CHAPTER ELEVEN: A STRANGER'S SMILE
AVA MONROE'S POV
The morning after our kiss was..., nothing like I expected.
No awkwardness. No long stares across the breakfast table.
No whispered confessions or frantic denials. Just silence.
A new kind. The heavy, loaded type that settles between two people afraid to admit they're changing.
Ethan had already left when I woke. A note rested beside a white rose on my nightstand.
Meeting in D.C. Back tonight. Try not to miss me.
I rolled my eyes and smiled despite myself.
This man didn't know how to be vulnerable, but he was trying in his own infuriating, cryptic way.
I got out of bed, showered, dressed in something casual, and decided to do something I hadn't done since signing the contract.
Leave the house, alone.
The city was a beast of color and noise. Horns blared. People shouted into cell phones. Tourists fumbled with maps and iced coffees.
I blended in perfectly. No cameras. No formal gowns. Just Ava Monroe, invisible for the first time in weeks.
I found myself at the art museum. One of the quieter ones, off the beaten path. It had always been a favorite hideaway of mine.
As I wandered through the contemporary wing, my gaze fell on
a painting. Abstract.
Blue and white streaks across a canvas. Chaotic. Beautiful.
"I don't get it," a voice said beside me.
I turned.
He was tall. Broad, shouldered. Rugged in that-fix-motorcycles-on-weekends way. Definitely not a CEO.
"It's supposed to make you feel something," I said.
"Like confusion?."
"Exactly."
He grinned, and it was easy. Uncomplicated.
"You come here often?" he asked.
I raised a brow. "That's your line?"
"Would you believe me if I said I actually like art?"
"No."
He laughed. "Fair. I'm Liam, by the way."
I hesitated. "Ava."
"Just Ava?"
"Is there another kind?"
He studied me. Not in the way Ethan did, calculating and
cold.
Liam looked at me like I was real. Like I wasn't someone's
wife.
"Nice to meet you, Just Ava."
We ended up walking the entire museum together.
He cracked jokes about the surrealists. I defended the abstract pieces.
We argued about Monet and Picasso and laughed like we
weren't strangers.
By the time we reached the café, my cheeks ached from smiling.
"You've got one of those smiles," he said, sipping his espresso.
"What kind?"
"The kind that hides secrets."
My breath caught.
"Maybe I just don't have much to smile about."
"Then you need better reasons. People. Places. Or maybe…, just
a better story."
We exchanged numbers. I told myself it was harmless. Ethan
and I weren't real. And I didn't do real. Not anymore.
But the second I walked back into our penthouse, reality slammed into me.
Ethan was home. Earlier than expected.
He stood by the window, jacket draped over the armchair, sleeves rolled up. His eyes flicked to me.
"You were out."
"Yes."
"With someone?."
"Yes."
His jaw ticked.
"You didn't tell me."
"I didn't know I needed permission."
He stepped closer. "I don't care if you go out. But don't lie to me about who you're with."
"I didn't lie."
"You just didn't say."
I shrugged. "We said no rules, remember?."
"No emotions. Not no honesty."
The air between us sizzled with something sharp, raw.
"His name is Liam," I said. "And it wasn't a date. It was
coffee."
"With a stranger?."
"Strangers don't judge."
He stepped closer, now inches from my face. "They also don't
protect you."
"I don't need protecting."
"You think I'd let anyone hurt you?"
I stared at him, heart thudding.
"You don't even know what hurting me looks like."
Silence.
Then, he reached out and brushed a thumb along my cheek.
"I'm learning," he said.
And somehow, that scared me more than any stranger ever could.
Because Ethan Kingsley learning to care?.
That could ruin us both.