Chapter 15: The Final Chance

February 15th. Manhattan. Blizzard.

It was four o’clock in the morning. Ava stood at the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse apartment, the icy particles of the blizzard striking the glass like shards of shattered crystal, emitting a fine, continuous, explosive sound. She was barefoot, clad only in a black silk dressing gown that hung loosely, its collar wide open. Her skin, visible at her collarbone and breastbone, was a roadmap of new and fading bite marks and finger bruises—a territory repeatedly staked and claimed by a beast. The fire in the bespoke marble fireplace roared fiercely, but its heat failed to warm the bone-deep chill radiating from her feet.

A nearly silent padding of footsteps approached from behind.

Sebastian came up to her, holding a mug of warm milk. His own black silk robe was tied carelessly, and a fresh scratch—a mark left by her in her desolate breakdown the night before—was visible near his collarbone. He hadn’t turned on any lights, relying only on the flickering firelight to guide him. He raised the mug to her lips, his voice low and raspy with exhaustion and tenderness. “Drink this. Try to sleep for a little while.”

Ava didn’t reach for the mug. She only turned her head to look at him, her eyes bloodshot and raw. “Brother, you shouldn’t have come back. Landon will withhold the medication.”

“Then let him withhold it.” Sebastian set the mug down on a nearby side table. He reached out, pulling her close into his embrace, resting his chin on the top of her cold, damp hair. “My sister’s life is more important than anyone else’s supply chain.”

Ava closed her eyes, her lashes still wet with unshed tears. She wanted, desperately, to push him away—to save him from the escalating danger she represented. But she failed. Instead, she clung to the silk lapels of his robe, her fingers gripping the fabric with desperate strength. Her voice was thin, trembling on the edge of cracking. “I am afraid I won’t make it to the day I crush all of them beneath my heel.”

Sebastian’s hand moved to the nape of her neck, his thumb tracing the painful, fresh contour of Landon’s teeth marks there. His voice was a low, intimate rumble, edged with a cold, almost cruel conviction. “Then we make sure they pay the price first.”

A piece of firewood in the hearth cracked and spat, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The sudden flare of light illuminated their intertwined shadows, briefly painting them against the wall like a forbidden oil painting—a portrait of desperate, dangerous intimacy.

---

The Same Time. Brooklyn, Ivy’s Apartment.

Ivy sat huddled on the cold, bare floor of her apartment. Scattered around her were five thick stacks of cash and a single bank card—the payment she had received from Page Six for the stolen, invasive photographs of Nora in the ICU suite. It was fifty thousand dollars, the price of a life, and the cost of her soul. Her fingers trembled so violently she could barely hold her phone. Tears dripped steadily onto the stacks of money, blurring the face of George Washington on the crumpled bills.

She repeated the desperate litany to herself, a futile attempt at absolution: "Just this once... the last time... Ava is too busy to notice... I just need the money for Mom's surgery... she'll understand... she always said sisters have to help each other..."

But when she opened the alumni group chat and saw the newest voice message from Summer—[Anyone who dares to spread lies about Ava and her aunt again, you will answer to me!]—Ivy’s hands began to shake uncontrollably. Her phone slipped from her grasp and crashed onto the floor, the screen instantly fracturing into a jagged spiderweb pattern.

She knew she had betrayed Ava. She knew she had made the catastrophic mistake she had been warned against. But she couldn't stop. The need for the money, the crushing desperation for her mother's life, had superseded everything else.

---

December 15th. 10:00 AM. Rosier Holdings, 88th Floor, Chairman’s Office.

Ava had just concluded her morning meeting. Her phone buzzed; an unfamiliar number.

She answered, and Landon’s voice—smooth, amused, like sandpaper grinding against her eardrum—met her ear.

“Little flower, the medicine is gone, you know.” In the background, the distinct, sharp sound of glass vials rattling together was painfully clear. “I withheld the final six doses. Want them back? Tonight at ten, East Hampton. Sign the new agreement.”

Ava’s knuckles instantly turned white against the desk’s surface, but her voice was terrifyingly calm. “Landon, you wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would dare.” His low laugh was full of sated, arrogant ease. “You have twelve hours to consider. Either you sign, or your mother will be buried by spring.”

The call ended with a sharp click.

Ava stood motionless, her fingernails digging so deeply into her palm that blood began to well up, dripping slowly between her fingers and onto the custom-made, million-dollar Persian rug below, staining the plush fabric crimson like a blossoming poppy.

She had lost. This round, she had been outplayed, utterly and completely. The final, irreplaceable leverage had been seized.

---

2:47 PM. Summer burst into the office, her eyes blazing red, clutching her phone so tightly it looked about to shatter. “Ava! Page Six broke the story! They’re calling Nora the most notorious mistress of her time, and they used photos from the ICU! The entire internet is crucifying you! The share count is already over half a million!”

Ava took the phone. The stolen photograph on the screen was framed with a cruel, knowing angle—the kind of shot only someone standing inside the door, fully aware of Nora’s medication schedule, could have taken.

She recognized the truth in an instant: Ivy had taken that picture yesterday afternoon, during her "visit."

Ava didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She only let out a slow, quiet breath, as if exhaling the last vestiges of her belief in humanity.

“Summer,” her voice was dangerously flat, devoid of all emotion. “Contact Ivy. Tonight, eight o’clock, Le Coucou. I want to hear her admit it, face to face.”

