Ava didn't leave Kai's penthouse until the sun rose.
She was still aching when she slid into her car, her skin tingling with invisible fingerprints, her thighs trembling from everything he'd done—and everything he didn't say.
He didn't ask her to stay. He didn't tell her what it meant.
He just gave her that look—dark, hungry, unrepentant—as she buttoned her blouse with shaky fingers and tried not to fall back into his bed.
By the time she made it to her apartment, her phone buzzed.
Lucien: Meet me. 9 PM. No questions.
She stared at the message. No greeting. No explanation. Just a demand.
But instead of ignoring it, she typed one word back: Ava: Fine.
---
9 PM. A rooftop bar overlooking the city. Private. Dim. Lucien was already seated, drink in hand, watching her like a man who knew too much.
"You look tired," he said.
"I am," she answered.
He smiled, slow and sharp. "Rough night?"
She sat. Crossed her legs. "If this is just about petty jealousy, I'm leaving."
"It's not," he said, leaning forward. "It's about him."
"I can handle Kai."
Lucien's eyes burned. "Ava, he's dangerous."
"So are you."
He laughed. "True. But at least I don't pretend to be your salvation while dragging you into hell."
She sipped her drink, letting the burn steady her voice. "You didn't bring me here for warnings."
"No," Lucien said. "I brought you here because I miss the way you used to look at me."
Her hand stopped mid-air.
"I miss the girl who kissed me on the back steps of the Gala hotel and dared me to touch her in public," he continued. "The girl who didn't hide behind ambition and boardroom power plays."
"That girl died the moment you disappeared."
Lucien leaned in, voice lower. "No. She buried herself. Under Kai."
Ava stood.
He caught her wrist. Not hard. But firm.
"I still remember how you tasted," he whispered. "And I haven't touched anyone since."
She yanked her hand away. Walked out. Didn't stop until she reached the street.
And when she turned the corner—
Kai was there. Leaning against her car. Watching. Waiting.
"Why are you following me?" she snapped.
"I'm not." His voice was calm. Too calm. "I just know where you run when you're confused."
"I'm not confused."
"Then why do I still smell him on you?"
She froze. "I didn't—"
"I know you didn't," he cut in. "Because if you had, Lucien wouldn't be breathing right now."
She swallowed.
He stepped closer.
"But you're thinking about him. That's almost worse."
Ava's chest heaved. "You don't own my thoughts."
"No. But I want to."
Then he kissed her. Not like before. Not hungry or rough.
Soft. Painfully soft.
And when he pulled away, his voice was barely a whisper.
"Come upstairs with me."
She didn't answer. She just handed him the keys.
And followed.