He's the city's most sought-after bachelor, a billionaire CEO with a cold heart. She’s an artist facing challenges, extremely self-reliant and allergic to commitment. Their lives intersect when a shocking rumor connects them, compelling Damien Sterling and Ava Rossi into a false engagement to protect their reputations. Damien must convey an impression of stability to obtain an important business deal. Ava requires the financial stability that Damien's proposal offers, enabling her to concentrate on her art without the looming risk of eviction. Their agreement is simple: fake it until the deal is done. Nevertheless, the lines separating fiction from reality blur as their deception becomes evident. The simmering desire they tried to ignore bursts into an intense romance, endangering their carefully constructed fronts. Nonetheless, Damien carries a concealed truth, a past trauma that makes him wary of love. Ava's past carries a hurtful secret that may ruin their delicate bond. As a merciless competitor endangers Damien's business and Ava's past resurfaces, their pretend engagement turns into a perilous situation. They have to determine if their love is genuine enough to endure the deceptions, the treacheries, and the high-stakes world they inhabit. Entangled Affair tells a tale of unforeseen romance, concealed motives, and the bravery to gamble everything for a shot at eternity.
View MoreThe smell of smoky coffee persisted, suggesting that Ava had not been successful in multitasking. In an attempt to capture the intermittent sunlight shining through her dirty apartment window, she held onto a paintbrush and a sputtering mug of coffee in hand. The unbalanced painting, made from reclaimed wood and old nails, was filled with vibrant hues, depicting a distressing scene of emotions that mirrored her current mental state.
With a quiet sigh, she whispered, "Damn it," before moving the paintbrush aside. She couldn't get rid of it, the coffee akin to an oily residue stuck on the pot. She glanced at the clock, its hands ticklingly counting the precious minutes she couldn't afford to waste. The eviction notice, a white envelope with her name in threatening black ink, was placed on the untidy table as if to constantly remind her of her unstable financial situation.
The artist Ava Rossi, who is gifted but still struggling, was facing the difficult reality of her chosen path. She was facing a confrontation between her desire for artistic recognition and financial stability and also the ongoing possibility of bills being paid off or facing eviction from her house. She loved her art because it allowed her to express the emotions that engulfed her and transformed ordinary ideas into something beautiful and meaningful. Nevertheless, her passion wasn't yielding results, and the stress of her financial obligations was becoming more excruciating to cope with. Examining the tiny apartment, which was a representation of her country life and limited finances, paintings at various stages were arranged across the walls like abstract murals, with canvases resting against surfaces in different stages and art supplies gathering together on the untidy table. Despite being her sanctuary, it was a chaotic place where she could be true to herself and avoid the pressures of society.
The sound of Ava's phone trembled her consciousness. The screen caught her gaze with a grimace on her face. It was her landlord, Mr. Jenkins, a man who was usually honest but had to be patient with her late rent payments for the past few months. She stopped, her finger barely touching the answer button. She foresaw his words, the typical rambling about obligations and deadlines, with the subtle threat of expulsion lurking nearby.
With a heavy heart, she answered the phone. "Good day, Mr. Jenkins," she said, her voice laced with tiredness that went beyond what she had been experiencing for twenty-eight years. "Ava, my dear," Mr. Jenkins said, remarking, "I just wanted to ask about the rent payment." With a grimace, Ava's stomach was wiggling with guilt and irritation. "I am on it, Mr. Jenkins. I should have something for you by the end of this week."
Last week you said the same, Ava. "Mr." Jenkins reacted with more harshness, "And the previous week?" My kindness is not the only trait I possess, as it has consequences. You know I can't keep turning a blind eye."
Despite the tears that were about to fall, Ava persisted in chewing on her lips. "I understand, Mr. Jenkins. I am putting in my best effort. I have a few potential buyers for my latest pieces, and I'm hoping to sell something soon."
"Ava," Mr. Jenkins spoke, his voice softening, "I know you have an artist in you, but it's time to turn that into a career."
With her throat filled with unmovable tears, Ava gulped deeply. "I understand, Mr. Jenkins. I will give it my best shot."
"You better, Ava," Mr. Jenkins said, "I have given you more freedom than most of my tenants. You have to make sure you pay by Friday, or else I will have to evict you."
