8. Liam
8
LIAM
A va thinks we need some grand, elaborate scheme to get into Vanessa's gala.
Me? I make a phone call.
Actually, three.
The first one is to James Langley, because as much as the guy irritates me, he owes me a favor. A few strings pulled, a few half-assed pleasantries exchanged, and suddenly, my name is on the guest list. Easy.
The second call is to Tyler—because even if this is just an "investigative mission", I'm not walking Ava into Vanessa Chase's world without backup on standby. Tyler doesn't ask too many questions, just mutters something about how I "owe him expensive whiskey" before hanging up.
The third call? That one's for Ava's peace of mind. A text to Dean, letting him know she's "safe", followed by a very intentional omission of what we're actually doing.
By the time I'm off the phone, Ava is pacing the length of her apartment, arms crossed, clearly still high on whatever reckless adrenaline rush got her to insist on this in the first place.
"Let me guess," she says, pausing mid-step. "You charmed your way in?"
I sink onto her couch. "Something like that."
Ava narrows her eyes. "And?"
"And…" I stretch out my legs, getting comfortable. "Now we wait."
She stops pacing, looking almost… disappointed. "That's it?"
"Sorry, sweetheart," I say lazily, "were you expecting an Ocean's Eleven -style heist?"
She scowls, muttering something about how I make everything too easy, but the way her shoulders soften gives her away. She wanted an invitation. Now she has one. And judging by the way she pointedly avoids looking too pleased, it's exactly what she was hoping for.
"So," I say, purely because I like annoying her, "you satisfied?"
Ava purses her lips, then exhales, flopping onto the couch beside me. "For now."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "Knew that was coming."
She throws a pillow at me. I catch it easily, tossing it onto the coffee table.
The conversation fades into a quiet that lingers, not heavy, not quite light. Ava leans her head back against the couch, eyes tracing the faint patterns in the ceiling, lost in thought.
I think about telling her to get some rest. The gala is still two weeks away, and there's time for everything else later.
But I stay.
I watch as her breathing evens out, as the tension in her frame unwinds, slow and unhurried. For the first time tonight, exhaustion slips through the cracks, softening the sharp edges she's been holding up. And I wish, more than anything, that I could take even a fraction of it from her.
So I do the only thing I can.
I reach for the throw blanket draped over the armrest and settle it over her lap. She doesn't open her eyes, but her lips quirk slightly.
"I don't need you to tuck me in, Carter."
"Yeah, yeah." I grin, but I don't move the blanket. "Get some sleep, Bennett."
I don't know if she hears me, but a few minutes later, her breathing evens out.
I sit there a little while longer, watching the rise and fall of her chest, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside.
And then, eventually, I let myself go home.
* * *
Two weeks later, and at the very second we step into Vanessa's gala, I regret everything.
Not just agreeing to this. Not just walking Ava into this mess. But every single decision that led to my standing in this room, playing this game, standing next to her and pretending I'm not completely aware of how dangerous this is.
Because Ava?
She's a fucking vision.
She stepped out of her apartment in a red dress that might actually be the end of me. Sleek, fitted, with barely-there straps and an open back that reveals way too much smooth skin. Her hair is swept to one side, lips painted some shade of red that I will absolutely be thinking about for the rest of my life.
It takes everything in me not to stare.
Or worse, touch.
Because my hand is already resting at the small of her back, the press of her warm skin beneath my fingertips serving as both an anchor and a problem.
Ava shifts beside me, her head tilting slightly as she surveys the crowd. "You're tense."
I force myself to smile politely. "And you're enjoying this way too much."
"Obviously." She turns, her green eyes flicking up to mine, teasing. "You're not nervous, are you?"
I scoff. "For what? The overpriced art or the overpriced cocktails?"
"Neither," she says, voice softer now. "Her."
I suppress a sigh and glance around the room, taking in the carefully curated luxury—the glittering chandeliers, the murmured conversations, the quiet clinking of champagne flutes. Every guest here looks like they walked straight out of a Forbes spread, dripping in wealth and power. And Vanessa?
She's nowhere in sight. I exhale, leaning in just enough that my lips brush Ava's ear. "I told you. I can handle her."
Ava's breath catches for half a second. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but I do.
Before I can pull back, her fingers brush against mine. "Then let's get to work."
And just like that, she straightens, slides her hand through my arm, and steps further into the gala like she owns the place.
Unfortunately, it takes Vanessa exactly five minutes to find us.
