Ava Reynolds is broke, desperate, and watching her little sister die slowly in a hospital bed. She’s out of options, until a cold, powerful billionaire offers her a lifeline: marry him for one year, and he’ll pay for everything. No love. No intimacy. Just a contract. Damian Kingsley needs a wife to save his empire. Ava is a nobody, and that’s exactly what he wants. What he doesn’t expect is the fire behind her quiet eyes or the way she makes his cold world start to crack. But Ava isn’t walking into this marriage blind. She knows she’s just a tool to him. And she swears she’ll never fall for a man who treats love like a business deal. Until one mistake rips her life apart. Betrayed. Humiliated. Thrown out like trash. She leaves, broken, but not defeated. And when Damian finally realizes the truth, it’s too late. The girl he once used is gone. In her place stands a woman he can’t control. A woman he can’t live without. Now he wants her back. But Ava doesn’t want an apology. She wants him to burn
view moreIt had been raining all day. Not the kind of rain that washed anything clean, just cold, relentless sheets that sank straight through your coat and into your bones. The whole city felt heavy. Like it was mourning something I couldn’t name. Maybe me.
My shoes made that awful wet squelch as I pushed through the hospital’s revolving doors. The fluorescent lights inside hit me like a slap. I didn’t bother shaking off the water. What was the point? I’d been soaked for days, by rain, by worry, by everything I couldn’t fix.
The elevator groaned on its way up. Sixth floor. Oncology.
I could still smell the burnt diner coffee on my sleeves, even after the double shift. My lower back throbbed, but I was past noticing pain. Or maybe I’d just gotten good at pretending it didn’t matter.
Lily was asleep when I got there. The blanket barely covered her. Her IV beeped steadily like it had learned how to breathe for her. Her hair was thinner this week, wisps stuck to her forehead like faded dreams.
I leaned down and kissed her temple. “I’m here, baby,” I whispered. “Always.”
She didn’t move.
I stood there for a minute, just watching. Making sure her chest still rose and fell. Like if I stared hard enough, she’d stay.
When I finally stepped out, the nurse at the desk offered a tired smile. “Rough night?”
I gave a small nod. “Same as always.”
That wasn’t true. Tonight was worse. The rent was due. I’d opened the hospital bill earlier, five red warning stamps across the top like they were shouting at me. I’d applied for two more jobs during my lunch break, anything that didn’t require a degree or dignity. Still nothing.
I dropped into the waiting room chair and pulled out my phone. The lock screen photo popped up: Lily and me at Coney Island last summer. She looked like herself then, sunburned, alive. She’d screamed so loud on the roller coaster the whole boardwalk turned.
That girl was vanishing right in front of me.
“Miss Reynolds?”
The voice came out of nowhere. Crisp. Male. Definitely not a nurse.
I turned and there he was. Tall. Black coat. Dry shoes. His whole presence didn’t belong in this hallway, like someone had cut him out of a magazine and pasted him here.
“Yes?” I said slowly.
He held out a card, gloved hand steady. “Mark Evans. I represent Mr. Damian Kingsley.”
I blinked. My brain tried to catch up. “The CEO?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped. Damian Kingsley wasn’t just some CEO. He was the CEO. Ruthless. Rich. On every Forbes list, every headline. Cold as the stock market and twice as unfeeling.
I stared at the card. Didn’t read it. “Why would someone like him want to talk to me?”
Mark’s expression didn’t change. “Mr. Kingsley believes you might be the answer to a mutual problem.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Is this a scam?”
“No, Miss Reynolds.” His voice was calm and practiced. Too calm. “Mr. Kingsley is prepared to make you an offer that would cover your sister’s medical treatment. In full.”
Time stopped.
I looked toward Lily’s room. That steady beeping. Her pale skin under the hospital lights. The folder with numbers we couldn’t afford sitting on the nightstand.
“What kind of offer?”
Mark looked down the hallway. “He prefers to discuss details in person.”
My heart was pounding. Hard.
This didn’t make sense. None of it did.
But when you’re drowning, even a hand from the devil feels like a rescue.
“If I say yes… then what?” I asked, my voice low.
Mark’s lips twitched, maybe sympathy, maybe something else. “Then your life changes. Permanently.”
I clutched the card like it was a lifeline. My fingers shook.
“Come with me, Miss Reynolds,” he said. “Mr. Kingsley is waiting.”
