14. Ava
14
AVA
T here are a lot of things I could say about Willow Creek's elite, but one thing is undeniable—they know how to throw a party.
The North Hill Charity Gala is the pinnacle of the social calendar, an event dripping in old money and new ambition, where champagne flows as easily as carefully curated gossip. The grand ballroom of the Sterling Hotel is awash in gold and ivory, chandeliers glittering overhead like something out of a Gatsby fever dream. Waiters in crisp black and white weave through the crowd, silver trays balancing flutes of Dom Pérignon and delicate amuse-bouchées that cost more than my rent.
It's all opulence, all excess, and up until this point, exactly the kind of place I expected Liam Carter to thrive in.
And tonight, I'm supposed to thrive right alongside him.
I smooth my hands down my dress, a sleek, floor-length number in deep emerald satin, the kind that hugs just enough curves to be interesting but leaves plenty to the imagination. Classic but bold. The kind of dress that says I belong here, even if I still feel like an imposter in these circles. My hair is styled in loose waves over one shoulder, a statement diamond cuff borrowed from Ryan glinting on my wrist.
The finishing touch is Liam Carter on my arm.
He's the definition of effortless charm in a tailored tux, all broad shoulders and crisp lines, the ink of his tattoos just barely visible beneath his cufflinks. And because Liam can never resist a power move, he's foregone a traditional tie, opting instead to leave the first two buttons of his shirt open—just enough to be infuriatingly attractive.
He catches me looking sideways at him and smirks. Because of course he does.
"Nervous, Bennett?"
I roll my eyes, feigning nonchalance as I take the champagne flute from the tray passing by. "Not even remotely."
His smirk deepens. "Good." He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. "Then try to look like you're having fun."
My pulse skips, but I force myself to keep my expression neutral. We're in public, playing a role. The last thing I need is my body betraying me over the way his voice dips just low enough to make my skin tingle.
So I do what I do best. I fake it.
I flash a practiced smile, looping my arm through his as we step deeper into the ballroom. "Oh, I'm having the best time, Carter. Can't you tell?"
His chuckle is low, indulgent. "Much better."
And then—just as I take another sip of champagne—I see Vanessa Chase, standing across the room, radiant in ice-blue silk, her blonde hair as sleek and sharp as the smile curving her lips. She's engaged in effortless conversation with a man who looks like he probably owns half the city, one delicate hand resting on his arm, her entire demeanor the picture of confidence and control.
And then—just to twist the knife—she glances my way.
Our eyes meet, and she smirks.
I swallow the very tempting urge to launch my champagne at the nearest wall—because that's exactly what she wants. And I refuse to give her the satisfaction of watching me commit a very expensive tantrum.
Instead, I down the whole thing in one go. A waste, really, because it's damn good champagne—sharp, sweet, with just the right bite of citrus. I set the empty glass down with the dignity of someone who absolutely did not just chug a drink meant for slow, elegant sips.
By the time the bubbles work their fizzy little magic, I feel invincible. Untouchable. Like no one—not even her—can ruin my day.
"Liam." My voice is light, almost bored. "Vanessa's here."
He tenses beside me. "Tell me something I don't know."
I turn to him, raising a brow. "Does this mean we're closer to finding out who sent the messages?"
He exhales, scanning the crowd. "I wouldn't want to jump to any conclusions."
I tilt my head, feigning sweetness. "That's adorable. Truly." Then, before he can stop me, I disentangle my arm from his. "I'll be right back."
"Ava." His warning is quiet, but firm.
I ignore it and instead, cross the ballroom, each step languid, each flicker of silk against my skin a reminder of the armor I've chosen tonight. Vanessa Chase might be a queen in this world, but I refuse to bow.
She sees me coming. Of course she does.
She waits until I'm close enough, then tilts her head, her smirk dripping with amusement. "Ava."
"Vanessa."
She takes a slow sip of her champagne, eyes flicking over my dress, my jewelry, my presence at this event.
I smile. Let her look. Let her see.
She exhales, setting her glass down on a passing tray. "I was wondering how long it would take you to wander over."
I arch a brow. "Wander? Sweetheart, I marched."
A low laugh rises in her throat, but there's no real humor in it. "Oh, I like you."
