Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 1 - Chapitre 10

The next gunshot is so close that it punches through the leather seat inches from Ava’s head.She flinches. Damian doesn’t.“On your knees!” someone bellows across the room. “Hands where I can see them!”The emergency lights strobe red, turning the underground auction into a jagged slideshow—shadows lunging, glittering gowns smearing across black marble, and men in suits with guns instead of champagne.Damian’s fingers tighten on her jaw for a fraction of a second, like he’s checking she’s still there, still breathing.Then, his hand drops to her wrist.“Up,” he says. “Now.”“Are you insane?” The words slice out sharper than she intends.“Frequently.”He hauls her up with him, keeping her tucked against his side. To anyone watching, she’s just a shaken lover being dragged to the exit. To her, he feels like a moving wall of steel and control.“Head down,” he murmurs. “Stay on my left.”“Why—”“Because my right is where the gun is,” he answers, already steering her into the aisle.Her h

By morning, the kiss is everywhere she looks.Not on the news. Not on gossip sites.On every screen that matters.Ava sits cross-legged on Cass’s secondhand couch in their tiny Queens apartment, city light slicing in through crooked blinds. The place smells like instant coffee, old takeout, and computer heat. Monitors line one wall in mismatched sizes, stacked on crates and thrift-store desks.On all of them: black-and-white stills from the underground auction.“It’s like watching a horror movie frame by frame,” Cass mutters, fingers flying over her keyboard. “Starring: my best friend’s worst life choices.”Ava doesn’t argue.She’s still in yesterday’s jeans and an oversized hoodie she grabbed from the floor when she snuck out of the penthouse at dawn. Hair in a messy knot. No makeup. She looks at how she feels—stripped down, raw.“Go back,” she says quietly. “Fifteen seconds. Slow it down.”Cass drags a timeline slider back and hits play.Security feed four: wide angle of the auction

The Moretti family does charity like it does everything else—loudly, expensively, and with too much champagne. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling of the Grand Meridian Hotel’s ballroom. Waiters in white jackets weave through the crush of Manhattan’s elite, silver trays balanced with flutes of champagne and bite-sized sins on porcelain spoons A jazz trio plays something smooth in the corner, drowned every few seconds by clinking glasses and sharp, familiar laughter. Ava stands at the edge of it all in a midnight-blue dress and heels that cost more than Cass’s entire apartment, smiling the practiced, empty smile of a woman whose life looks perfect in photos. Inside, her stomach is a knot. “I swear to God, if one more old man in a worse suit calls this a ‘charity for the poor,’ I’m flipping a table,” Riley mutters at her side. Riley Torres looks like she was tailored for this world and then refused to behave in it. Dark hair in a sleek blowout, emerald dress hugging every

Good girls don’t wake up with hangovers from charity galas.Ava wakes up with a Damian Kade problem.No headache. No nausea. Just the lingering, electric ghost of his hand around hers and a black metal card burning a hole in her nightstand drawer.She stares at the ceiling for a long minute before she moves.Her phone is a graveyard of missed notifications.Sixteen texts from Cass. Three from Riley. One from an unknown number she refuses to open yet.She ignores all of them.Shower. Hair. Concealer. The standard Moretti armor.By the time she walks into the kitchen of the penthouse, the smell of espresso and expensive toast is already in the air. Her brothers are arguing over a game score. Vince is at the head of the table, suit jacket on, tie already knotted, scrolling through something on his tablet with the focus of a man planning a war.“Morning,” Ava says.Three heads glance up. Two nods. One narrows.“You’re late,” Vince says.“It’s eight-thirty,” she replies.“And our world sta

She doesn’t sleep that night.Not really.She dozes in fragments—heat pressed against glass, silver drives glinting on dark tables, her father’s voice, Damian’s, Cass’s. When her alarm finally rattles at seven, she feels like she’s been spun in a tumbler all night.She gets ready on autopilot.Neutral makeup. Simple black dress that looks expensive but not flashy. Flat shoes instead of heels this time; she’s not in the mood to perform fragility.Her phone lights up as she pulls her hair into a low knot.**Riley:** > Morning, my tragic queen > I dreamt you ran off with a hot villain and left me your wardrobe **Riley:** > pls confirm this is fiction and not a live updateAva stares at the screen for a full five seconds before replying.**Ava:** > Going to Kade again. > Business.The typing dots appear immediately.**Riley:** > BUSINESS 😂 > Is that what we’re calling it now > Is he hot? Scale 1–10 > (10 = “I rethink my sexuality”, 1 = “just text him ur banking info &