The chandeliers at the Blackwell Hotel dripped light like liquid diamonds, spreading brilliance across marble floors that were so shiny that they could reflect the faces of the city's most powerful people. The string quartet was tucked away in a corner, and the soft music was drowned out by laughter and whispers. Waiters in black waistcoats carried trays of champagne. Their steps were slow and their faces were blank, like pawns moving through a game none of them would ever play. Ava Monroe felt like everything was pressing down on her chest. The shiny dresses, the perfectly styled hair, and the sharp tuxedos all reminded her that she didn't fit in here. Not with the rich and powerful people in New York, the ones who threw away money like it was trash. Her dress, a borrowed navy blue slip that had belonged to her late mother, hugged her body with delicate grace, but to her it screamed
"outsider."
She still made herself stand tall at the edge of the ballroom, holding the worn leather folder close to her chest. Inside were the last pieces of her father's legacy: blueprints for a renewable textile process he had worked on for years to make better. He thought that a project would change the world of fashion and help the environment. But one man took that dream away from him. She remembered it and her lips shook. Damien Cortez. Just hearing his name made her stomach turn. He had ruined everything: their pride, their safety, and their father's business. Ava's father had died young because of stress and debt, and now she had to take care of her younger sister Elena. But Ava was in a lot of trouble tonight. This gala was a charity auction for the city's art foundation. It brought together investors, philanthropists, and businesspeople who might listen to her pitch if she could get past their polished armor of indifference. She had practiced her speech in front of the mirror a lot. There might still be hope if she could get one person to listen and believe. She whispered to herself,
"Keep your chin up, Ava,"
as she looked over the crowd of people who were shining.
"You can do this."
You have to. The words calmed her shaking hands. Until the room was quiet. A wave went through the ballroom like a cold wind. People stopped talking, laughter stopped, and everyone looked at the big staircase at the end of the room. He was there. Damien Cortez came down the steps like a king looking over land he had taken. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and wore a perfectly fitted obsidian black suit. His dark hair was slicked back, and his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw made his face look both handsome and dangerous. His lips didn't curve into warmth; they curved into command. His cold gray stormy eyes scanned the room with an air of ownership that made even the richest guests back off. He didn't need to be introduced. People in the city knew him as the youngest self-made billionaire. They were afraid of his ruthless takeovers and whispered about his ties to an underworld that few people would admit to. Ava's heart raced. Why here, of all the nights and all the places? Why now? She was so angry that her chest hurt. He was the reason her life had fallen apart and the reason she was now begging for money at this gala. She had promised herself that she would never ask him for anything. Never look him in the eye. But fate had other ideas. Damien's eyes found her, as if he could sense her anger. His eyes were locked on hers through the sea of sparkling gowns and tuxedos. His intense gaze held her in place. For a terrifying heartbeat, it seemed like he could see all of her secrets and weaknesses that she had tried to hide. His lips curved into a faint smile. Not warm. Not nice. Own. Ava's fingers tightened around the folder. She wanted to go. Instead, she stood her ground, chin up, and heart racing like a war drum.
"Miss Monroe?"
The voice scared her. She looked over and saw a waiter standing next to her with a silver tray perfectly balanced on one hand. His face was blank, but what he said made her blood run cold.
"Mr. Cortez wants you to come."
Her breath caught. Requests. No. Damien Cortez didn't ask. He told them to do it. She should say no. Every part of her body screamed for her to turn away. But her legs didn't listen to her and carried her forward, step by step, through the sea of curious eyes. Damien stood by the big stairs, alone but easily taking charge of the room. As she got closer, she felt his presence wrap around her like smoke dark, heavy, and strangely intoxicating.
"You've been staring,"
he said, his voice smooth, like a low velvet with steel in it.
"I guess you know who I am."
Ava's throat tightened. She wanted to tell him the truth and say that he had ruined her family. Instead, her voice was calm and even defiant.
"You ruined my father's business."
The smirk stayed the same.
"Miss Monroe, business isn't destruction. It's about staying alive. That isn't my fault if your father couldn't keep up."
Her nails dug into the leather of her folder.
"Then what do you want from me?"
He stopped being amused for the first time. His face became dark, sharp, and unreadable.
"Everything."
The one word hung between them like a knife. Ava's heart raced as anger and fear fought for control of her body. She opened her mouth to respond. The doors to the ballroom flew open. Two men dressed in black burst in, their faces hard and their eyes sharp. The crowd gasped and stepped back as the intruders pushed through. They put their hands in their jackets and stared at Damien. People with guns. The air was filled with screams. When the champagne flutes fell to the marble, the glass broke. The string quartet stopped playing in the middle of a note. Damien didn't move. His hand shot out and grabbed Ava's wrist with a grip that wouldn't let go.
"Stay behind me,"
he said in a cold, commanding voice. Ava's heart raced so fast that she thought her chest would break. She wanted to break free and run, but his hand held her in place. The first gunman pulled out his gun, a black pistol that shone in the light of the chandelier. People screamed and ran for the exits. Ava didn't understand what the second gunman said in Spanish, but Damien's narrowed eyes showed that he did. The man yelled,
"Damien Cortez!"
The clock slowed down. Ava saw the gun go up, saw Damien move to protect her, and felt her breath tear through her lungs in fear. And then the first shot rang out.