The morning unfolded like every other precisely as he wanted it. Damian Cross did not tolerate chaos, not in his business, not in his home, not in his life. Yet, when he entered the dining room and saw Ava already seated at the long table, her hair loosely braided over one shoulder, his world tilted by an undetected degree.
She looked nothing like the carefully curated women who normally filled his social circle. No polished mask, no practiced charm. Just a young woman biting the inside of her cheek, as if she would rather face execution than sit across from him and sip imported coffee.
He told himself it was irritation that made him pause. Nothing more.
"You're early," he said, his tone flat and controlled.
Her gaze flicked up, meeting his without hesitation. "Or maybe you're late."
Damian's jaw tightened, but he lowered himself into the chair at the head of the table with calculated ease. She thought she could spar with him. She thought she had a choice.
"You'll find, Ava, that in my house, my time is the only time that matters."
She scoffed, softly but clear enough to be heard. "Good to know."
A muscle ticked in his cheek. Defiant already. Good. He preferred her sharp. A broken doll would bore him within weeks, but this, this flame he could mold, direct, and use.
"Eat," he ordered, cutting into his food. "You'll need your strength."
"For what?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let her sit with the question, let her stew in uncertainty. He had always found silence more effective than threats. Finally, he said, "Tonight, you'll meet the people who matter. My associates. Investors. Enemies disguised as allies. To them, you'll be my fiancée. And you will play the part flawlessly."
Her fork stilled halfway to her lips. "You're parading me already?"
"It's not a parade. It's a demonstration," Damian said coolly, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "When they see you beside me, they'll understand you belong to me. Which means they won't dare touch you or Lily."
He watched her stiffen, saw the flicker of pain in her eyes at her sister's name. That was why he had chosen her. Not because she was the only option, not because fate had dragged her into his path, but because she was vulnerable in exactly the way he needed.
Her fire made her interesting. Her sister made her his.
"Why me?" she whispered then, almost to herself.
Damian leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze roam over her as if calculating her worth like a piece of fine art. "Because you're useful. Because you don't realize yet how dangerous you could be. And because I don't make mistakes."
Her eyes narrowed. She wanted to argue, to demand more. But she didn't. Smart girl.
For now.
---
The hours that followed felt like a blur of control she could not escape. Damian's staff fluttered around her like shadows, dressing her in silk, clasping diamonds at her throat, painting her face into something unrecognizable. She hated every second of it.
When she looked in the mirror, she didn't see herself anymore. She saw Damian's possession.
"This necklace," the stylist murmured, fastening the clasp, "was chosen by Mr. Cross himself. A family piece."
Of course it was. Ava forced a brittle smile and thought of Lily, reminding herself why she was enduring this humiliation. Every time the urge to scream rose in her chest, she repeated her sister's name silently like a prayer. For Lily. For Lily.
That evening, Damian appeared at her door dressed in a suit that probably cost more than her entire apartment. His presence filled the room, dark and imposing, and for one wild moment she thought he was handsome then reminded herself that the devil wore beautiful disguises.
"You're ready," he said, his eyes trailing down her frame, assessing, not admiring.
"You mean I look like your doll."
The faintest smirk touched his lips. "For tonight, you'll be more than that. You'll be my proof."
Proof of what, she didn't ask. He never gave her more than what he wanted her to know.
The car ride was silent, tense. Her hands curled in her lap, nails digging into her palms until little crescents of pain kept her grounded. Damian sat beside her like a shadow carved out of stone, his attention fixed outside the tinted windows.
When they arrived at the exclusive restaurant, whispers followed them instantly. Ava felt dozens of eyes on her as Damian guided her inside, his hand firm at the small of her back. She hated how steady that touch felt, how it seemed to claim her before she could even open her mouth.
They were seated at the head of a long table. Faces she didn't know leaned in with interest, envy, judgment. Someone laughed too loudly; someone else muttered behind a glass.
"This is Ava," Damian said smoothly, his hand resting casually over hers on the table. His tone left no room for speculation. "My fiancée."
Gasps. Whispers. Calculations.
Ava lifted her chin, summoning every ounce of dignity she had left. "It's a pleasure," she said, her voice calm, even charming, though her palms were damp with sweat.
Questions came. How did you meet? What drew you together? She answered with practiced lies Damian had fed her in the car, but she added her own touches, little stories, small smiles that made the narrative believable.
To her surprise, she held the table.
For the first time since this ordeal began, she felt a flicker of power. If she could survive this, maybe she could survive anything.
At one point, Damian's hand brushed against hers beneath the table. It was subtle, intentional. Testing. She didn't pull away. Not because she wanted his touch, but because pulling back would mean admitting he rattled her.
When the evening ended, she walked out on his arm, her spine straight, her smile poised. But inside, her heart pounded with the weight of what had just happened.
In the car, silence stretched between them again. But this time, it felt different.
"You didn't embarrass me," Damian said at last, his voice unreadable.
Ava tilted her head. "That almost sounds like a compliment."
His lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Don't get used to it."
She turned to face the window, hiding her own smirk. He thought he'd bound her tighter tonight, that he'd won. But as the city lights blurred past, Ava made a silent vow.
She wasn't just going to survive Damian Cross.
She was going to learn how to fight him.