Chapter 4

KILLIAN's pov

It was supposed to be romantic.

The private orchestra, the full ballroom at Langston Towers, the press discreetly tipped off, ready to capture Ava Blake walking into an apology so grand it would rewrite everything.

I stood in the center of the candlelit hall, waiting.

But Ava didn’t walk in.

She stormed in.

Dressed in black—again, always black lately, like mourning the man I used to be—and flanked by two board members. The camera flashes burst behind her like lightning.

She didn’t even blink at the arrangement.

“Really, Killian?” she said coolly. “You ambush me with violins?”

I tried to step forward. “I wanted to show you I’m not giving up—”

“This isn’t a K-drama,” she snapped. “You don’t get to cheat, lie, ruin everything, then roll out a red carpet and expect redemption in four acts.”

The reporters began whispering. Filming. Loving the chaos.

I lowered my voice. “Ava, I’m trying. I’m begging you—”

“Don’t beg,” she said. “Not unless you’re ready to do it in front of everyone. Properly.”

And then—God help me—she turned to the reporters.

“You want a statement? Here it is: Killian Joe is the man I once loved. He’s also the man who dragged me through hell, then tried to call it love. I’m done with fairy tales. I’m building an empire. If he wants to be part of it—he’ll have to work under me.”

And she walked away.

My lungs felt tight. I turned slowly and saw Grayson Wolfe leaning against the far wall, hands in his pockets, watching the show.

He smiled when our eyes met.

Smug bastard.

AVA's pov

I didn’t look back.

Not once.

Not when I left the ballroom. Not when Killian’s voice followed me out like a ghost. Not when the cameras trailed me all the way to the car.

Grayson slid in beside me, casual as ever.

“You do realize,” he said, “that you just publicly emasculated a man who has influence, wealth, and still enough pride to declare war.”

“Good,” I said, eyes forward. “Let him.”

He studied me for a moment. “You don’t flinch.”

“I’ve already lost everything once. There’s nothing left to fear.”

A beat passed. And then, softly, he said, “That’s not true.”

I turned to face him. “Oh?”

“You still fear yourself,” he said. “How powerful you could be if you stopped loving him entirely.”

I hated how accurate that felt.

How exposed.

“How do you know what I fear?”

Grayson’s eyes darkened, not with malice—but understanding.

“Because I’ve been there,” he said. “And because I see it in you. The hunger to be something more—even if it means burning what’s left of your heart.”

I didn’t respond.

But I didn’t stop him when his hand briefly brushed mine.

KILLIAN's pov

She humiliated me.

Publicly. Mercilessly. Brilliantly.

And I hated how much I still wanted her.

I stared at my reflection in the penthouse suite mirror, tie askew, whiskey untouched. My phone buzzed.

A news alert:

“AVA BLAKE SHUTS DOWN KILLIAN JOE’S PUBLIC PROPOSAL—AND TAKES CONTROL.”

Control.

She had it.

And I had no idea how to take it back.

But I knew one thing—I wasn’t letting Grayson Wolfe get closer to her.

Not without a fight.

AVA

Back at the hotel suite, the adrenaline wore off like smoke slipping through my fingers. I peeled off the black heels that had carried me across the ballroom floor like armor and dropped them by the couch.

“You made headlines in under fifteen minutes,” Grayson called from the kitchenette, scrolling through his phone. “One article already dubbed you The Ice Queen Who Left Her Billionaire on Read.”

I didn’t laugh. I didn’t even smile.

“Let them write what they want,” I said, pulling the pins from my hair. “Let him stew in it.”

“He’s doing more than stewing.” Grayson’s voice shifted—deeper, laced with something more analytical. “He’s spiraling.”

I stilled. “Killian doesn’t spiral. He recalibrates.”

“Not this time.”

Grayson set his phone down and walked toward me, offering a glass of water I hadn’t realized I needed. “He spent two years thinking you were a ghost of the girl he married. Now he sees you’ve become someone he can’t predict. That terrifies men like him.”

I sipped the water slowly. “Good. Let him stay afraid.”

There was a pause.

Then softly: “What about you, Ava? Are you afraid?”

I turned to face him. “Afraid of what?”

He studied me, his eyes unreadable. “Of what happens next. Of what you’ll have to become to stay on top.”

Something flickered inside me. “You think I can’t stomach the climb?”

“I think,” Grayson said, stepping closer, “you’ve spent so long surviving that you forgot how to want something for yourself.”

My chest tightened.

I hated how right he sounded.

“I want my life back,” I said.

“No,” he said. “You want more. You want power, not protection. You want control, not comfort. And maybe,” his voice dipped, “you want to matter to someone who sees you—not who just claims you.”

I should have shut it down.

But I didn’t.

Because a part of me—the part that used to believe in real connection—was listening.

Closely.

KILLIAN JOE

She didn’t pick up her phone.

She didn’t respond to my texts. Or my lawyer. Or even fucking Miles.

And when I tried to send a bouquet of her favorite white lilies to her office, it was returned—with a single black rose taped to the envelope and a sticky note that read:

“Your guilt isn’t currency. Try again.”

I sat in the back of the car outside Blake Holdings headquarters, fists clenched, watching her enter the building with Grayson Wolfe at her side.

He was laughing at something she said.

She smiled back.

It was a smile I hadn’t seen in years. Not the tight, performative smile she wore in public. Not the bitter smirk she gave me when she thought I couldn’t hurt her anymore.

This was soft. Warm.

Alive.

Grayson touched her lower back as they entered.

I felt my jaw tighten. My chest twist.

“Drive,” I barked at my chauffeur.

“Sir?”

“I said drive!”

I couldn’t watch this.

Not again.

AVA

That night, a package arrived at my suite.

No note. Just a velvet box.

Inside: the original wedding band. The one he never wore. The one he claimed he’d keep “for when it mattered.”

I stared at it for a long time. Not angry. Not sad.

Just… tired.

Grayson watched me from the couch, glass of wine in hand.

“I can make him disappear, you know,” he said idly. “Figuratively. Or literally.”

I gave him a look. “I’m not interested in blood.”

“I am,” he said, almost too casually. “Figurative or otherwise.”

I didn’t respond.

But something sharp and unspoken crackled between us.

“You know this isn’t just about revenge, Ava,” Grayson said after a moment. “You’re playing a long game now. And long games need allies.”

He paused.

“Preferably ones with just as many sharp edges.”

I met his eyes. “Are you offering your blade or your loyalty?”

Grayson stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

“Whichever you need most.”

KILLIAN JOE

My father always said legacy was about two things: power and perception.

Right now, I was losing both.

The public saw a man undone. Ava saw a man unworthy. And I—well, I was starting to believe both were true.

I called Miles.

“Get me a meeting,” I snapped.

“With whom?” he asked.

“With whoever can give me leverage,” I growled. “I’m not watching her fall into Grayson Wolfe’s arms.”

“Killian—”

“Do it.”

I hung up.

But even as I planned my next move, a thought echoed in my head.

Not what Ava had said.

But what she hadn’t.

She hadn’t said she was done loving me.

She’d only said she wouldn’t let love weaken her again.

Which meant there was still a crack in the armor.

And I would find it.

Even if I had to bleed for it.