesn’t matter,” he said. “Rules do.”
My heart pounded.
“I thought it was just, I didn’t know this was yours.”
“You’re not allowed in this wing.” His eyes didn’t move. “Ever.”
Behind him, Naomi appeared. Silent fury in her posture.
“You were told,” she said. “You were warned.”
I looked at them. Trapped. My feet rooted. My throat dry.
“I didn’t mean anything,” I whispered.
Damian stepped closer. Just one step. But it felt like a warning.
“Every room you enter in this house says something. Even when you think it doesn’t.”
For a second, something flickered in his eyes.
Not anger. Not desire.
Something else. Then it was gone.
I felt my cheeks burn. But I couldn’t tell if it was from shame… or the way his eyes dropped briefly to my bare legs.
He turned away.
“This marriage has rules, Ava. Break one again, and I won’t just remind you.”
Naomi slammed the door shut behind them as they left.
I stood there. Frozen. A stranger in a house made of secrets and glass.
That photo.
That look in Damian’s eyes.
This wasn’t just about rules.
There were things I wasn’t supposed to see.
And one of them was standing on that desk… smiling back at me.
And suddenly, the thought that this was all about money…
felt like the safest lie I’d told myself all day.
Ava’s POVThe sun was rising, but it didn’t feel like a beginning.It felt like exposure.Light spilling over everything I couldn’t outrun.The headlines. The whispers. The worst part wasn’t what he said.It was how steady his voice was when he said it.Like it didn’t cost him a thing to doubt me.Like all the moments we shared, everything we survived could be erased with one look at aheadline.Lily stirred beside me on the train, her head tucked under my chin.So small. So still.She felt light in my arms, but heavy in all the ways that mattered.Too fragile to be out of a hospital bed.Too fragile to be caught in the middle of any of this.But I carried her anyway.Because no one else would.Because I couldn’t leave her behind, even if that meant leaving everything else.I kept one arm wrapped around her, like maybe I could still protect her from the noise, the world, the wreckage.But my other hand wouldn’t stop shaking.My phone screen glowed in my lap—still open to Naomi’s messa
Ava’s POVThe hospital was quiet at midnight, but my phone wasn’t.I stared at Naomi’s last message. Helena leaked the contract footage. Ethan just reshared it. They’re pinning everything on you. Even Lily.Delete.That should’ve been the end of it.Out of sight, out of mind.Nice and neat. No noise.But it wasn’t just my phone that buzzed.It was the hallway… the nurses’ station—The way strangers started glancing twice, like the walls had whispered my name before I even walked past.The air shifted too.Sharper. Colder.Not just antiseptic, but… off. Like something had just happened. or was about to.I bent down, kissed Lily’s forehead.Let it linger a second longer than I meant to.“Back soon,” I whispered.And maybe I even believed it when I said it.But I wasn’t five steps away when I saw the flash.Not just on a screen…In the eyes.In a way, every single thing around me seemed to hold its breath.“Ms. Reynolds! Is it true you faked your sister’s illness for media sympathy?”I f
Ava’s POVThe antiseptic sting in the air reminded me of every night I’d spent in hospitals, except tonight, the blood on the sheets wasn’t Lily’s. It was Damian’s.He’d walked in alone. No security, no suit, no press disguise. Just a streak of blood down his arm and something desperate in his eyes. He’d looked at me—only me—before sliding against the white wall outside Lily’s ICU room and saying nothing.I should’ve told him to leave.Instead, I told the nurse, “I’ve got it.”She blinked, uncertain. “You’re…?”“His wife.”Her mouth pressed into a tight line. She handed me the tray of gauze, thread, and antiseptic. No questions asked.“You need to let me look at that,” I said, quietly.Damian didn’t respond.So I turned. “Damian. Sit.”He hesitated, and then just like that night on the rooftop in Rome, the one he still pretended didn’t happen he listened. He lowered himself onto the stiff couch, his movements tight, the fabric of his shirt sticking to torn skin.Naomi had stuffed a me
They were trying to take my sister.And I would burn the world down before I let them.The streets blurred as I ran. Rome didn’t care what I was fighting for. The lights didn’t flicker in fear, the cars didn’t pause for grief. But my body did. Just enough to remember how much I hadn’t done.I hadn’t visited her. I hadn’t checked the files. I hadn’t listened when Andreas warned me.The hospital came into view, cold and tall against the sky. I burst through the sliding doors, past the front desk, barely hearing someone shout behind me.Elevator? Too slow.I took the stairs.Three at a time, almost falling once, barely breathing by the time I hit the ICU floor. My palm slammed into the double doors, and—A guard blocked Lily’s room.No badge I recognized. No kindness in his face. Just static silence.“I’m her sister,” I snapped. “Let me through.”He didn’t flinch.I opened my mouth again—but a voice beat me to it.“She’s listed on the new emergency file. You’ll want to double-check.”I t
Ava’s POVI didn’t move for a long time.Just stood there in the penthouse, lights off, my reflection barely visible in the glass. Romeoutside, blurred and bright, like the city refused to care that everything was falling apartinside this apartment.Because this wasn’t just smoke and mirrors anymore.It was war.And I was already losing.Naomi’s voice cut through the silence like a crack splitting glass.“Guys. You need to see this.”There was no one else here. Just me. And her. And the air between us felt too still.I turned slowly. She stood by the kitchen island, pale, phone in one hand, laptop glowingcold light across her face.“Helena just called an emergency board vote,” she said. “Effective immediately. She’snominating herself as interim CEO.”I blinked. “She can’t.”“She can,” Naomi said tightly. “If she has enough voting shares. And she does.”“No,” I breathed. “She had… what, seven percent?”“She had seven percent.” Naomi’s voice was sharper now, her fingers flying acros
Ava’s POVHe just looked at me.Silent.And this time, I didn’t know if he believed me.I took a step forward, slow, deliberate. My heart had already cracked once tonight, and I wasn’t sure how much more it could take.“You said all that stuff on the broadcast,” Damian said finally, his voice brittle, still staring at the grainy photo. “But this…”My face burned. “You think I could lie to the world like that, then come home and steal from you?”His silence wasn’t loud. It was worse. It was slow. Creeping. The kind that hollowed out the room.And I broke.“I stood there in front of millions of people,” I whispered. “I told them you were the first man who ever saw me. Who didn’t flinch when he found out I was broken? I told them I loved you—not because I had to, but because I couldn’t help it.”I stepped closer. “Do you really think I could say all that… and then lie to you like this?”He flinched then. A twitch in his jaw. Like the words were slicing through something carefully held.“