Chapter 4. The man she ran from

Ethan POV

Ethan Blackwood did not lose control.

He calculated. He planned. He anticipated outcomes three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.

That was why the silence in Ava’s apartment unsettled him more than any hostile takeover ever had.

It was wrong.

Too quiet. Too empty.

He stood in the doorway, his tailored coat still on, briefcase forgotten at his feet as his eyes scanned the space that had once been theirs. The faint scent of Ava’s perfume lingered in the air soft, floral, unmistakably hers.

The smell hit him like a blow.

“She was here,” he muttered.

But she was gone.

The closet stood half-empty. Her favorite coat was missing. So were her shoes. The framed photo from their wedding day the one he’d never admitted he kept because she looked at him like he was the only man in the world was gone.

Ava hadn’t just left.

She had erased herself.

His jaw tightened.

Two days.

Two days since she collapsed in the office lobby. Two days since the hospital refused to tell him where she’d been discharged to. Two days of unanswered calls and a single message that still burned on his screen.

Please don’t contact me again.

The words clawed at something ugly inside him.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the apartment like a caged animal.

He hadn’t meant for things to go this far.

Isabella had been… convenient. Easy. Admiring in a way Ava hadn’t been for a long time. Ava had always challenged him questioned his decisions, demanded his presence when he was building an empire that would one day be hers too.

Or so he’d thought.

Regret coiled tight in his chest.

The memory of Ava collapsing replayed in his mind the way her body had gone slack, the terror that had surged through him when she didn’t respond.

He had almost lost her.

And she had walked away anyway.

Ethan stopped pacing.

No.

She didn’t walk away.

She ran.

And Ava Laurent never ran without a reason.

“Find her,” he said into his phone, his voice low and lethal. “I want every airport, every credit card, every digital footprint monitored.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwood,” his head of security replied. “Immediately.”

Ethan ended the call and stared out the window, the city lights glowing like a battlefield below.

Whatever Ava was hiding.

He would uncover it.

Ava was not the only one hiding secrets.

Across the city, in a penthouse that overlooked the river, another man studied her file with calculated interest.

Lucien Moreau.

Billionaire. Investor. Strategist.

Rival.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, long fingers steepled as Ava’s photograph stared back at him from the tablet screen. Her red hair framed a face that held both softness and quiet defiance.

Beautiful.

But more than that broken.

And broken things had a way of becoming powerful when handled correctly.

“So,” Lucien murmured, his French accent smooth and deliberate, “you are Ethan Blackwood’s greatest mistake.”

His assistant hesitated. “She filed for divorce three days ago.”

Lucien smiled slowly.

Perfect timing.

“And the pregnancy?” he asked casually.

The assistant stiffened. “We’re not certain yet.”

Lucien’s eyes darkened with intrigue.

“Oh, but I am.”

He stood, walking toward the glass wall that revealed the city beyond. Ethan Blackwood had humiliated him publicly six months ago during a hostile acquisition. Taken what Lucien wanted.

Lucien never forgot a debt.

“And if Ava Laurent becomes mine,” he continued softly, “Ethan loses more than a contract.”

He loses control.

Two days later, Ava arrived in Florence under a different name.

The city welcomed her with golden sunlight and ancient stone, a place that felt untouched by Ethan Blackwood’s reach. She rented a modest apartment overlooking a narrow street filled with cafes and music.

For the first time in weeks, she slept without dreams of betrayal.

Until the knock came.

Three sharp raps.

Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.

No.

She approached the door slowly, dread pooling in her stomach.

When she opened it, the man standing there was not Ethan.

Tall. Impeccably dressed. Dark eyes that assessed her in a single, unflinching glance.

“Mrs. Blackwood,” he said smoothly.

Ava stiffened. “I’m not”

“Forgive me,” he corrected, lips curving. “Miss Laurent.”

Her pulse raced.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He smiled, polite and dangerous.

“Lucien Moreau.”

The name sent a chill down her spine.

Ethan’s rival.

“I believe,” Lucien continued, his gaze flicking briefly to her abdomen before returning to her face, “that we can be very useful to one another.”

“I’m not interested,” Ava said, trying to close the door.

Lucien placed a hand against it gentle, but firm.

“I can protect you,” he said quietly. “From Ethan.”

Her breath caught.

“And in return?” she whispered.

Lucien leaned closer, his voice low enough to feel like a secret.

“A contract marriage.”

The world tilted.

“What?” Ava breathed.

“Publicly,” he explained calmly. “You become my wife. In exchange, I give you security, anonymity, and power. Ethan will never touch you again.”

Ava’s hand flew instinctively to her stomach.

Lucien followed the motion.

His eyes softened just a fraction.

“And your child,” he added, “will never be used as leverage.”

Tears burned her eyes.

This was madness.

This was salvation.

She swallowed hard.

“I need time.”

Lucien nodded, stepping back.

“Of course,” he said. “But know this Ethan is already looking for you.”

He turned to leave, then paused.

“And when he finds you,” Lucien said over his shoulder, “you’ll wish you had said yes.”

Ava must choose:

Run forever or marry Ethan’s most dangerous enemy.