Chapter 2

Chapter 2: His Prey

I was in Paris for Fashion Week. Cameras flashed, runway music blared, and the city glittered like a jewel under the autumn sky—but I only showed up on the first day. For every other day, I slipped away, wandering the streets until I found the one place I’d been looking for.

Because Fashion Week was never the real reason I came.

It was him.

Leon.

I followed him into a quiet little café tucked between grand buildings, its windows misted against the chill. It was nearly empty that hour—soft sunlight spilling across wooden tables, the faint scent of roasted coffee in the air. He sat near the back, shoulders broad and relaxed, his entire focus fixed on his laptop screen. He didn’t even glance up when the waiter set down his second cup, or murmur a word of thanks. Just nodded absently, fingers still moving across the keys.

I slid into a table off to the side, angled so I could watch him unseen. I pretended to scroll through my phone, but my hand drifted to my camera, and I secretly snapped a photo. Who wouldn’t? He looked like something pulled straight out of a dream—sharp, rugged, undeniably real.

Days‑old stubble dusted his jaw, dark and rough against his skin. His hair fell in thick, unruly waves over his forehead, as if he’d run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration. That wild, untamed look only sharpened his features—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips set in a firm, thoughtful line. He looked absolutely devastating. The shadow of a beard he’d clearly neglected for days only added to that dangerous, untamed air—making him seem all the more mature, all the more impossible to resist.

Truly, he was a walking red flag.

I found myself wondering how many other women had fallen into his trap before me. How many had watched him just like this, hearts fluttering the same foolish way? If something happened between us, I knew—I would never be the last. I would just be another name in a long list.

I set my coffee cup down gently, the porcelain clinking softly. And then—my breath caught.

He was looking at me.

Our eyes met across the quiet room, and my heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might burst. It felt as if he’d seen me all along—just sitting there, watching him—and had simply waited for me to notice him back. There was no surprise in his gaze. No confusion. Only that dark, knowing intensity that made my skin prickle.

In that instant, I felt exactly like prey spotted by a predator.

He saw right through me. It was as if he could read every thought running through my head—the longing, the fear, the desperate foolish hope.

Instead of looking away, I lifted my chin. Narrowed my eyes at him. Threw him a sharp, annoyed look—like What are you staring at? as if I weren’t the one who’d followed him across an ocean.

I caught the faint twitch of his brow. He hadn’t expected that reaction. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

It had been months since that night in the elevator. Months since he’d kissed me breathless, since Rose and Saint had caught us, since everything had stopped before it even truly began. Nothing came after it. He hadn’t sought me out. And I—too proud, too stubborn—had stayed away too. I’d gotten used to watching him from afar. A chance encounter like this was rare enough. I never thought he’d even glance my way. Not really.

Our silent staring contest stretched on, neither of us blinking. I felt heat rising in my cheeks—and then, a sharp, breathless voice broke the spell.

“Miss Avar!”

My assistant stood beside the table, chest heaving, clutching her phone tight. I lifted an eyebrow, already irritated.

“It’s Ava,” I corrected coldly. “And where have you been?”

She took a deep breath and stood her ground, ignoring my tone. “Miss Avar Sloan—there’s been a family emergency. I’ve already booked your flight. You need to pack immediately. On Sir Smith’s orders.”

I glanced down at my phone. No missed calls. No messages. If it was truly an emergency, why hadn’t anyone called me directly? Why send her? Why now—when I was finally close enough to see Leon clearly, to feel him watching me?

Even without knowing the full story, I stood up. Katana moved quickly, gathering my things, shoving my phone and notebook into my bag. Before I walked out, I looked back one last time.

Leon’s eyes were still fixed on me. Unblinking. Intense.

I frowned at him, fighting the strange, tight ache in my chest. He looked as if he wanted to stand up. To follow. To come over and say something—anything. And yet… he stayed seated. Something held him back. It was so unlike him.

He was the one who approached me first last time. He’d kissed me like he meant it, pulled me close like he had every right. Why couldn’t he do the same now? We were practically the only customers in the café. It was the perfect chance. Why was he keeping his distance?

My mind swirled with questions all the way to the airport, all the way home. But the moment I stepped through the doors of the ancestral house, every thought vanished.

Grandma Anastasia was dead.

And honestly? Good riddance.

No more screaming. No more cold, cruel glances. No more poison dripping from every word she spoke. She was the one who brought nothing but trouble into this house—flying into rages for no reason, turning her own family’s lives upside down. She’d made Grandpa Eli and everyone else miserable, secure in the belief that her name and wealth made her untouchable. She never wanted anyone to be happy. She wanted everyone to suffer right along with her.

