Ava stared at the white ocean-drip mini dress clinging to her frame, her gaze locked on the mirror as if searching for something—courage, maybe, or a sliver of herself she could still recognize.
Liam had picked the dress, or rather, his stylist had.
A calculated choice, meant to attract the kind of attention she needed for the first phase of her mission. A bar rendezvous. A recon mission.
She tilted her head to the side, letting her box braids cascade like a dark waterfall, exposing the smooth caramel skin of her back—bare, vulnerable, powerful. The dress was backless. The moment felt final, like the closing of one chapter and the reluctant beginning of another.
Clutching a tiny purse in one hand, Ava drew in a deep breath and held it for a second longer than needed.
She was about to see a man she hadn't laid eyes on in years. Years. A man she had sworn she'd never face again. And yet, here she was—pushed by fate or dragged by necessity.
She stepped out of the hotel room that had been booked under an alias and slid into the car waiting to take her to the bar—the same bar where Ethan was expected to be.
Her heart thudded once, then again, louder.
When the car pulled up, she stepped out with practiced grace, her heels clicking against the polished floor of the upscale venue.
She made her way toward the VIP reception lounge, cutting through the main hall like she owned the air around her, though her mind swirled with doubt.
How exactly was she supposed to convince Ethan that she belonged in his life again—this time as a stranger?
And then—like the universe was cueing her entrance—a brush of skin. Subtle. Unintentional. Electric.
"Hi. Ethan Torres. The lounge reservation," said a voice she could never forget—deep, velvety, and just as commanding as she remembered.
Ava's breath caught in her throat.
That voice had haunted her in dreams. And now, it was real. He was real.
She turned slowly, heart pounding like war drums, only to see him standing there… with another woman by his side. The woman didn't seem invested—eyes glued to her phone—but Ava still felt the sting.
Ethan's gaze drifted casually, but when it landed on her, Ava quickly turned away, feigning interest in the hostess. She could feel his eyes linger.
"Thank you," she murmured as the hostess waved her in. She started to walk off—but then she heard it.
"You're new here, aren't you?" Ethan's tone was neutral, but it knocked the breath out of her.
She looked back at him, caught off guard. For a heartbeat, their eyes met. His hazel gaze was calm, unreadable.
He didn't recognize her. Of course, he didn't. It had been years, and she was no longer the girl he once knew.
"Well—" she started, but the woman beside him cut in.
"Baby, are we just going to stand here? I have things to do," she snapped, her voice sharp like a blade.
Ethan turned his head toward her with mild irritation, and Ava took that as her cue.
"Yeah," she muttered, stepping aside, not wanting to linger.
That brief exchange rattled her more than she wanted to admit. She hadn't prepared for this—the confusion, the ache, the flicker of something that hadn't fully died.
She rubbed her arm absently, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into. Hadn't that chapter closed?
Inside the lounge, she found her assigned seat, but the glitz of the space did little to calm her.
Liam had promised this was the key to getting close to Ethan again, but it all felt… off. Distant. Like she didn't belong.
The beat of the music eventually lured her toward the dance floor.
If nothing else, it was a distraction. A way to blend in. She began to sway with the rhythm, losing herself just enough—until a rough hand gripped her wrist and yanked her forward.
A man, clearly drunk and desperate, slung an arm around her, leaning in with the sour stench of alcohol on his breath.
"Let go," Ava said firmly, trying to pull away, but he was stronger—and persistent.
"Come on, babe, don't play hard to get—"
"I said let me go!"
And then suddenly, he did.
Because someone had shoved him off.
Ethan.
Her heart stopped.
She barely had time to process what had happened before she found herself face-to-face with him again, his expression tense, eyes sharp with concern.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice lower now, less casual.
Ava opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat.
She blinked, lashes fluttering, the music suddenly a distant hum. The moment hung in the air like a breath neither of them could exhale.
Ava didn't even register the moment Ethan took her aside, gently guiding her through the crowd until she found herself seated at the bar counter. Her heart was still pounding from the earlier confrontation, her breath uneven.
"Here. Take this," Ethan said, slipping his jacket off and draping it around her shoulders.
It was warm, laced with the faint scent of him—woodsy cologne and something else she couldn't name.
She clutched the jacket around her body, covering the bare skin the dress left exposed.
"Thank you," she managed, the words barely above a whisper.
"Yeah… I just—I really hate it when guys don't know how to respect boundaries," Ethan replied, his voice low but sincere. "If there's anything I can do—"
He didn't get to finish.
The sharp click of heels and the unmistakable voice of his fiancée cut through the air like a dagger.
"Seriously? This is what you're doing now? Cheating on me with her?" Grace's voice dripped with fury. "Oh, now it all makes sense. That look you gave her in the lobby—this was planned."
Ethan stood, clearly caught off guard. "Grace—no, it's not what you think—"
"Oh please," she spat. "It's never what we think, is it? That's your favorite line."
"Hey," Ava interjected, trying to deescalate, "he's telling the truth—"
But before she could finish, Grace raised a hand toward her, stopping her cold.
"I'm speaking to my man," she snapped, eyes blazing.
"Grace, that's enough," Ethan warned, his voice low with frustration.
"Enough?" she repeated with a bitter laugh. "You know what—fine."
In one sudden, swift motion, she grabbed a drink from the counter and hurled its contents at Ethan, soaking his shirt.
Gasps echoed around the lounge. Ava froze.
Grace turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving silence and the lingering scent of alcohol in her wake.
Ethan muttered a curse under his breath and ran after her, shouting her name.
Ava sat there in shock, staring at the empty space he left behind. People were still whispering, casting glances her way.
She turned back to the bar and ordered the strongest drink they had.
Moments later, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—Liam.
I hope our first trick worked. The guy who tried to assault you was part of the setup. You handled it well.
The message came from Liam's secretary, no doubt. Cold. Efficient.
Her stomach twisted.
She felt sick—not from the alcohol, not from the drama—but from the realization of how far Liam was willing to go to manipulate everything… and how she was willingly playing along for the payout.
This is all for the money, she reminded herself.
And yet, as the night bled into shadows and noise, Ava found herself slipping into a haze. Drink after drink dulled her conscience, quieted the ache, blurred the lines between who she was and who she was pretending to be.
Eventually, she stood to leave, unsteady but composed.
Her eyes scanned the exit—and there he was.
Ethan.
Standing alone near the parking lot, arguing with Grace over. She watched as the woman stormed off once more, her voice rising before disappearing entirely.
Ethan was left alone, his figure silhouetted under the parking lot lights. Vulnerable.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Ava followed. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement until she was behind him.
Without thinking, without questioning, she reached for his arm—he turned slightly confused.
And then she kissed him.
Bold, reckless, and deep.
For a heartbeat, he responded. His hands gripped her waist, his mouth meeting hers with all of his emotions. But then he hesitated. He pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, eyes wide.
"You?" he said, recognition finally crashing into him like a wave.