Ava's heart sank... Friday. It’s just in three days. She had no idea where the money was going to come from. She had already exhausted her small reserves, and credit cards were fully utilized.
She felt trapped, her hopes of achieving artistic success overshadowed by the pressure of her financial difficulties. "I will give it to you, Mr. Jenkins." She uttered the words, her voice low and almost inaudible. "I can assure you."
In response, Mr. Jenkins grumbled and then hung up the phone. While holding the phone, Ava's thoughts raced through her mind. Unless she found an outlet to obtain the money, she could lose her studio, which was her sanctuary, the only place where she felt comfortable.
A wave of despair consumed her, ready to sink into her. With her face concealed in her hands, she fell onto the old couch. She felt defeated, and her hopes fell apart like sand. Having always valued her independence and not wanting to be dependent on others, she began realizing that even her unyielding pride might lead to her downfall.
Ava Rossi tightened her grip on the eviction notice in her hands, her nails digging into the crisp paper as if sheer willpower could erase the damning words. Past-due rent. Final notice. Immediate eviction. The words blurred as frustration and panic settled deep in her chest. Her art gallery, her dream, was slipping through her fingers. Six years of blood, sweat, and paint-stained hands, and it had all come down to this—a deadline she couldn’t meet. With the foot traffic at an all-time low and art collectors seemingly losing interest in emerging artists, she had barely made enough in the past three months to cover utilities, let alone rent. She tossed the paper onto the counter and exhaled sharply. This wasn’t the first time life had tried to break her. It wouldn't be the last.
Ava’s phone vibrated, and she looked at the display—her closest friend, Izzy.
Ava answered with a soft voice, placing her phone between her ears and shoulders while drinking coffee.
“Oh my God, Ava!
Have you seen the news”? Izzy’s voice was shrill with excitement.
Ava frowned. “What news?”
“Check the tabloids. Right now.”
With a sinking feeling, Ava opened her news app. The air in her throat held out. Her name was splashed across every gossip column, her photo alongside Damien Sterling, billionaire CEO and media magnet. It was from last night’s gala—the two of them captured at an angle that made it seem far more intimate than it was, as if he had been whispering something scandalous in her ear instead of making a passing comment about the champagne.
The headline made her stomach churn: Billionaire Bachelor Off the Market? Mysterious Artist Ava Rossi Caught in a Private Moment with Damien Sterling!
“What the hell?” She muttered,"
She snapped, "I didn’t ask for this." “I barely know the man.”
“Well, the world thinks otherwise.”
Ava sank onto her worn-out couch, pressing her fingers against her temples. As if she needed another problem. She had enough on her plate without being painted as a gold-digger trying to climb the social ladder.
Before Ava could respond, another call beeped in. An unknown number.
“Wait, another call is entering,” Ava stated, already sensing a headache beginning.
She paused briefly before answering the phone call.
Her voice shook as she inquired, "Hello?"
"Ava Rossi?" A commanding, low voice replied.
"Yes, it's her, her,"Ava replied, her heart racing.
"This is Damien Sterling," the voice declared. "We need to have a conversation."
Ava's fingers clenched in her hand. She didn't find that to be pleasant. Just before she could reply, the call disconnected. She gazed at the phone she held, her heart racing.
No matter what it was, it was unfavorable.