Except for Tyler. He was always her favorite grandchild. No wonder he’d turned out so much like her—always chasing attention, always needing to be the center of everything, never caring who got hurt along the way.

She’d had her share of men back in her youth. It was no secret, whispered behind fans and over teacups. And no wonder Grandpa Eli had sought comfort elsewhere. I couldn’t blame him. I’d heard her scream cruel, cutting words at him so many times—taunting him that he couldn’t give her an heir, that she’d had to carry another man’s child just to save him from shame. She’d twisted it all into a favor, holding his supposed inability over his head like a weapon, threatening to ruin his name if he ever dared leave her.

But when she fell ill with cancer years ago, the truth finally unraveled. Grandpa could have children. He’d had one—with the woman he’d loved in secret all those years ago.

He told me everything. About her. About their daughter. And I wept for him—because at last, he’d known what it felt like to be loved. Cherished. Held gently. Things Grandma Anastasia had never once given him. She’d been cruel, cold, and selfish—just as he’d always said.

Every lie she’d built up crumbled. And even as she wasted away, she’d threatened to have his other family hunted down and killed if he ever tried to bring them into the light.

I’d never seen Grandpa Eli so broken, so lost. That evening, I’d gone straight to him and wrapped him in the tightest embrace I could give. He trembled in my arms like a lonely boy. To me, he was more of a grandfather than she’d ever been a grandmother. He’d never held back his care or his kindness—not like her.

I never understood why she never had a soft spot for me. So I never had one for her either. She acted as if she were carved from gold—untouchable, perfect—when she was nothing close to it, even born into all that wealth. And when the end came… I felt nothing. No tears. No grief. Only relief.

Grandpa told me afterward that he planned to bring his second family home. I told him I stood with him, fully and freely. Wherever he found happiness, that was where I would stand.

The funeral was a farce. Tyler put on a magnificent show—red eyes, bowed head, trembling hands—pretending to grieve the grandmother who’d spoiled him rotten. But no one else wept. Not Grandpa. Not my mother. Not Aunt Cecile. They stood there with empty, tired faces, staring at the gold‑plated casket as if watching something long overdue.

It seemed disrespectful, perhaps—but none of it was out of place. She’d never given them a mother’s love. She’d given them bitterness, threats, and coldness. So why should they give her a daughter’s grief? Like me, they would always choose Grandpa—the man who’d sheltered them, cared for them, loved them—over the woman who had acted nothing but an enemy in their lives.

When it was my turn to step forward and lay a white rose upon her casket, I walked slowly, every eye on me. I reached the velvet railing, looked down at the gleaming gold box… and bit down hard on the soft white petals.

I spat them onto her coffin.

She deserved to be wrapped in plain cloth and burned in the ground like the bitter, unloved thing she was.

I tossed the bare stem down after the petals, watching it bounce off the polished gold.

That was for every harsh word. Every cold night. Every tear Grandpa had shed. Every day she made all of us feel small.

Gasps rippled through the crowd—her friends, her allies, the people who’d always fawned over her. But I didn’t care. I turned and walked back to my seat beside Grandpa as if I’d done nothing at all. He didn’t look at me. But under the bench, his hand found mine and squeezed it once. Firm. Thankful.

We left before the service ended. Before the dirt had even settled.

A few days later, Grandpa returned—accompanied.

I stood on the porch and watched them walk up the drive. A gentle, gray‑haired woman… and beside her, wide‑eyed and beautiful… Rose.

My breath caught.

Rose looked just as stunned as I felt. But Tyler? Tyler looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. He stood frozen, mouth hanging open, staring at the girl he’d chased, courted, lusted after—only to learn she was his cousin. He’d been cursing himself nonstop ever since.

I laughed at him. Served him right. He was an idiot—chasing every beautiful thing that caught his eye, never stopping to ask who they really were. Thank heaven Rose’s heart belonged to Saint. That, at least, was not a secret.

We shared no blood, and yet Grandpa introduced Rose and her mother as part of our family—fully, equally, without hesitation. They had every right to everything we had inherited. Aunt Elisa—Rose’s mother—was recovering from illness, her face still pale and thin, but when she smiled, I saw it clearly. The same eyes. The same gentle lines around them. She was his daughter. No test needed.

My mother had struggled at first—shocked, defensive, nearly causing a scene—until Aunt Cecile had pulled her aside and spoken quietly. “He raised us. Protected us. We are not his blood. Why should he not care for his own daughter, who was stolen from him all these years?”

My mother had fallen silent. She’d apologized later, eyes wet, voice soft.