She appears like she always does—seamless, effortless, as if she were waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Dressed in ivory silk, her blonde hair sleek and straight, she looks every bit the part of the woman I used to know.
The woman I should have known better than to trust.
A slow, knowing smile stretches across her lips as she glides toward us, her gaze locking onto mine before flicking to Ava.
"Well, well," Vanessa purrs, saccharine sweet. "This is a surprise."
Trouble.
Ava shifts beside me, posture perfectly poised, her expression unreadable. I maintain my hand on the small of her back, solid and steady, just in case Vanessa decides to dig her claws in right away.
"Vanessa," I say, my tone just neutral enough to be polite.
Her eyes move between us, lingering on where my hand rests against Ava's bare skin. "It's been a while, Liam."
Not long enough.
I don't say that, of course. I just tip my head slightly. "It has."
She lets out a quiet chuckle, amusement flickering in her eyes. Then her gaze lands fully on Ava, sharp and knowing, her lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile. "And you must be Ava Bennett."
Ava doesn't flinch or hesitate. She meets Vanessa's gaze with the kind of confidence that makes me hold my breath. "I am."
Vanessa looks at Ava like she's examining a poodle and shakes her head slightly. "Wow. You are young, aren't you?"
Ava's smile doesn't waver. "And you are… not."
My lips twitch, but I bite back the laugh.
Vanessa arches a brow, clearly caught off guard. "Hmm." She sips her champagne, then turns to me, voice dripping with condescension. "Slumming it with a Bennett now, Liam?"
Ava stiffens beside me, but her expression remains admirably composed.
I lean in, deciding now is the time to come to her aid. "Careful, Vanessa," I murmur, keeping my voice low. "Your insecurities are showing."
Her eyes flash, but before she can respond, someone calls her name from across the room.
She lets out a slow breath, schooling her features back into effortless nonchalance. "Excuse me for a moment," she says, flashing Ava a tight smile.
I don't trust it.
I watch as Vanessa steps away, heels clicking against the marble floor, before exhaling quietly. "You good?" I ask Ava, keeping my voice low.
She tilts her head, her green eyes glinting with something unreadable. "She's exactly how I imagined."
I huff a quiet laugh. "That bad?"
"Worse."
Before I can respond, someone taps my shoulder.
It's James Langley.
Perfect timing.
"Carter," he says, grinning like a man who's had one too many scotches. "Didn't think I'd see you here."
I glance at Ava, reluctant to step away, but she gives me a small nod. "I'll be fine," she murmurs.
I hesitate for half a second before turning to Langley. "Let's make this quick."
Keeping Ava in my periphery the entire time, I allow Langley to steer me toward the gallery's side hall, away from the main crowd but still within sight of the party. The walls are lined with oversized abstract paintings—dramatic smears of color that look expensive without saying anything at all. Fitting.
I shove my hands in my pockets, already impatient. "You wanted a word?"
Langley's grin stretches, all confidence and easy arrogance, like he's already counted this as a victory. "No need to sound so thrilled, Carter."
I arch a brow. "I'm at Vanessa Chase's gala. Thrilled left the building an hour ago."
He chuckles, but his eyes stay sharp. "Fair enough." Then he leans in, his voice growing unbearably unctuous. "I'm looking for an investor."
Oh, dear God . "Not interested."
Langley waves a hand, undeterred. "Come on, hear me out. I've got a development project in the works. Prime location. Commercial space, luxury condos—big return potential."
I shift my weight, studying him with measured interest. "If it's so promising, why are you looking for outside capital?"
His lips curve, like he was waiting for that. "Smart man. Let's just say I'm looking for the right kind of investor. Someone with deep pockets and" —his gaze flickers toward the gala, toward Vanessa— "a personal incentive to see certain people lose."
I go still.
"Vanessa?" I ask dryly.
Langley grins again, slow and knowing. "She's been sniffing around the same properties. If I close first, she loses. If you back me, she really loses."
I take a measured breath, letting silence stretch between us. This is what I hate about Langley—he's always trying to play the game like he's three steps ahead, but he underestimates how much I despise being dragged into someone else's vendetta.
His gaze searches mine. "I know your history with her, Carter. Thought you might want in."
I roll my shoulders back, casual. Knowing people like Langley and how easily he spills gossip, it's best to appear unbothered. "You thought wrong."
