CHAPTER SEVEN: The Trap

Now

The steel door closed behind Leo. Ava stood in the empty clinic. The invitation lay on the counter—heavy paper, gold seal, his scent still on it.

She didn't touch it.

She walked to the back room. Closed the door. Leaned against the wall and let herself shake.

Not from fear. From relief.

He'd taken it. The whole thing. The clothes, her performance.

She pulled out the phone. Dialed.

"He came," she said.

Silas's voice, flat: "And?"

"He's offering the gala. The dress. Everything." She looked at her hands. Steady now. "He thinks he's using me. Thinks I'm his weapon against Ryan."

"You're sure he doesn't know?"

Ava laughed. Once. Ugly. "He doesn't even know I know his name."

She hung up. Stood in the dark.

Day 1

The first night. The room in the supply closet. Ava couldn't sleep. She pressed her palm to the wall. Cold. Concrete. The Pit roared three walls away, but she wasn't listening to the screams.

She was listening to names.

Silas had mentioned Leo Vane once. Casual. "The next Top Alpha." Then moved on.

Ava didn't move on.

She'd heard Ryan talk about Leo for two years. At parties. In bed. The name choked out like a curse. "The real Alpha." "The one who doesn't even want it." Ryan wanted to be him. Wanted it so bad he hated him.

If Ryan wanted to be Leo, then Leo was the key. The thing Ryan couldn't have. The name that made him small.

Ava lay in the dark. Counted the water stains.

She needed to know more.

Day 3

She sat in the laundromat above her rented room, scrolling through Silas’s phone until her eyes burned. Leo Vane. Vane Industries. The deals he'd crushed. The rivals he'd ruined without raising his voice.

The women. Few. Brief. None lasted. None left angry—just gone.

She read about his collection. The ruined rivals. The watch from a broken man. He didn't use them. Just kept them.

She looked at her hands. Raw from scrubbing.

She needed to be broken enough. But not finished. Repairable.

Day 7

She found Silas in the back, stitching a gash.

"How do you make someone like Leo Vane want you?"

Silas didn't look up. "Leo Vane?" His hands stopped. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Ryan talked about him. For two years." Ava leaned against the table. "I need to know how to get his attention."

Silas tied off the thread. Snipped it with his teeth. Finally looked at her—sharp, assessing.

"You don't get his attention," he said. "You stand in his way and make him move around you."

"How?"

"You already know." Silas threw the bloody towel in the bin. "The way you talked to me when you arrived. The way you didn't flinch when I threw the boots at you. That's not accident. That's hunger."

Ava absorbed it. "I need to be sharper. Cleaner. More."

"Then be more." Silas turned back to his supplies. "But don't ask me for shortcuts."

Day 14

She followed Silas to the Pit. Wore the boots, the hoodie, the look of someone who didn't belong but wouldn't leave.

She positioned herself near the cash table. Close enough to the side door. Close enough to his path.

She saw him coming. Tall. Pale. Fast. Chasing someone who didn't matter.

She didn't move.

He hit her shoulder-first. His hand caught her arm—meant to shove, held on instead.

"Walk," she said.

And he stopped.

Day 15

She found Silas in the front, counting supplies.

"I need money," she said. "Five thousand."

Silas didn't look up. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of cash, threw it on the counter.

"Don't ask again," he said.

She bought new clothes. Practiced the look. The hair down, showing her neck. She was ready when he returned.

Now

Ava opened her eyes. The back room was dark. The invitation still lay on the counter.

She walked out. Picked it up. Turned it over.

Tomorrow, nine AM. The fitting. The dress. The shoes.

She'd let him buy her everything. Let him think he was building her. Sharp enough to cut Ryan.

He was right. She was his weapon.

She was just pointing in a different direction.