Chapter 2

AVA's pov

The thing about men like Killian is—they only value you when you’re no longer easy to reach.

Three missed calls.

Four unread messages.

All from him.

I didn’t answer. Not because I wasn’t tempted—but because I knew myself too well.

If I heard his voice too soon, I might forget what he did. I might start to remember how we used to be—how he once looked at me like I hung the stars instead of watched them fade alone. But this version of me? The one who finally walked away?

She didn’t deal in nostalgia.

She dealt in reality.

And reality was: he cheated. He lied. He expected me to stay.

But I didn’t.

Now, I stood in the center of the Blake Financial Group’s executive lounge, overlooking a skyline that had once felt suffocating. Today, it felt like freedom. Cold and sharp, yes—but free.

“Miss Blake?”

I turned to see Lauren—efficient as always, hair twisted into a sleek bun, tablet in hand.

“Yes?”

“There’s someone in the lobby asking to see you. He says he’s your husband.”

Ex-husband. Not legally yet. But emotionally? Spiritually? Entirely.

I arched a brow. “Did he have an appointment?”

“No, ma’am. He just walked in and told reception it was urgent.”

I smirked. Of course he did. Killian never asked for access. He assumed it.

“Tell him I’m in a meeting.”

Lauren hesitated. “He said he wouldn’t leave until he saw you.”

I paused.

Let him wait.

“Give him a seat,” I said finally. “In the coldest part of the lobby.”

She stifled a smile and nodded. “Right away.”

As she left, I returned my gaze to the city. I could almost picture him pacing downstairs, jaw clenched, annoyance replacing whatever version of guilt had brought him here. He didn’t like being ignored.

Too bad.

Thirty minutes later, I descended the stairs with deliberate grace. I could feel the tension in the room before I even saw him—Killian Ricci, billionaire entrepreneur, married to a woman who now barely acknowledged his existence.

He stood when he saw me. My eyes flicked over him—creased navy suit, unshaven jaw, dark circles under his eyes.

Good. Sleepless nights looked good on him.

“Ava,” he said.

I walked past him, not stopping. “Follow me.”

We ended up in a small conference room off the main lobby. It was glass-walled—visible. Transparent. Fitting, considering all the secrets between us.

I didn’t sit. Neither did he.

“What do you want, Killian?”

He exhaled. “You left without talking to me.”

“No,” I said coolly. “You just didn’t listen when I did.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “You’re not even giving me a chance to explain.”

“You don’t get to ask for explanations after years of silence.”

His voice rose slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.” I met his eyes. “And you knew you would.”

He looked away then, jaw tight.

“I made mistakes,” he said.

Mistakes. As if infidelity was a typo he could correct.

I crossed my arms. “And now you want what, exactly? Forgiveness? Closure?”

He hesitated. “I want… to fix this.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“You want me back?” I asked, blinking once. “After everything?”

“I didn’t realize what I had until you walked out.”

Of course not. They never do.

“And she?” I asked. “The mistress? Does she know you’re here trying to resurrect your marriage?”

He flinched.

I smiled faintly. “Tell her I said good luck. She’ll need it.”

“Ava—”

“No,” I said, voice sharp now. “You don’t get to say my name like that anymore. Like you own it. Like it still softens for you.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but I turned and walked to the door.

“You chose her, Killian. So live with her. Don’t come running back when the woman you abandoned finds her power again.”

His voice dropped, softer this time. “I didn’t know how strong you were until you stopped needing me.”

I paused at the door, one hand on the handle.

“I was always strong. You just loved me better when I was weak.”

And then I walked away.

Later That Night

My apartment was smaller than the penthouse. Less glamorous. But it was mine.

I curled up on the couch with a glass of red wine and a notebook in my lap. Not for journaling—no, I didn’t need to relive the past. I was writing a plan. Business strategy. Market takeover. A rebranding initiative I’d dreamed up during one of the many nights Killian left me alone.

Only this time, I wasn’t building it for someone else.

I was building it for me.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: You looked beautiful today. Even angry. Even untouchable.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to ask who it was.

But I didn’t block him either.

Because sometimes, power isn’t silence—it’s knowing when to let them scream into your absence.

The silence that followed me home was no longer suffocating. It was sacred.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid to be alone. The apartment lights were warm, the space quiet but alive with possibility. I kicked off my heels, set the wine glass down, and let my fingers trail over the marble countertop I’d picked myself last week.

My life, rebuilt brick by deliberate brick.

Killian’s voice still echoed in my mind—“I want to fix this.”

But his words were like a vase shattered on the floor. You could collect the pieces, glue them together, but you’d always see the cracks.

And I didn’t want cracked love. I wanted wholeness.

Starting with me.

I moved to the window, city lights flickering like stars pulled to earth. My reflection stared back at me—sharper, harder, but clearer too. There was no weakness in her eyes anymore. Just a fire so old it had forgotten how to burn for someone else.

I checked my phone again. Another message.

Killian: Please talk to me.

I tapped the screen once, hovering over block.

But I didn’t do it. Not yet.

Let him watch. Let him unravel.

Instead, I dialed a number I hadn’t used in years.

“Ava Blake,” the voice on the other end sounded surprised—and amused. “Is hell freezing over?”

I smiled faintly. “Not yet. But it’s getting cold.”

“Tell me you’re finally coming back to the firm.”

“Not just coming back,” I said. “I’m making a move.”

There was a pause. “You want to lead the merger?”

“I want to dominate it.”

The next morning was brisk and unforgiving—exactly how I liked it.

I wore a structured navy suit with a white silk blouse beneath, heels like daggers, and my hair pulled into a sleek knot. It was the armor of a woman no longer asking to be seen.

I arrived at the Blake Financial headquarters just as the press began gathering outside. I’d leaked the tip myself: Ava Blake to return to helm new partnership talks. Surprise announcement expected.

Let them come. Let them watch.

Let them see the woman who once disappeared behind a man now stand in front of an empire.

Killian’s company—his beloved Ricci Technologies—was unknowingly about to collide with mine.

And this time, I wouldn’t be standing beside him.

I’d be standing over him.