Langley sighs, shaking his head like I'm disappointing him. "Look, I get it. You're keeping things civil. But she hasn't changed, and you know it." He shrugs, too nonchalant to be genuine. "I'm just giving you an opportunity to get ahead of her before she screws you over again."
I glance toward the main room, toward the sea of expensive dresses and sharp suits. Somewhere in there, Vanessa is circling Ava like a shark, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Langley doesn't miss it. "See?" he murmurs. "She still gets under your skin."
My response is a long, slow exhale. "You done?"
He watches me for a second before chuckling. "For now." Then he claps me on the shoulder like we're old friends. "Think about it."
I don't respond. I just turn on my heel, already done with this conversation, and make my way back toward the main hall.
And the second I step through the crowd, my instincts spike—because Vanessa is no longer across the room where I left her.
And neither is Ava.
Dread tightens in my chest.
Shit.
Even though I pick up pace, Vanessa is quicker. One second, Ava's idly scanning the artwork and the next, Vanessa is right there, sleek and smiling and entirely too close. I could intervene immediately, but Ava would detest that, would believe I'm trying to protect Vanessa from her. The absurdity of it isn't lost on me.
Perhaps the answer is in letting her see for herself. She's close enough that I can listen.
"You don't belong here." Vanessa's voice carries, voice smooth and quiet.
Ava, as always, has the perfect response. "Neither do you. But we all make do."
Vanessa tsks, her patience clearly thinning. "Listen to me, little girl?—"
"Oh, good. Pet names. This should be fun."
Vanessa ignores the comment. "You're a distraction," she murmurs. "A temporary one."
Ava crosses her arms, utterly unimpressed. "That so?"
Vanessa narrows her eyes at Ava. "You don't know Liam like I do."
Something in Ava's expression shifts—subtle, but I see it. I feel it.
Vanessa does too. She leans in just a little closer. "Stay out of my way."
Ava lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You know, for someone who claims I don't matter, you're awfully invested." She takes a slow sip of her champagne. "Here's the thing," she says, speaking calmly. For someone who doesn't know her, it'd be easy to think she's unfazed. "I don't scare easily."
Vanessa studies her for a beat, then frowns. But I know her well enough to see the frustration lurking beneath the facade.
That's my cue.
I step forward, smoothly inserting myself between them. "Am I interrupting something?"
Vanessa's smile returns instantly, her mask slipping back into place. "Not at all," she says, tilting her head. "Just getting to know your… date."
Ava rolls her eyes.
I glance between them before fixing Vanessa with a bored look. "Then I'm sure you two have had plenty of fun. We'll be on our way."
Vanessa hums indulgently. "Before you go…" She takes a slow sip of champagne, then tilts her head, her gaze flicking between Ava and me. "Does she know what you're hiding yet?"
Silence.
Ava stiffens beside me.
I bite back the urge to tell Vanessa to rot in hell, though the thought is damn near poetic. "Not tonight, Vanessa."
She smiles, all teeth. "You can't keep it buried forever, Liam."
Instead of responding, I place a steady hand on Ava's back and guide her away. I don't say a word, don't glance back, don't let the knots in my shoulders ease until Vanessa is completely out of sight.
Ava doesn't say anything either.
Not until we're out on the balcony, the cool night air pressing against our skin.
Then, finally, she turns to me. "What was that about?"
I drag in a slow breath, fingers raking absently through my hair. "Ignore her. She's playing games."
Ava shifts her weight, arms folding tight against her chest, her eyes cutting right through me. "Yeah? Then why did you look guilty?"
How do I tell her that she's much, much better off not knowing? That people like Vanessa Chase don't play around for fun? "Let it go, Bennett."
She angles her head, considering. "No."
"Should've guessed." I meet her stare head-on, something tightening in my chest, my pulse kicking just a little faster.
Because the truth is… I'm hiding plenty.
Ava watches me from across the balcony, her gaze unwavering, threaded with expectation. She's waiting for an answer I can't give.
I tip my head back, drawing in a slow breath, letting the crisp night air settle against my skin. Beyond her, the city stretches wide and glittering, the skyline blurred at the edges, softened by the distant glow of streetlights. Inside, the gala gleams—gold chandeliers, crystal reflections, a world built on polish and performance. Out here, the night feels looser, untamed, the kind of quiet that pries things open.
Ava watches me closely, arms crossed, posture taut with barely restrained frustration. "Well?"
I could lie.
It would be easy. A few well-placed words, a smirk, a casual deflection—she'd roll her eyes and mutter about how impossible I am, and we'd move on.