---

7:55 PM. Le Coucou, The Old Private Room.

Ivy arrived, her face smeared with ruined makeup, her hands sweating so profusely she could barely hold the door handle. The moment she stepped into the room, she collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “Ava… I… I’m so sorry… My mother’s surgery costs… I couldn’t afford it… It wasn’t intentional… I just…”

Ava sat composed in the deep shadow of the booth. She had ordered no overhead lighting, only the flickering, intimate glow of the table candelabra. The candlelight cast her face in sharp, shifting contrasts, making her look like a cold, exquisite sculpture of ice.

She looked at Ivy, her eyes completely devoid of warmth.

“Ivy,” her voice was a near-silent sigh of disappointment. “I gave you the final warning last night. You chose the money.”

Ivy was sobbing hysterically, barely able to breathe. “I can pay it back! I will issue a full retraction! Ava, please, just forgive me… We’ve known each other since we were eight… Don’t you remember our promises in the storage room?”

Ava was silent for an age, the quiet stretching until Ivy felt she would shatter from the tension. Finally, Ava rose, moving from the booth to stand over her friend. She crouched down, her fingers reaching out to tilt Ivy's chin up. The gesture was intimate, almost lover-like, yet it made Ivy tremble violently with fear.

“I won’t destroy you,” Ava murmured, her voice soft as velvet. “Because I made a promise to my eight-year-old self that I would make you great alongside me.”

“But from today,” she paused, her fingertip sliding to the side of Ivy’s neck, pressing gently on a faint, fresh bruise—a kiss mark left by Landon. “You are no longer my sister. You are simply… a stranger.”

She stood up, dismissing the past two decades of their relationship with a single, irreversible action. She walked out of the room without looking back.

The moment the door closed, Ivy collapsed completely onto the expensive rug, weeping until her throat was raw. She tried to chase after Ava, but the strength had vanished from her limbs.

She knew, deep down, that this time, Ava was truly gone.

---

10:00 PM. East Hampton, Landon’s Private Estate.

Ava drove through the freezing rain and heavy snow alone, her trench coat saturated, but she hadn’t bothered with an umbrella.

Landon welcomed her into the foyer. Only a single floor lamp was lit in the cavernous living room, stretching his shadow long and menacingly across the polished floor. He slapped a new agreement down in front of her, his voice heavy with satisfied, victorious arrogance:

$$\text{Voss Group retains permanent Right of First Refusal and Veto Power over Rosier Holdings;}$$

$$\text{Ava Rosier shall provide Landon Voss with no less than 30 days of "Private Companion Time" annually;}$$

$$\text{Violation of any clause results in the immediate cessation of all experimental medication for Nora Rosier.}$$

It was a contract of absolute, blatant humiliation.

Ava’s fingers shook violently, but she picked up the pen and signed her name, one precise, deliberate stroke after another. The scratching of the pen across the legal paper sounded to her like the scraping of her own bones.

Landon watched her, his eyes filled with a dark, triumphant smile. “Good girl.”

Ava finished, throwing the pen onto the table with a defiant clatter. Her voice was cold as the ice outside the window. “Landon, remember this day. Because one day, I will make you kneel and eat every single word of this contract.”

She turned to leave, but Landon caught her from behind, pulling her into his hard embrace. His voice was low, gravelly, and possessive. “You can hate me now, little flower. But never forget, your mother’s life is in my hands.”

Ava froze, tears finally slipping down her cheeks, though she bit down hard, refusing to make a sound. She sank her teeth into her own tongue, using the agonizing pain to force lucidity and self-control.

---

December 16th. 3:12 AM. Ava’s Penthouse Apartment.

Ava pushed the door open, soaking wet, looking as if she had been dragged from the sea. Sebastian rose instantly from the sofa. He saw the red, swollen state of her eyes and the faint spot of blood on her lower lip.

He asked no questions. He simply opened his arms.

Ava collapsed into his embrace, finally breaking down into hysterical, guttural sobs, clinging to him like a terrified child.

“Brother…” Her voice was raw, choked with blood and grief. “I lost again… He has Mom’s life in his hands… And Ivy… she sold Mom’s photos… I was the one who pushed her away…”

Sebastian lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom. He gently tucked her into the heavy duvet, then climbed in beside her. He held her from behind, his chin resting in the hollow of her shoulder, his voice low, steady, and vibrating with suppressed emotion.

“It’s alright.”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you lose.”

“Because the final time, I will make sure you win it all back.”

Ava cried herself into a deep, exhausted sleep, the final tears drying on her long lashes.

Sebastian lowered his head and kissed her wet hair. His silver-gray eyes were terrifyingly bright in the darkness.

He reached for his phone and sent a highly encrypted message to Nora’s London physician:

[Tomorrow morning. Transfer Nora to the Swiss private hospital. All expenses are my responsibility. The route, the manifest, the timing. Any leak of information, execution.]

After completing the transaction, he put his phone away and tightened his grip around Ava’s shaking body.

Outside, the heavy snow fell in complete silence.

And in her sleep, for the very first time, Ava dreamed of victory—she stood alone on the highest pinnacle of her empire, while at her feet, Landon, Kai, and even Ivy knelt in defeat. Sebastian stood behind her, a silent, powerful shadow, a presence that would never leave.