Ava adjusted her uniform in front of the mirror, the starched fabric feeling stiffer than usual against her skin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though she'd done her best to conceal them with powder and a practiced smile. But no amount of makeup could mask the dull ache in her chest. The conversation from the night before played on repeat in her head like a cruel lullaby.
"I was drunk," Mario had said, voice devoid of regret, as if that pitiful excuse could erase the image of her sister's trembling hands clutching a positive pregnancy test.
She shoved the memory aside, grabbed her purse, and headed out. The hotel lobby was already bustling. She worked at one of the city's most luxurious establishments, a place so grand that people like her rarely made it past the glass doors unless they were cleaning behind them.
Yet here she was, a married woman abandoned by her own family, standing among millionaires and dignitaries who wouldn't spare her a glance.
Ava forced a tight smile as she made her way to the staff lounge.
"Ava," Grace, the receptionist, waved her over. "You're on the executive floor tonight. Special event."
Ava's stomach flipped. The executive floor meant high-profile guests. It meant she couldn't afford a single mistake. She nodded, accepting the assignment, though she already felt the walls closing in.
Later that evening, the golden elevators whisked her to the top floor. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, and the scent of expensive cologne and aged whiskey lingered in the air. Waiters moved like clockwork, delivering glasses of champagne to suited men and bejeweled women.
It was there — amidst the hum of quiet conversations and clinking glasses — that Ava felt it. The weight of a gaze, heavy and unyielding.
She turned.
Across the room stood a man, tall and devastatingly handsome, in a dark tailored suit that clung to his broad shoulders like it was made for him. His features were sharp, aristocratic, the kind of face you didn't forget. Yet for some reason, Ava couldn't place him.
Their eyes locked. She couldn't only remember meeting him yesterday but from afar.
Ava quickly averted her gaze, pretending to busy herself with a tray of untouched canapés. But the sensation of being watched didn't leave. It clung to her skin like a second shadow.
"What is he doing here again today?" she murmured to herself.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Yet every time she entered the ballroom, she felt his gaze. Constant. Relentless. Like a storm cloud poised to strike.
It wasn't until she retreated to the staff corridor for a moment of peace that it happened.
"Leaving so soon?"
The voice was smooth, low, with a command behind every syllable. Ava's heart leapt into her throat. She turned and found herself face to face with him.
Damian Lancaster.
He was even more striking up close. Eyes the color of smoldering ash, lips set in a line of quiet authority. He didn't smile, yet there was something almost gentle in the way he regarded her.
"I—I was just," Ava stammered, clutching the serving tray like a shield.
His gaze dipped to her name tag. "Ava."
The way he said her name made her stomach flutter.
"I need someone to deliver a drink to my suite," he said, though it didn't sound like a request.
Ava's throat dried. "Of course, sir. Right away."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
"I'll be expecting you. Alone."
She swallowed hard and nodded.
The other staff whispered as she returned to the kitchen to fetch the drink. No one was ever called to Damian Lancaster's suite. He was infamous for his privacy, his cold demeanor, and his relentless control over those around him.
Carrying the glass of scotch, Ava took the private elevator to the penthouse. Her pulse raced as she stepped into the silent corridor. The suite door opened before she could knock.
He was waiting.
"Come in."
Ava stepped inside. The room was a palace. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city skyline, glittering like scattered diamonds. But it wasn't the view that held her attention.
It was him.
He motioned for her to set the drink down. She did, hands trembling slightly.
"I don't usually do this," Damian began, leaning against the window, scotch in hand.
"But there's something… familiar about you."
Ava's brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't—"
"You wouldn't remember," he interrupted softly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "It's been a long time."
Her heart pounded. A stranger speaking in riddles, his stare unsettling yet magnetic.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the faint scar on his jaw. "I'm going to make you an offer, Ava. One you won't refuse."
She opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat.
"I have my reasons," he said. "And soon enough, you'll understand why."
The air between them crackled with unspoken tension.
Ava backed toward the door. "I should get back to work."
"Not tonight," he said quietly. "Not after this."
She fled the room, pulse racing, though a part of her didn't want to leave. She'd never met anyone like him — a man so powerful he bent reality to his will.
What did he want from her? And why did his face feel so hauntingly familiar?
As the elevator doors closed behind her, Ava didn't know that her entire world had just begun to unravel.
And Damian Lancaster had no intention of letting her go.