But the problem is, I don't want to lie to her.
I erase every flicker of emotion, relaxing my jaw, easing the tightness from my brow, letting my lips settle into an even, unaffected line. Then, without hurry, I shift my gaze toward the entrance. "We should go."
Ava's lips press together. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, the way she's weighing whether or not to push this.
She doesn't. Instead, she scowls and brushes past me, heading back inside without another word.
With a resigned sigh, I follow.
We move through the gallery like our conversation wasn't a minefield, like Vanessa's words aren't still clinging to the air between us. Ava walks ahead, heels clicking against the marble, shoulders set, her expression smooth, controlled.
Relief doesn't come.
I know this silence, the way she holds herself too carefully, the way she doesn't look at me. She's turning things over in her head, waiting for the right moment to strike. And when she does, it won't be gentle.
And I have no doubt that when she finally asks again, it won't be a question—it'll be a demand.
The car ride stretches in silence—not easy, not strained, just something suspended in the air between us, waiting to tip.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other tapping a slow, restless rhythm against my thigh. Ava gazes out the window, her reflection flickering against the glass as the streetlights paint her face in shifting streaks of gold and shadow. She hasn't said a word since we left.
Somehow, it feels heavier than arguing.
We stop at a red light, the glow washing over us, and she finally breaks the silence. "What aren't you telling me?"
I grip the wheel a little tighter.
There it is.
I keep my eyes forward, watching as the light flits from red to green. "Ava?—"
"Don't," she says, voice flat. "Don't dismiss me."
I sigh, pressing my foot against the gas pedal, rolling us forward. "It's not that simple."
"It never is with you, is it?"
I chance a glance toward her, but she's still staring out the window, her fingers curled against the fabric of her dress like she's holding herself back from shaking the answer out of me.
When I don't respond, she turns to face me fully. "Liam."
The way she says my name—soft, unwavering, threaded with quiet defiance—unsettles me in a way I don't have the energy to unpack.
I keep my hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, but the weight of her question lingers. I could keep driving, pretend I didn't hear her, offer some dismissive excuse. It would be easier.
But Vanessa's voice is still in my head, her words curling through the cracks, leaving behind a slow-burning ache I can't seem to smother.
Does she know what you're hiding yet?
Ava shakes her head. "You keep saying you're protecting me, but from what? Her?" She gives an indignant little grunt. "She's manipulative, sure, but she's not some criminal mastermind."
I let out a low, humorless laugh. "You'd be surprised."
Ava stills.
Her voice drops slightly. "What did she do to you, Liam?"
I grip the wheel harder. "Can we please talk about anything else?"
"No."
Of course she won’t.
I turn onto a quieter street, where the glow of the streetlights is softer, the world outside hushed and empty. The car slows to a stop against the curb, the engine's gentle hum the only sound between us.
Ava watches me, fingers curling tighter around the seatbelt, her breath barely shifting the silence.
I let out a slow exhale, steadying myself before meeting her gaze. There's a part of me that wants to give her everything—to lay the truth bare, to let her see the weight of it and decide for herself whether she still wants to stand beside me.
But the other part—the one that always wins—knows that the second I do, she's gone.
Because Vanessa didn't just leave.
She didn't just break my heart. She tried to ruin me.
And if she thinks for a second that Ava is in the way of something she still believes is hers…
Ava's eyes search mine. "Liam."
I reach up, rubbing the back of my neck, then sigh, voice rough. "She's not the kind of person you cross without consequences."
Ava studies me, her expression softer now, more thoughtful. "And you think she's coming after me because of you?"
The slight parting of her lips, the barely-there widening of her eyes… She already knows. There's no need to say it. The truth has settled between us, unspoken but understood.
She leans back, her head resting against the seat, gaze flickering toward the windshield as the silence thickens, stretching long and heavy. The air between us shifts, not quite tense, but filled with the weight of what isn't being said.
Then, finally, she exhales, turning back to me, green eyes steady, lined with quiet anger. "I can handle her."
A dry, almost bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. "That's what I thought once."
Ava doesn't flinch, doesn't look away. "And what happened?"
The truth is, Vanessa didn't just leave a scar. She left a blueprint. One she could use to burn my life down again.
One I refuse to let touch Ava.
Her voice is softer when she speaks again. "Liam… I need to know."
I look at her.
Really look at her.
And I realize, in that moment, that I'm completely screwed.
Because she's not going to let this go.