Ava didn't rush.
She returned to the rooftop the same way she'd come, silent as the shadows along the wall. By the time she stepped back onto the patio, Lucas had moved.
He now stood at the bar counter, facing away from the lounge crowd. One hand rested on the marble surface, the other around a fresh glass of dark red wine. His phone was next to it—screen dark, untouched. There was a distance in his posture. Alert, but isolated.
Waiting for something.
Ava slipped in just behind a slow-moving group of investors laughing too loud about something they didn't understand. She moved along the side perimeter of the room, keeping out of Lucas's immediate line of sight.
She didn't need to approach him.
She needed him to see.
From the inner pocket of her coat, she pulled out a thin flash drive and a sleek silver card — a gallery invitation mock-up with a blank back. She slid the flash into a pocketed envelope, sealed it, and placed it discreetly on the server tray of a passing hostess.
"Please," Ava said softly, handing the girl a folded hundred, "for the gentleman in the black suit at the bar."
The server gave her a sharp look — uncertain, a little wary.
"Just a gallery opening," Ava added with a faint smile. "He'll know what it means."
She disappeared before the girl could ask another question.
Lucas didn't glance up when the envelope arrived. He stared at it. Just stared. Then, slowly, he reached for it and turned it over in his palm.
No name. No seal.
He opened it anyway.
The flash drive inside caught the light. A thin sticker wrapped around it read one word, scrawled in ink:
"Locke."
His thumb stilled on the edge of the drive.
A second later, he slid it into the port on his phone. A silent window opened.
Video feed. Dated. Time-stamped.
Mezzanine. Booth #2. Live.
He tapped play.
At first, nothing. Just dim light, velvet curtain movement, background murmurs.
Then—Angel's face. Close to another man's.
Lucas didn't react. Not at first.
He simply stood straighter.
The wine glass remained untouched.
He watched the footage in full, until the screen flickered back to black.
Then he placed the phone face down.
And turned around.
His eyes scanned the room once—slow, precise, deadly calm.
Ava watched from across the floor, her hood off now, face bare, mask tucked in her pocket.
Their eyes met.
This time, she didn't look away.
He didn't either.
They stood across from each other, not moving, not blinking, as the party hummed on between them.
Lucas tilted his head.
Not confusion. Not anger.
Something else.
Recognition.
Ava took a slow step backward, slipping into the crowd.
Let him follow.
She didn't look behind her.
Ava moved down the corridor past the restrooms and emergency stairwell, into a dim service alcove lined with utility panels and blackout marble. The kind of space no one noticed unless they were trying to disappear.
She waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Then: footsteps.
Measured. No hesitation.
She turned as Lucas Bai entered the narrow hallway behind her, expression unreadable.
He didn't speak.
Not at first.
The light from the overhead fixture framed him like a statue — sculpted edges, shadowed eyes, sleeves rolled precisely to the elbow. The phone was still in his hand. The envelope, gone.
"Who gave this to you?" he asked.
Ava tilted her head. "You mean the video?"
Lucas didn't move.
"I've had it for a while," she said simply. "I just needed the right moment."
He took a step closer.
Not threatening. Just... closer.
"You've been following me."
"I've been watching her."
His eyes narrowed, sharp as a switchblade. "And what—coincidence brought you to this party tonight?"
Ava didn't blink. "She's predictable."
He studied her then.
Not just her face, but the way she stood — straight, calm, centered like she was on familiar ground.
"You're not one of her friends. You're not part of my circle. And you're not someone who got this footage by accident."
"No," Ava said. "I'm not."
He stepped closer again. Now they were two feet apart.
"Then what do you want from me?"
Ava let the silence stretch.
Then:
"I want you to wake up."
Lucas tilted his head slightly. "To what?"
"To her. To the truth. To what you're allowing yourself to believe because it's easier than being alone."
His mouth set into a harder line.
"You think I'm some lost cause that needs saving?"
"No," Ava said quietly. "I think you're smarter than this. That's what makes it worse."
Something flickered in his eyes at that.
But he didn't back down.
"Why does it matter to you?" he asked. "Why go through the trouble?"
A pause.
Then she said, calmly, almost softly;
"Because I love you."
No inflection.
Not a plea; just a truth she'd carried like a blade under her ribs for years.
Lucas stared at her like she'd just spoken a language he didn't understand.
A beat passed.
Then another.
"You're insane," he said finally, voice low.
Ava gave the smallest nod.
"Yes."
She turned to leave.
Didn't run. Didn't look back.
But as she reached the door, she heard him say behind her;
"Wait."
She stopped.
Silence.
When she turned, Lucas was watching her like she was something dangerous. Not a threat. A variable. Something unaccounted for.
Something real.
Ava waited.
She didn't breathe. Didn't blink. The hallway stretched between them, narrow and quiet, like a stage neither of them had asked to step onto.
Lucas didn't move from where he stood, but something in his posture shifted.
His voice, when it came, was lower than before. Measured. Controlled. The kind of tone he used when the stakes changed mid-negotiation.
"Who are you really?"
She didn't answer.
Not with a lie. Not with the truth.
Instead, she said:
"You knew something was wrong. You just didn't want to say it first."
Lucas's jaw tightened. He didn't deny it.
She stepped back toward him, slow and steady. Not threatening. Not apologetic.
Just there.
"I didn't come here for gratitude," she said. "I came to show you what she is."
"And what are you?" he asked.
Her eyes met his, unblinking.
"I'm the one who sees you."
Another silence.
Then he looked down at the phone still in his hand.
He tapped the screen again. Replayed the video. Let it run.
She watched him.
The way he studied Angel's face, her soft little smirk, the way she tucked herself under another man's arm like she'd never sworn loyalty to anyone else. His mouth was set in a hard, perfect line, but his fingers had gone white around the glass.
When the video ended, he didn't move.
He just said, without looking at her,
"This doesn't leave this hallway."
"I didn't give it to anyone else."
Lucas finally looked up.
For the first time since she'd returned to this life, Ava saw it in his face—not anger. Not arrogance.
But something quieter.
Trust... poisoned with suspicion.
He didn't trust her.
But he couldn't ignore her.
And that meant the game had shifted.
"You have ten seconds," he said, "to tell me what you really want."
Ava smile not soft. Not sweet.
Just sharp enough to cut through doubt.
"To make sure you don't marry the wrong woman."
Lucas didn't speak.
Because now, he was playing too.