Chapter 2

AVA

“One ticket. Anywhere.”

The airline hostess paused mid-type and looked up at me. Her eyes darted down to the coat I had wrapped around myself, the edges stiff with dirt and the torn lace of a wedding dress peeking out beneath it.

“Anywhere?” she asked cautiously, like she wasn’t sure she heard me right.

I nodded, gripping the counter harder than I needed to. “As long as it gets me out of Manhattan.”

She hesitated, then typed faster. “Las Vegas. Leaves in thirty minutes. No connections.”

“Perfect,” I said.

“ID?”

My eyes widened. Shit. My ID.

For a second, I just stood there, frozen.

Then instinct kicked in. I checked my purse, and there it was. The ID card I’d picked up this morning in Julian’s suite. A wave of quiet relief swept over me as I handed it to her.

She glanced at the name, then looked back at me. I silently hoped she wouldn’t recognize me.

But I could tell she did. The news must’ve already spread like wildfire.

Still, she said nothing. Just printed the boarding pass, slid it across the counter with a thin smile, and said, “Gate 12. You should hurry.”

I took the ticket and nodded. “Thank you.”

As I turned away, I heard a faint buzz from a phone. A video was playing, my wedding.

Then Julian’s voice:

“…marrying the ice princess is purely strategic…”

I turned toward the sound and saw two women at the gate, hunched over a phone. One had her hand over her mouth. The other elbowed her and whispered, “That’s her. I swear. That’s Ava Morgan.”

They looked at me like I was a zoo exhibit. Pitiful. Fascinating. Pathetic.

I didn’t flinch. “Want a photo? Or should I reenact it live?”

They quickly looked away, muttering fake apologies.

I turned and walked off.

I sat by the window and tugged at the hem of my dress, hidden beneath the oversized coat I’d thrown on earlier. The lace was stiff with dirt, torn in places. Cold air leaked through the cracks of the plane, and even with the coat wrapped tightly around me, I couldn’t shake the chill.

The smell of old whiskey and lemon wipes clung to the air, sharp and familiar. It made my stomach turn.

It hit me like a punch.

Julian.

The smell dragged me back, 

Three nights ago.

He had walked into my hotel suite without knocking. Drunk. His tie hung loose, shirt open. His eyes were sharp, mean. That look he got when he’d had too much.

He collapsed onto my bed, kicked off his shoes, and looked at me like I was just another task to finish.

“I know what your father expects,” he said. “This marriage? It’s good business. For all of us.”

“I’m not a deal, Julian.”

He smirked. “Then stop acting like one. You want this to work? Prove it.”

I didn’t move.

He stood and came closer. “Perfect little Ava. Always so composed. So clean. But you want it to work too. Don’t you? So act like it.”

I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t want him.

But I let him touch me. I let him kiss me. I let him take off my dress.

Not because I wanted to.

Because I was tired of fighting.

Because I was afraid of what he’d do if I said no again.

When it was over, he smiled like he had won.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“Bastard,” I muttered now, staring out the airplane window.

The woman beside me shifted, pretending she hadn’t heard.

My stomach turned. Shame clung to me like a second dress.

My father’s voice echoed in my head:

This is the cost of legacy, Ava. You’re not marrying a man. You’re securing an empire.

Well, the empire was in ruins now. And it was your fault, Daddy.

Now I’m the punchline.

I leaned my head against the window. The lights below blurred, streaks of gold and silver, like fire and smoke.

---

Vegas was loud. Hot. Unapologetic.

I stepped out of the airport and into the chaos. Taxis screeched. Neon lights blinked like heartbeats. Strangers laughed. No one looked at me twice.

I found a hotel near the Strip. The kind of place where no one asks questions if you pay in cash.

The woman at the desk gave me a long look, her eyes moved from my legs to my smeared makeup.

“Rough night?” she asked, not unkindly.

“The roughest,” I said, pulling out my wallet.

She handed me the key and nodded toward the hallway. “Bar’s still open. You look like you need a drink.”

She wasn’t wrong.

---

The bar was dim and quiet. A few couples sat in corners, laughing too loud. A man snored into his fries. The jukebox played something slow and angry.

I went straight to the counter.

“Tequila. Double. No salt.”

The bartender didn’t blink. He wore a silver hoop in one ear and had a faded spider tattoo on his wrist. He poured in silence and slid the glass to me.

The first sip burned. The second numbed. I felt it crawl into my veins like armor.

I stared at the glass. My reflection stared back, tired and twisted.

“Another?” the bartender asked.

I nodded. He poured.

Then I heard it. A voice behind me. Low. Smooth. Slightly amused.

“Rough day, Princess?”

I turned, startled.

He stood beside me, tall, calm, dressed in black. Something about him felt familiar. I squinted, trying to place him.

He gave a small smile. “Mind if I join you?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

He pulled out the stool beside me and sat. From his coat pocket, he placed something on the bar.

A pearl earring.

“You dropped this,” he said.

I stared at the earring, then looked back at him. My stomach flipped.

And then it hit me.

He was the man I bumped into earlier, back at the hotel. The one who picked up my purse. The one who handed me the earring.

My heart thudded.

I looked at him again. “Who are you, and why are you following me?”