I wasted no time in welcoming Rose. She was wary at first—used to a quiet, simple life—but I pulled her in. We became fast friends. I admired her spirit, her kindness, the way she helped without being asked—sweeping floors, stirring pots, treating every person as an equal. No wonder she had grown up so bright and sure of herself. She had been raised with love.

Not long after, Rose decided to move abroad—to Japan, where Grandpa owned a construction firm. He trusted her and Tyler to finish their studies and oversee operations there.

But I knew the truth. She was running away.

She’d learned that Saint—the man she loved—was engaged to her best friend, Maky. She couldn’t bear to watch them build a life together. So she fled. She made me promise not to say a word. It broke her heart, she said, to know that the two people she loved most were bound to be together.

I’d heard the news. I’d wanted to tell her everything—about the secrets, the accidents, the broken promises—but she’d closed her ears. She threw herself into work and study instead, exhausting herself so she wouldn’t have to think. But I saw the sadness in her eyes. I knew it was never that easy.

She was resourceful, capable, determined—everything I wasn’t. I found myself envying her. She had a life that was truly hers. Mine… was just waiting to be handed over to a stranger. I had everything money could buy… and nothing that truly mattered.

“Go over there,” Rose said suddenly, appearing beside me.

We were at an art exhibit—paintings and sculptures by young artists and artists with disabilities. I’d practically dragged her along, making up every excuse I could think of—all so I could be there. Because he was there.

I let out a long, sharp breath. “Isn’t chasing him everywhere he goes pathetic enough? Do I have to throw myself at him too?”

She laughed softly and leaned against the railing beside me. “How will he ever know how you feel if you never try?”

I looked across the room. Leon stood there, laughing with his friends, easy and confident. No woman clung to his side—not yet. But I knew that would change as the night wore on. It always did.

“I already had him once,” I snapped back, eyes still fixed on him. “You were there. In the elevator. Remember?”

Rose went quiet. “How was I supposed to know you two never picked up where you left off? And anyway—why chase him? He’s the kind who takes whatever’s handed to him. He doesn’t chase. He doesn’t wait.”

I laughed bitterly. She was right. That was exactly who Leon was. But then… I remembered Paris. The café. The way he’d looked at me—like he was starving, like he’d been waiting all his life.

“Men are predators by nature,” she murmured. “If they truly want you, they will do anything to have you. And with him? Maybe he doesn’t want me at all.”

“Just like your Saint, then?” I teased, turning to her.

Rose scoffed, though her smile faded. “He’s exactly the same. Leon and Saint—two of a kind.”

“Maybe,” I said, grinning sadly. “Maybe not.”

I wanted to tell her everything—about the rumors, the accidents, the broken engagement that had nearly cost Saint his life and his freedom. But I kept my mouth shut. Some things were not mine to tell.

When I looked back at Leon, my breath caught.

He was watching me.

The same way he had in Paris. Dark. Intense. Like a predator eyeing his prey.

I glanced behind me, heart racing—surely he was looking at someone else. But there was only the bartender there. When I looked back, he was still watching. And now… he was smirking.

Lazy. Confident. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

I lifted an eyebrow at him, refusing to look away first.

“Of all the men you could choose… why him?” Rose asked quietly.

I didn’t look away from Leon. “Because he’s the one I can’t have. My whole life, nothing has ever been my choice. Everything was decided before I was even born. Who I marry. What I do. Who I become. But Leon… he doesn’t care about my name or my fortune. He doesn’t see me as a prize or a business deal. Everyone else looks at me and sees a contract waiting to be signed. But him… he looks at me like I’m something else entirely.”

I paused, swallowing hard.

“Maybe that’s why. Because he’s forbidden. Because he’s dangerous. Because for once in my life, I want something that isn’t meant to be mine.”

Rose was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “Thank God I wasn’t born wealthy.”

I turned to her. “You are wealthy now. You are Grandpa’s heir. That makes you one of us.”

“I don’t want it,” she said firmly, finishing her drink in one go. “I didn’t earn it. It feels like borrowed clothes.”

“Whether you want it or not, it’s yours,” I told her gently. “Just like me. We have no choice but to carry it.”

“But what if Leon wants you?” she asked, steering the conversation back. She nodded toward him, and I looked again. He hadn’t moved. Still watching. “He’s been staring at you this whole time,” she whispered.

I laughed dryly, shaking my head. “He’s not looking at me—”

“Then is he interested in the bartender?” Rose cut me off sharply. “Look at him, Ava. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you once since we walked in. Everyone else comes and goes—but you? You’re the only one he sees.”

My heart thudded.

Why?

Why me?