Ava’s POV⸻“We might need a bigger library,” I whispered.He froze. His hand on my stomach. Like moving might break it like if he moved, this fragile, impossible moment might disappear.“You’re serious?” he asked softly.I nodded. My throat tightened.But not from fear.He just stared for a while—at me, at my stomach, at the space between us that suddenly felt… full.Too full. Like it held something neither of us knew how to name.Then he laughed. Soft, broken in the middle.Not because it was funny.Just because joy shows up messy sometimes.“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, resting his forehead against mine.“But I swear… I’ll protect it. You. Both of you. With everything I have.”His hands trembled. But when he kissed me, he didn’t.—That night, he didn’t rush.He touched me like I was something rare. Like he had all the time in the world to learn me again, or maybe for the first time.His lips went to my neck first, just under my jaw.Slow kisses. Open. Warm.I tilted my head
Ava's POV⸻“Let’s not start over,” Damian said softly.He slid the velvet box across the marble like it weighed more than it should.“Let’s start right.”I stared at it.Not because I didn’t know what it was. But because I did.And this time, it wasn’t backed by a contract. No lawyers. No deadline. Just us.He didn’t rush me. He didn’t move at all.But then—slowly, like the choice had to be his too—he dropped to one knee.Not dramatic.Not rehearsed.Just real.“I should’ve done this… way before now,” he said, barely above a whisper, his eyes not letting go of mine for even a second. “But back then I was… God, I was clueless. I didn’t understand what any of it meant. What you meant.”My breath caught.“I don’t have an empire to promise you. Just this,” he said, tapping his chest, voice raw. “Just a man who had to lose everything before he understood what he was trying to build.”He opened the box.The ring wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t even new.It looked like something old. Something mean
Ava’s POV⸻We didn’t move.Lily had gone upstairs, but neither of us said anything. We just… stayed like that.The rain was still tapping on the window. Same steady sound. Like it didn’t care that everything had changed inside.No documents between us. No script. No mask. Just the quiet. And his hand, still holding mine.He didn’t let go.Even when I crossed the room to switch off the lights. Or when I turned the lock on the door. He stayed close, quiet. No pressure. No moves.And maybe that’s why I didn’t ask him to leave.Because for the first time… we weren’t pretending.—We didn’t say much the next morning either.The rain hadn’t stopped. Just kept going like a rhythm we were already used to. The sea sounded rougher outside, and the quiet between us felt full but not heavy. Just there.Like air after you’ve been underwater too long.I was barefoot, wiping down the counter, not really thinking when the bell over the door rang.It wasn’t soft. It rang like someone who knew why the
⸻He didn’t come back the next day.Or the one after.The café stayed open, but I barely noticed the hours. Customers came and went, voices in the fog. I stacked books, cleared tables, pressed coffee, but my hands weren’t really in it. My head wasn’t, either.And then, on the third morning, I found him.Damian.Sitting on the steps outside the café. Damp from mist. He looked wrecked. Like the coat was dragging him down, and his eyes hadn’t seen rest in a while. He didn’t knock.Didn’t speak.Just waited.I stood at the window for too long. He didn’t move. Didn’t check his phone. He didn’t move. Just kept sitting there, like he was waiting on something I hadn’t decided to give.After a while, I got up and cracked the door open. Didn’t say anything. Just left it that way.He didn’t come in right away.But he came.Quietly. Carefully.Like someone who understood that presence was a privilege.—He didn’t call my name. Just stayed in the doorway, wet sleeves and everything, like he didn’
Ava’s POV⸻The sea kept coming.That’s all it did. Just wave after wave, like it didn’t care who was standing on the shore watching. Sometimes I told myself that was a strength. Other times I knew it wasn’t.It was just what happens when you forget how to stop.I was putting books away behind the counter, not really thinking about the titles. Just moving. The wind tapped against the windows like it had something urgent to say but kept forgetting the words. Lily was upstairs humming something soft. Off-key. Familiar in a way I couldn’t name.The bell on the café door rang here and there. It always did. Locals. Strangers. A woman who only came in for warm bread and left with poetry she never meant to buy.Two days had passed.Since Damian.Since I saw him vanish into fog and choked on a goodbye I never meant to say aloud.I hadn’t touched the letter. Not once.Not because I didn’t want to but because once I opened it, the truth would be real. And once it was real, I’d have to feel all
Ava’s POV⸻He stood in the doorway like the storm had followed him in.Wet hair. Wrinkled shirt. Eyes too tired to lie.Damian.Alive. Here.And too late.I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. The bell over the door had stopped ringing, but somehow it still echoed between us.He took one small step forward. “I’m not too late… am I?”His voice cracked on the last word.I looked at him—really looked. The man who once stood in boardrooms like he owned time itself now stood across from me like a boy who’d just lost it.But I didn’t move.Because this was the same man who let me walk away without a word. The same man who stood beside Helena when she twisted everything I was into something shameful.And now he was here, drenched in regret, hoping I’d just… forget.I didn’t answer.Then upstairs, Lily’s voice floated down.“Mom?”My breath hitched.Not because of the word, but because she’d never said it out loud before.It wasn’t really about motherhood. It was muscle memory. Reflex. I was the on
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