"Likewise." I tilt my head, expression even. "But let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? You didn't come here for the charity auction."
Vanessa feigns thoughtfulness. "No, I suppose I didn't."
"Then let's stop pretending."
For a beat, Vanessa falls silent, like she's searching for the proper words to wound. Then, with a perfectly poised smile, she says, "How much do you actually know about him?"
The question lands with surgical precision, rattling me. I dig my nails into my palms. "Enough."
Her smile widens, wicked and knowing. "Do you?" She leans in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to be intimate. "Because let me tell you something, Ava. You think you're special, don't you?"
Dread fills me, but I hold my ground.
"You think you're different. That what you have with Liam is somehow real." She exhales, almost like she pities me. "But the thing about Liam Carter?" She gives a small, elegant shrug. "He'll always choose himself first."
The words are designed to sink into my skin, to plant doubt like a poison.
"God, Vanessa, you really don't know when to quit, do you?" I shake my head, forcing amusement to curl in my voice. "You're trying so hard to make me insecure, and honestly? It's kind of sad."
Her eyes darken, but her smile stays firmly in place. "You really should take my advice about being careful, Ava."
My response is to flash my kindest smile at her while keeping my voice as sweet as honey. "And you should stop underestimating me."
Vanessa holds my gaze for a beat longer, and then—for the first time—she hesitates.
It's quick. Barely noticeable.
A waiter passes, and I pluck another glass of champagne from the tray, raising it in mock salute. "Enjoy the party."
Then, without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and walk away.
And if my heart is hammering just a little too hard against my ribs?
Well. She doesn't need to know that.
I make my way toward the refreshment table, weaving through clusters of guests who smell like wealth and ambition, their designer perfume mingling with the aroma of buttered hors d'oeuvres and truffle canapés.
The food, at least, is divine.
I pluck a mini beef Wellington from a silver tray and pop it into my mouth, savoring the perfect balance of flaky pastry, tender meat, and a hint of rich red wine sauce. A waiter passes with another tray—fig and goat cheese crostini drizzled with honey—and I don't hesitate to grab one. If I'm going to survive an evening full of elaborately hidden threats and ex-girlfriend dramatics, I'm at least going to do it on a full stomach.
Just as I finish my second bite, a familiar voice purrs from behind me.
"Ava Bennett, mingling with the one percent? Be still my heart."
I turn to find Marina Worthington, socialite, heiress, and a high-end scandal waiting to happen. She's draped in a ruby-red gown, her signature diamonds glinting at her throat, and her expression is the perfect balance of mischief and thinly veiled amusement.
"Oh, you know me, Marina," I say airily, dabbing my mouth with a linen napkin. "I thrive in morally gray spaces."
She grins, taking a sip of her champagne. "Clearly. I've already had three people ask me if you and Liam are serious-serious or just for fun—and one of them was my mother."
I roll my eyes. "Tell your mother I'll send her a full relationship report in the morning."
Marina lets out a low laugh, tilting her head. "Oh, I don't need convincing, darling. But the old money crowd? They like their romances with a little less scandal."
"And you like them with a little more."
She chuckles heartily. "Guilty."
A breeze of movement in my periphery catches my attention. I glance toward the entrance of the ballroom, my stomach tightening when I see Liam cutting through the crowd, his expression unreadable, his tux crisp and effortless, his presence unmistakably sharp.
Marina follows my gaze, her lips curving like she already knows where my thoughts are going. "Speak of the devil."
"Please," I mutter, eyes still locked on Liam. "The devil wishes he had that jawline."
She chokes on a laugh just as Liam reaches me, his hand light but possessive against the small of my back.
He leans in, his voice low and meant only for me.
"Something's wrong."
The easy buzz of champagne and gossip evaporates in an instant. "What do you mean?"
His gaze flickers over my shoulder, scanning the room. "I think we've been set up."
My spine stiffens. Marina, sensing the shift in energy, raises a brow but wisely steps back, excusing herself with a murmured, "Don't get kidnapped, darling."
I turn to Liam, keeping my expression neutral as I take another slow sip of champagne. "Tell me."
His hand presses slightly firmer against my back, a silent stay close .