The moment the lift doors parted, Ava recognised the familiar corridor and could have wept—whether from relief or sheer exhaustion, she could not quite tell.They had arrived at her building.She twisted in Alexander’s arms at once, intent on freeing herself, but his hold only tightened.“If you keep moving,” he murmured against her ear, his voice low and dangerously even, “I’ll take you again.”The threat was quiet—far too quiet—and therefore entirely believable.Ava stilled.She bit the inside of her cheek, then deliberately relaxed against him, allowing her weight to settle against his chest. It was not surrender—it was strategy. A sensible woman, after all, did not choose to fight a battle she was certain to lose, particularly while injured and at a disadvantage.And Alexander Vanderbilt, infuriatingly, always did exactly as he said he would.By the time she had finished that thought, he had already carried her into the lift.Finn followed with a discreet efficiency, gesturing for
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