chapter 3

AVA'S POV

My stepmother stood in the doorway in a silk robe, the fabric whispering as she moved. Her eyes were wide in a show of shock that I had seen a hundred times. Beside her, Beatrice smiled in a way I had learned to read as a threat.

“Father, maybe she went for a walk,” Beatrice said, her voice sweet but sharp. “Or maybe…” She tilted her head and let the words hang. “Should I help you check, Ava?”

Before I could step back, Beatrice was already at my side. Her fingers were quick. She caught the collar of my jacket and tugged. The fabric slipped, and the skin at my neck showed.

A sharp gasp cut the air. My stepmother raised her hand to her lips as if she could hide the sound. “Oh, heavens… what disgrace.”

On my skin were faint marks, dark and curved. They felt raw when I swallowed. I knew how they looked. I knew what they would mean to them.

My father pushed his chair back so hard it scraped the floor. “You—” His voice broke with anger. “You shameless girl!”

“No, Father—it’s not—” I tried to speak, but my voice failed me. How could I tell them the truth? How could I say I had only tried to keep a man from dying? Who would believe such a thing?

Beatrice laughed then, soft and cruel. “So that’s it. She was sneaking around with some man all night. How fitting for her quiet little life.”

My father slammed his hand on the table. The noise made the teacups tremble. “Enough! Do you understand what shame you bring on this family? What will people say if this reaches them?”

“I didn’t—” My words fell away, heavy and useless.

In my pocket the pendant pressed into my palm, warm against the skin. I wanted to pull it out and show him. I wanted him to see proof that what happened was not what they thought. A small thing could not undo this. What proof could it give?

I stood there, trembling and still. My silence only made their judgment louder.

My father’s voice went low, cold. “You think you can dishonor me and sit quiet? If you will not speak for yourself, then I will give you a punishment you will not forget.”

ETHAN’S POV

Miles away, in the gray light of dawn, Ethan woke from a sleep so deep it felt like his body had forgotten how to move. Sweat clung to his skin, his breath shallow, the bitter taste of poison still sharp on his tongue.

He sat up slowly. The sheets were twisted around him, and the air in the hotel room carried a faint scent—one that did not belong to him. Someone had been there, and now she was gone.

His hand went to his chest. He froze. The pendant was missing.

He searched the bed, the floor, the table near the window. Nothing. Then his eyes caught a faint smear of blood on the sheet. His chest tightened as fragments of memory returned—

a trembling voice, soft but steady;

hands pressing against his burning skin;

a body leaning close, shielding him from the cold;

then silence.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, his jaw tightening. Who was she?

The room had been too dim. His vision had been blurred from the poison. All he remembered was a slim figure, the scent of soap and jasmine, and a voice whispering, “I will save you.”

A stranger had saved him. She had touched him, seen him at his weakest, and disappeared—taking his pendant with her.

Ethan Newton was Ethan Golden Newton was thirty years old, handsome and the richest man in the country.  His grandfather loved him dearly and had handed the company over to him at a very young age, but his uncle and his son would not allow him to have peace of mind.

A knock came at the door.

“Sir.”

Two of his men entered. They were trained, loyal, but tonight their faces were shadowed with guilt.

“Forgive us,” their leader said quietly. “We failed to anticipate the betrayal. We should never have allowed your cousin near you.”

Ethan raised a hand. His voice was rough, but steady. “It wasn’t your fault.”

The men exchanged looks. Then one spoke again. “We’ve caught him. Do you want us to deal with him?”

Ethan’s eyes darkened. His cousin’s words echoed in his mind—You’ll die unless you find a woman.

He exhaled slowly. “No. Let him go.”

The men hesitated. “Sir—”

Ethan’s tone cut sharp. “The day of reckoning will come. I’ll deal with him myself.”

They fell silent. They knew Ethan Newton never forgot betrayal.

He leaned back against the headboard. His voice dropped lower. “What you should do is find her.”

“The woman?”

Ethan nodded once. His fingers brushed the space where the pendant should have been. “The one who saved me. Find her. That’s your task.”

No one questioned him. Finding a nameless woman in a city of millions would have sounded impossible to any other man. But Ethan’s orders were law.

When they left, silence filled the room again. The faint scent still lingered—soap and jasmine.

Whoever she was, she had saved him when no one else could. And she had taken a piece of him with her.

The Newton Group tower rose high above the city, its mirrored glass catching the morning light. To the world, it was power and wealth. To Ethan, it was duty.

He entered the lobby with quiet command. Staff greeted him with hushed respect.

“Good morning, sir.”

He replied with a brief nod. No smiles, no wasted words.

On the top floor, he closed his office door behind him.

Files lay open on the desk, contracts neatly stacked. His pen moved with practiced precision, signing document after document. To everyone else, he looked the same—calm, disciplined, unreachable.

But his thoughts were elsewhere.

The pen stilled in his hand. His gaze moved to the skyline outside the glass wall.

He should have been focused. Logic said this was simple: she had saved him, and she had taken his pendant. He would find her, thank her, and retrieve what was his. Nothing more.

But the memory of her voice would not fade.

Most women lost composure before him. She hadn’t. Even in fear, she had met his eyes. She had stood firm when he could not.

He didn’t even know her name.

A knock broke his thoughts. His assistant entered quietly. “Sir, the directors are waiting in the boardroom.”

Ethan adjusted his cuffs and rose from his chair. The reflection in the glass looked back at him—cold, composed, untouchable. The mask he always wore.

But beneath that mask, something restless stirred.

He had given the order. His men would find her. Not because he was weak. Not because he cared.

Because Ethan Newton never let go of what was his.

The boardroom stretched wide, glass walls gleaming in the light. The directors sat straight, avoiding his eyes.

At the head of the table, Ethan sat in silence. His presence alone was enough to fill the room.

The first director began, voice cautious. “Our quarterly numbers remain strong, sir, but the east division reports rising supplier costs. We project a six percent increase.”

“Fix it,” Ethan said without looking up.

The man hesitated. “Sir—”

“Switch suppliers. Renegotiate. Shut the deal down if necessary. Don’t bring me problems without solutions.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another director cleared his throat. “The Singapore partners are asking for more time before finalizing the joint—”

“Two weeks,” Ethan said flatly. “No more.”

“Yes, sir.”

The meeting continued in that rhythm—brief reports, sharper orders. To anyone watching, it was efficiency. Control. Power.

But Ethan’s thoughts were not here.

Every time he heard the faint hum of the air-conditioning, he remembered her breathing against his shoulder. Every time he signed his name, he thought of her voice saying, “I will save you.”

While he sat in his tower, calm and collected, far away the same woman faced her father’s anger. Her head was bowed, her silence mistaken for guilt, his pendant hidden in her trembling hand.