The early sunlight softly enveloped the Sterling estate, casting a warm, golden hue across the garden. Laughter drifted through the atmosphere like a comforting tune, familiar and calming. The roses Ava planted months earlier were now in full bloom, framing the twisting path to a new glass-walled studio situated next to a serene, shimmering pond. Inside, Ava was barefoot, the cool floor against her feet, sunlight casting a golden hue on her skin. In one arm, she held their son. In the other, a paintbrush hovered just above a blank canvas.Leo.Three months old, and already carrying the quiet fire of both his parents. His piercing, curious eyes fixed on hers with a stare so powerful, so steady, it nearly took her breath away. The identical look Damien repeatedly gave her, as though she were a rare gem in a world too quick to acknowledge beautyShe rocked Leo gently as her brush moved across the canvas, each stroke slow and full of intention. The colors were bold, uncertain, something
Months LaterAva remained quiet by the window, one hand softly resting on her growing belly, while the other hand traced slow circles on her dress’s fabric. The months that went by were tumultuous, disordered, painful, healing, yet this morning, wrapped in soft sunlight and tranquility, she felt an emotion she hadn't felt in agesPeace.Damien slipped into the room softly, so as not to interrupt the silence. As soon as he spotted her, his pace hesitated. His eyes rested on her, filled with amazement and another feeling—something raw. “How do you feel?” he inquired, his voice hardly reaching a whisper. Ava glanced back, her mouth forming a slight smile. "Somewhat nervous... yet prepared." He approached her and grasped her hand with his, firm and comforting. "We have made significant progress." I simply want you to understand that I’m not leaving. I am present. "For you, and for our child." Her throat constricted. Tears bubbled up but didn’t spill as she offered a slight nod. "That si
Edward Sterling was seated by himself in his study, his hands remained still on the armrests while his gaze remained focused on the gentle illumination of the fireplace. There was a period when he gained solace from that fire,when everything seemed assured. But now? Now, the man who had built his life on control and certainty was unraveling, thread by thread.He didn’t hear the footsteps, only the soft knock.His assistant stepped in, tentative, holding a manila envelope marked with a red “URGENT” stamp.“This just came in, sir.”Edward nodded, saying nothing as he reached for it. His fingers brushed the edge of the envelope and trembled. Just barely, but enough to betray what he didn’t want anyone to see.He peeled it open.Photographs. Documents. The sharp truth laid bare in ink and pixels.Claire.In places she shouldn't have been. Whispers across linen-covered tables. Envelopes passed under the hush of candlelight. Meetings behind closed doors. Records of deals done in secret, dir
The city hummed beyond the windows, alive with laughter and movement, but inside Ava’s studio, there was only stillness. A stillness that pulsed with emotion.Unfinished canvases leaned against the walls like unsent letters, their thick brushstrokes raw with feeling. Her pencil moved across the page with halting strokes, more searching than certain. Outside, the Seine murmured as tourists chattered and lovers strolled but in here, there was only the soft hitch of Ava’s breath and the whisper of graphite against paper.It had been a month since she arrived.The pressure had been closing in like a storm, tabloids clawing at whispers of the "disappeared Sterling wife," gallery curators pushing for appearances, and worst of all, the quiet terror inside her. Her body was changing daily, the pregnancy no longer a secret she could tuck away. It was real. It was undeniable.And she was scared.But she was also sure.She wasn’t doing this to prove a point. She wasn’t here to play martyr or he
Shadows sprawled over the majestic front of the estate Damien used to refer to as home. It remained as magnificent as always—spotless columns, flawless landscaping, the aroma of wealth from the past wafting in the atmosphere. However, as he remained on the marble floor just outside his father's study, the area seemed like a prison, rather than a recollection.He used to run through these halls, barefoot and laughing, before he knew what it meant to be a Sterling. Before he learned that love here was conditional, and legacy came with shackles.In that moment, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, his entire body tense, wound tight like a coiled spring. The deep rooted yearning for his father's approval, a weight he had carried for so long—had finally begun to fade. He was no longer that boy. Not the person who anticipated a gesture, a phrase, or anything at all. He was now a man, occupying the silence his father once brought, opting for himself instead. He was a man seeking t
The seasons were shifting in the quiet coastal town. Mornings came with a crisp edge now, the ocean breeze a little less playful, a little more brisk. The wildflowers that once swayed confidently in open fields were starting to lower their heads, sinking into the ground like a breath. Ava stood without shoes on the porch of her rented cabin, holding a cozy mug of ginger tea. Steam rose into the atmosphere as her other hand softly glided over her flat stomach, an instinctive movement, gentle and careful.Inside, her calendar sat on the counter, one date circled in soft red ink:First Ultrasound – 10:30 AM.She hadn’t told Damien.Not because she didn’t want him there.But because she wasn’t sure she could bear to see hope in his eyes when she still wasn’t sure what she felt herself.As the wind lifted her curls and the tea warmed her hands, a voice echoed in her mind, from a letter written weeks ago:Can you be that man?He hadn’t replied. Not with words, anyway.But something had shif
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