Ava Morales had just stepped out of the boardroom, the door clicking shut behind her after a long meeting with the investors. As she walked down the hallway, she spotted a group of her female employees clustered near the elevators, giggling over something on their phones.
Their laughter echoed softly in the polished corridor, a sharp contrast to the tension Ava had just left behind. One of them glanced up, eyes widening when she saw Ava approaching. The others quickly followed suit, their smiles vanishing as they straightened up and tucked their phones away.
Ava didn't slow her stride. Her heels clicked with quiet authority against the marble floor as she passed them.
"Let's stay focused, ladies," she said smoothly, not unkind, but with enough weight in her tone to send them scattering.
Ava kept walking, her face unreadable. when she got to the elevator and was about to press the button a familiar voice called out behind her.
"Ava, babes, are you okay?" Camila, her best friend and PR head, rushed up, concern written all over her face.
Ava arched a brow. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Camila hesitated, then held up her phone. "You haven't checked your phone yet, have you?"
Ava gave a faint, dismissive smile.
"I've been in meetings all morning, Camy. What is it?"
Camila handed her the phone without a word. Ava took it, glanced at the screen and froze.
It was a video. Grainy, obviously taken by someone in a car. But clear enough.
There she was, Ava Morales, in her wedding gown, dragging a small overnight bag behind her as she stepped into a rundown motel. Alone. Her veil trailing slightly behind her. No groom in sight. Just the blinking vacancy sign above her and the sagging door she had to push open herself.
The memory crashed into her like a wave.
That night. That godforsaken night.
She remembered looking at Mark in the car.
"Why are we here?" she had asked, her voice laced with discomfort.
Mark hadn't looked at her when he answered.
"It's late," he'd muttered. "We'll sleep here and head to the house tomorrow."
He hadn't even helped with the bag.
Ava had stepped out alone, shame flooding her as she dragged that small suitcase across cracked pavement in five-inch heels and a custom lace gown. She'd stared at the stained curtains and clenched her jaw until her teeth ached.
And now, her shame was out there for everyone to see.
Their wedding was all anyone could talk about. Her father and Mark's father were business partners, and they had arranged the marriage. At first, she had said no. She didn't want a life built on a deal. But Mark had changed her mind. He had been sweet, gentle, and full of promises.
He made her believe he loved her.
And she believed him.
But it had all been a lie.
Ava hurried into her office and closed the door with a soft click. She went directly to her desk, sinking into the chair as though her legs might give out.
She nervously bit down on her lip, hard enough to taste the sharp sting of restraint.
She was the General Manager. The youngest in the company's history. She'd walked into boardrooms full of old money and older egos without blinking. But this? This was different.
This was personal. And cruel.
The video kept flashing in her mind, her in that gown, dragging that pathetic bag, her dignity trailing behind her like her veil.
Outside her office, she could still hear the faint murmurs. Camila had done her best to contain it, but the damage was done.
Ava didn't go out for lunch.
She closed the blinds, locked the door, and sat at her desk, her back rigid, fists clenched. Her vision blurred before she could stop it.
Just a few tears. Silent. Angry.
She wiped them away with a precision that betrayed years of practice, then opened her laptop. Her fingers hovered for a second before she began typing.
....
Later that afternoon, someone opened the door, waking Julian from his sleep.
"Get out," he muttered, eyes still closed.
A moment passed in silence. Then he got out of bed, completely naked, and walked into the bathroom to start a bath.
The water roared to life as Julian turned the tap, steam curling around the marble walls of the large, sunlit bathroom. He didn't rush. He never did. Everything he did was slow, deliberate, like the world could wait until he was ready.
Outside, the maid, Clara, hovered near the bedroom door. She had worked for him long enough to know when not to speak. Still, she called out softly, "Sir, your meeting is in an hour. Ms Lily called to remind you."
Julian didn't answer. He sank into the hot water, the warmth easing into his muscles. The house was quiet again, too quiet. The kind of silence that wrapped around you like a warning.
Clara waited a few seconds more before placing a tray on the table beside his bed, black coffee, his phone, and the file he'd left on the dining room floor the night before.
She glanced toward the bathroom door, slightly ajar. "You'll be late," she added gently, then left without waiting for a reply.
Julian emerged a few minutes later, towel slung low on his hips, droplets trailing down his chest. The scent of cedar and spice followed him, clinging to his skin. He walked past the tray without glancing at it, heading straight to the window.
A knock came at the door, sharp and precise.
"Come in," he said without turning.
Clara reappeared, holding a sleek black suit.
"Ms Lily just arrived sir, she is waiting downstairs," she said on her way out.
He dressed slowly, with the practiced ease of a man who never rushed for anyone. Then he picked up his coffee. The bitter taste grounded him.
He descended the stairs slowly.
Ms. Lily stood near the window, her hands folded over the swell of her pregnant belly. She wore a pale blue dress, simple but elegant, her hair twisted into a neat knot.
"Morning, sir," she said with a polite smile. Her voice was calm, as always.