Chapter Seventeen

Corren’s POV

I woke before the house stirred.

The estate was still dark when I stood at the window of my bedroom, coffee in hand, reviewing the day ahead. Shopping was not something I ordinarily scheduled. It was inefficient. But Ava needed appropriate clothing for the university environment I had agreed to allow, and I preferred to oversee the process myself rather than leave it to staff. Appearance was a form of control. I intended to exercise it.

At 6:40 a.m. I called down to the garage.

“Bring the black Maybach around at ten,” I told the driver. “No escort beyond the gate unless Raymond advises otherwise.”

I dressed with the same precision I applied to everything else—dark trousers, a white shirt, a charcoal jacket. By the time I reached the small dining room, the first light was moving across the lawns. Ava entered a short while later in the cream dress I had selected. She looked soft in the morning light, still slightly guarded, still learning how to exist inside the structure I had built around her. I watched her take the seat at my right and felt the familiar pull of possession settle lower in my gut.

Breakfast was brief. I asked about the courses she intended to take. She answered carefully. My hand rested on her thigh beneath the table, a quiet reminder that permission and ownership were not the same thing.

At ten the Maybach waited at the front steps. I guided her into the back seat with a hand at the small of her back. As the car pulled away from the estate, I made a short call confirming the boutique appointments. Then I sat back and observed her in silence. She watched the city gather around us through the tinted glass. I watched her.

The first boutique was private and already prepared for our arrival. I took a seat and directed the selections myself. When Ava emerged in a soft pastel dress that did nothing for her, I shook my head once.

“No. Something cleaner. Structured. She should look intentional, not decorative.”

The attendant brought new options. I stood, walked a slow circle around Ava, and adjusted the shoulder of a navy dress with my own hands.

“This one,” I said. “It makes you look like an angel who knows exactly what she’s worth. We’ll take it. And the black.”

I did not ask her opinion. She did not offer one. The transaction required no card; everything was already arranged. We moved through two more stores in the same manner—shoes, a practical bag, a few additional pieces. Each choice was mine. Each time I watched her accept the decision, something controlled and satisfied tightened in my chest.

By early afternoon the car was loaded. I had intended to return directly to the estate. Then my phone vibrated with a short message from an old contact. Victor Langford was in the city for the day and available for a brief meeting. I altered the route.

We pulled into the private courtyard of his downtown building. Victor was already waiting—silver-haired, sharp-eyed, the same calculating calm he had carried since we first did business twenty years earlier. Beside him stood his son, Sebastian, mid-twenties, polished, and far too attentive once Ava stepped out of the car.

I walked forward and extended my hand.

“Victor.”

“Corren. It’s been too long.”

We shook. The conversation that followed was efficient and familiar—property movements, a mutual acquaintance’s recent loss, a brief remark about the current pressure in the coastal development sector. Victor was too experienced to ask direct questions about the young woman standing slightly behind me. His son was less disciplined. Sebastian’s gaze returned to Ava more than once, lingering with open interest.

I registered it without comment.

After several minutes I ended the exchange with a short nod. “We’ll speak again when the numbers are cleaner.”

Victor smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

I turned, placed a hand at Ava’s back, and guided her into the Maybach. The door closed with a solid, expensive sound. The car pulled away from the courtyard. For a short while I said nothing. I could still see the way Sebastian Langford had looked at her—curious, assessing, already wondering how someone like her had arrived at my side.

When the car settled into traffic I turned my head and looked at Ava directly.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” I said. “I hope you didn’t fall for it.”