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 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
He hadn’t expected to find her so soon. He’d prepared himself for months of silence—maybe a year of dead ends. But Nathan, loyal as ever, had followed a trail Ava never meant to leave behind: a gallery clerk who remembered her eyes, a crumpled receipt from a local art store, the soft ripple of clues that led Damien here.He remained in his car for almost an hour until he gathered the bravery to unlock the door. He was now looking at an aged building draped in ivy, located across the slender road. The upper window was slightly open, and a white curtain fluttered softly like a gentle heartbeat.He recognized it.It had lived in one of her sketches—the ones she’d left behind like breadcrumbs, hints of the life she had wanted, or maybe the one she’d feared she'd never have.His hand trembled as he knocked.No answer.He knocked again, this time firmer, a plea in the quiet.And then, the door creaked open.Ava stood in the threshold, barefoot, paint smeared on her shirt, curls tied in a lo
The morning mist drifted in from the sea like a heavy sigh, cloaking the cliffs in soft gray as Ava stood by the window, watching everything outside blur. Behind her, a suitcase sat on the bed neat, zipped, final. Her fingers slid across the fogged glass, the silence in the room almost sacred. It was full of the things she hadn’t said. The dreams she couldn’t hold onto anymore.Last night had come close. Closer than they’d ever been to something real.But it still wasn’t enough. She’d looked into Damien’s eyes and seen a storm of regret but no anchor. He was a man caught in the middle of a battle he didn’t have the courage to finish. She could have lived with silence. But not absence. Not when it counted most.And she had waited longer than she should have.She moved slowly, like her body understood the weight of this moment. Folding her sweater. Zipping her coat. Slipping her sketchbook into her bag, the page with the nursery design tucked between its worn covers. Her hand paused on
Ava stood without shoes on the inn's porch, her cardigan snugly wrapped around her. The ocean wind pulled at her hair, yet she remained still. She merely stood there, gazing at the waves as if they could provide the answer she was unable to express.Should I stay? Or should I disappear for good?She rested a hand on her abdomen, sensing the calm presence of the baby developing within her. It anchored her—made her realize that this was more than just sorrow. It was about something bigger. Something fragile.She hadn’t told Damien.He didn’t know.And maybe… maybe he didn’t deserve to.Damien drove like a man chasing ghosts.Three days. Three long, agonizing days of searching, retracing steps, calling every lead, sleeping in a house that felt hollow without her. Guilt ate at him—every missed turn, every unanswered message, every memory of the look on her face before she walked away.He hadn’t spoken up when it mattered. He hadn’t fought for her. And Ava? She hadn’t waited.But he had to
Rain whispered against the windows, soft and steady, like a lullaby meant for someone else. Inside Ava, though, the quiet did nothing to soothe. Her heart was a tempest—boisterous, unyielding, hard to overlook. She remained outside Damien's office, her fingers poised close to the doorknob. Iced. The air seemed lighter in this place, as if the structure itself understood what she was about to learnShe hadn’t meant to overhear. She’d come to tell him. About the pregnancy, finally ready to share the fragile hope growing inside her. But then she his voice.Low. Strained. Almost breaking.“You can't understand, Father,” Damien said, each word scraping against something raw. “I can’t just walk away from Ava. It’s not that simple.”His father’s reply came sharp and fast.“It is that simple. You end it now, or everything we’ve worked for crumbles. Claire is prepared. Controlled. She’s not some artist dragging around a scandal.”Silence.Then the blow that landed hardest.“You married her ou
The nights were growing longer. Ava was curled up on the distant side of their shared bed, facing away from Damien, her figure tucked in like a fortress under attack. Outside, the city buzzed in its typical cadence, but within their apartment, time seemed halted—dense, weighty, relentless. The quietness shared between them, previously a refuge, had become stifling. It echoed with unvoiced sentiments, with feelings neither was brave enough to confront. Each night, Damien slipped into bed a little later, and every morning, he rose before dawn. They shared the same environment yet existed in separate realms—his burdened with duties and darkness, hers occupied by doubt and sorrow. He barely looked at her anymore. When he did, it was as though he was seeing through her. Not past her—but through her. Like she was a memory he was attempting to forget. It had not always been like this. There was a moment when his touch anchored her, when his voice could soothe the tempests within her heart. A
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