Ava Monroe never liked being followed.
She walked briskly down Fifth Avenue, clutching her coat tighter around her as the night wind bit at her skin. The streets glowed with neon and car headlights, but it wasn't enough to calm the prickling at the back of her neck. The sensation had been with her all evening—like invisible eyes watching every step.
At first, she told herself it was paranoia. The shock of Damian's so-called death, the unsettling discovery in his vault… her nerves were fried. But when she caught sight of the same black SUV crawling behind her for the third time, denial was no longer an option.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, half-expecting another blocked call, but the screen showed LOW BATTERY. Her throat tightened. Damian's warning echoed in her mind: They're here for you.
Ava turned abruptly into a side street, boots clicking against the wet pavement. The SUV didn't follow. Relief fluttered in her chest—until a shadow peeled itself away from a doorway ahead.
A man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His face hidden under a cap.
Her heart slammed into her ribs. She spun on her heel, nearly colliding with another man who had appeared behind her, his hand already reaching for her arm.
"Miss Monroe," he said smoothly, his grip like iron. "You'll want to come with us."
Every instinct screamed no. She twisted, shoving her elbow hard into his ribs, and bolted down the alley. Her heels slipped on the slick pavement, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.
"Get her!" a voice barked.
Footsteps thundered behind her.
Ava's chest burned as she darted into another street, weaving between trash bins and fire escapes. She spotted a small crowd near a late-night diner up ahead. Safety. If she could just reach them—
An arm shot out from the shadows, yanking her into a side alley. She gasped, ready to scream—when a familiar hand clamped gently but firmly over her mouth.
Her eyes flew wide.
Damian.
His hood shadowed his face, but she knew those eyes anywhere—sharp, controlled, burning with an intensity that made her knees weak.
"Quiet," he whispered. "They'll kill you if they find you."
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she clung to him. For days she had thought he was gone, reduced to smoke and memory. And now here he was—alive, solid, more dangerous than she had ever imagined.
"What is happening?" she hissed against his hand, her voice trembling. "Why are they after me?"
Damian scanned the alley, releasing her only when the footsteps faded into the night. "Because of me. Everything you saw in that vault—those men, that file—it wasn't paranoia. It was protection. You've been marked by The Syndicate, Ava. They think you're leverage."
"Leverage for what?"
His gaze darkened, unreadable. "For the secrets I've spent years keeping from them. Secrets worth more than every dollar in my empire."
Her stomach knotted. This wasn't the man she thought she knew. This wasn't just her boss—the billionaire who gave curt orders and vanished into private jets. This was someone else entirely, someone who lived in the shadows.
Before she could press him further, Damian caught her hand. "We don't have time. If they saw you leave the tower, they'll try again. We have to disappear—now."
His grip was strong, unyielding, pulling her deeper into the maze of alleys. Ava stumbled to keep pace, her mind spinning. Questions burned on her tongue, but for the first time in her life, she understood something about Damian Cross.
The man was a liar. A manipulator. A ghost.
And yet, as the danger closed in, Ava felt the strangest, most dangerous thing of all.
She felt safe with him.