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
From the terrace of the Sterling penthouse, Ava stood by herself, holding a steaming cup of tea as the breeze softly tousled her hair. She wasn’t truly watching the scenery; it was indeed stunning, but her mind was distant from the urban glow. Within, a more subdued and much more agonizing experience was unfoldingDamien had been slipping away. He was still present physically, but emotionally, it was like trying to hold onto mist. His touches felt mechanical, his kisses distracted. He hardly glanced at her eyes anymore. Despite her efforts to connect with him, it seemed he was distancing himself more with every day that went by. She hadn’t informed him that she was expecting. That truth resided within her like something delicate and valuable—and frightening. She had envisioned that sharing it would create happiness, possibly even tears. However, at that moment, she was uncertain about whom she would be speaking to. The man she wed seemed like a stranger.Within, she could hear Damien'
The soft morning light slipped through the gauzy curtains of the penthouse bedroom, brushing warm streaks across the ivory sheets. Ava stirred under the covers, letting out a quiet groan as a dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. Her limbs were heavy, her stomach uneasy, and a persistent fatigue clung to her like a second skin—one she couldn’t seem to shake.She pushed herself upright slowly, pressing her hand to her forehead. This wasn’t like her. She’d pushed through exhaustion before late nights before gallery openings, the chaos of press conferences, the emotional drain of public scrutiny. But this? This felt… different.Dragging herself out of bed, Ava shuffled toward the bathroom. The cold tiles sent a chill up her spine. The silence felt louder than usual, stretching around her as she braced herself against the sink. In the mirror, her reflection looked back at her eyes shadowed, skin pale, lips pressed into a tight line.Her mind wandered over the last few days. The nausea that
Damien stayed alone in the vast library of the Sterling estate, surrounded by tall shelves and the gentle hush of elegant wealth. Morning light poured through the stained-glass windows, creating soft colors on the floor akin to a forgotten masterpiece. However, the light provided no warmth—only a misleading solace that did nothing to ease the pressure pressing down on his chest.His father’s voice shattered the silence once more, sharp and relentless, slicing through the air like a knife “You need to start acting like a Sterling, Damien. Not like some love-struck boy playing house with a woman who never should’ve carried our name.”Damien’s jaw tightened. “Her name is Ava. And she’s my wife.”“A mistake,” his father snapped, tossing a newspaper onto the table with a bitter sneer. “Have you read this? ‘Whispers of the Past: A Scandalous Union.’ It’s embarrassing.”Damien looked down at the headline, stomach twisting. Julian had stirred the pot again, feeding the media just enough to re
The Sterling estate was shrouded in a stillness so profound, it seemed more deafening than any sound. Damien remained on the veranda, his stance tense, eyes locked on the distant horizon that extended past the well-maintained gardens. The sky appeared a gloomy, stormy gray—eerily reflecting the unrest stirring within him.He had just returned from a meeting with Claire. As always, she was composed, polished… and impossible to read. She had once again pitched herself to lead the international division of the Sterling-Sterling expansion, her tone calm but layered with meaning.“We work well together, Damien. You know we do. This project needs someone who understands your vision—not just professionally, but personally.”Her words wouldn’t stop circling in his mind, seductive and unsettling all at once. He hadn’t even begun to unpack what she truly meant when his phone buzzed.His father.Minutes later, Damien sat across from Mr. Sterling in the study, the air thick with tension. The spac
The atmosphere in the Sterling Enterprises boardroom seemed more oppressive than normal, filled with unexpressed tension. Damien Sterling occupied the position at the head of the elongated mahogany table, with the city skyline in view behind him, providing a cold and remote contrast to the tension rising within the room. He had just entered the office that morning when his assistant brought the news—his father had summoned an urgent meeting. That alone was strange. But the look in her eyes? That was what unsettled him. Something about this meeting was different. This wasn’t about the company’s numbers or projections.This was personal.Robert Sterling, the company chairman and his father, entered the room with his typical authoritative presence, accompanied by two senior board members and the legal counsel for the company. HHis gray hair was flawlessly coiffed, his suit sharp, but the storm in his eyes was unmistakable. He seemed to be a man who had made a decision, and it was not a p
The conference room at Sterling Corporation pulsed with quiet intensity. Sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds, casting golden stripes across the long mahogany table where the final layout of the CrossLine Initiative was spread out like a battlefield.Damien Sterling sat at the head, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie loosened, a man balancing edge and exhaustion. Across from him, Claire Blackwell was composed to the point of theatrical—her spine straight, crimson lips too polished for a standard boardroom meeting.She took her time flipping through the proposal he and his team had poured weeks into, her manicured fingers moving deliberately slow, like a queen inspecting her chessboard.After a long beat, she looked up. “This deal has the potential to change everything—for Sterling, for CrossLine, and for me. But only if I have a real seat at the table.”Damien leaned back, his expression unreadable. "That’s not precisely on the sidelines."Claire's grin remained unchanged, ye
Damien straightened his tie, gaze fixed on his image in the conference room's glass wall. The New York skyline faded in the background—active, unyielding, distant. Yet in his mind, Ava's voice from two evenings prior continued to echo repeatedly."Is it truly?" she asked, looking at him as if trying to understand the underlying meaning. That inquiry had burrowed deeper than he was ready to admitHe hadn’t lied. Claire didn’t matter anymore. Not in the way she once did. However, that did not imply that all from the past had vanished."You seem stressed," said a familiar voice from behind him—smooth, composed, unmistakably Claire.He gradually turned. She was positioned in the doorway, tablet grasped in her hand, surrounded by the morning light streaming through the glass. It bestowed upon her a nearly otherworldly radiance, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had orchestrated it. With Claire, everything was intentional."Just focused," he replied, moving toward the table."Fine," she r