18. Ava
18
AVA
T yler is an absolute menace in the kitchen.
The second Liam agrees to my plan—albeit reluctantly, judging by the murderous scowl still lingering on his face—Tyler declares that no one is plotting on an empty stomach. Then he promptly hijacks Liam's pristine, probably never-used kitchen and proceeds to cook like a man possessed.
The man moves fast. Ingredients appear out of nowhere. Pots clang. Spices are flung with reckless abandon. Liam's sleek, all-black cookware set, which I suspect is more of a design choice than a practical one, looks downright scandalized by the enthusiastic abuse.
"What even is this?" Liam mutters, watching in thinly veiled horror as Tyler cracks eggs one-handed over a sizzling pan, flipping pancakes with a skill that should be illegal.
"Breakfast," Tyler replies breezily, tossing a handful of fresh herbs into something that already smells too good to be legal. "You know, the most important meal of the day? Or do billionaires subsist solely on black coffee and tax loopholes?"
Liam glares. "I eat."
Tyler snorts. "Sure. When's the last time you voluntarily cooked?"
Liam doesn't answer. Which, really, says everything.
I smirk, leaning against the counter, thoroughly enjoying myself. "You should take notes, Carter."
Liam exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. "How the hell did I get roped into this?"
Tyler slides a plate onto the counter in front of me before turning to Liam, utterly unimpressed. "Because you're in love with Ava and therefore will do whatever she says."
Liam goes completely still.
I nearly choke on air.
Tyler, the absolute agent of chaos that he is, just grins. "What? Too soon?"
I grab my fork aggressively. "Oh, my God. Shut up."
Tyler just hums, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he goes back to flipping bacon like he didn't just detonate a grenade in the middle of the room.
Liam, meanwhile, is still standing there, hands braced against the counter, looking like he's reconsidering every decision that led him to this moment.
Which is not something I should be analyzing right now, so I aggressively stab a piece of pancake instead.
To distract myself, I focus on the food, and holy hell. It's insanely good. The pancakes are fluffy, the eggs are perfect, and the bacon is that ideal level of crisp. I close my eyes in sheer appreciation.
"Okay," I admit. "I might marry you for this."
Tyler winks. "Sorry, sweetheart, I don't do commitment."
Liam makes a low, annoyed sound in his throat. "Can we focus?"
Tyler sighs dramatically but finally relents, sliding into a chair across from me. "Fine. Here's the plan."
The idea is simple. We go to a high-profile gallery opening. It's in the Arts District, full of people Vanessa either knows or wants to impress, including Cliff. We let her think she's rattled me. That the pressure is getting to me. That I'm vulnerable.
And then, when she gets comfortable—when she thinks she's won—we strike.
It's risky, but it's also smart.
Tyler nods, pleased. "Alright. I'll meet you guys there." He stands, stretching. "Meanwhile, I've got a couple more things to look into. Try not to let Carter glower you to death before then."
"Can't make any promises," I say, grinning.
Liam glares.
Tyler smirks. Then, with one final flourish, he grabs his coat and heads out, leaving me and Liam alone.
Liam exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't like this."
"You've made that abundantly clear."
"I really don't like this."
I roll my eyes. "Too bad." Then, before he can argue further, I grin and grab his arm. "Come on."
Liam frowns. "Where?"
I bat my lashes. "Shopping."
His expression darkens like I just said tax evasion. "No."
"Yes."
"Ava."
I smile sweetly. "Liam."
He stares me down, but I just stare right back. Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, he mutters, "This is going to be painful, isn't it?"
I beam. "Excruciating."
And then I drag him out the door.
I thrive in chaos.
Shopping with Liam Carter? Absolute gold mine of entertainment.
He looks so out of place among the racks of designer clothes and overly enthusiastic salespeople, his broad frame stiff, his face set in a permanent scowl. I, meanwhile, am having the time of my life.
The boutique I drag him into is all sleek lighting and minimalistic decor, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and champagne offered at the door. I accept a flute just for the theatrics of it, swirling the bubbles dramatically as I circle Liam like a shark.
"What about this?" I hold up a deep blue dress—silky, draped in a way that's both elegant and risky.
Liam arches a brow. "You're trying to kill me."
I wink. "You'd die happy."
He mutters something under his breath but doesn't argue.
While I pick out way too many outfits, I make Liam try things on too just for fun. He looks obscenely good in everything.
"You are the worst," he grumbles as I make him twirl.
But I see the smallest hint of a smirk.
At one point, I grab a leather jacket off a display. It's sleek, buttery-soft, and a perfect shade of dark gray.
He frowns. "Ava?—"
"Let me buy it for you." I roll my eyes. "You'll love it. I know things."
He sighs but eventually—finally—relents, letting me slip it over his broad shoulders. And when I step back?
Yeah. I did good.
"You look unfairly hot," I declare.
Liam exhales sharply. "You're exhausting."
I just grin.
By the time we leave, my arms are full of bags, Liam looks delicious in his new jacket, and I feel like I just won a gold medal in emotional terrorism.
Absolutely iconic behavior.
Back at Liam's loft, we set our bags down and Liam makes me a cup of sweet milk tea. As I sip on it and he inhales his coffee, I turn to look at Liam, really look at him, standing there in his too-expensive suit, wearing a jacket I picked out, and my heart does a stupid, stupid thing.
I gulp, steadying myself.
He watches me. "What?"
I shake my head. "Nothing."
Because this—the shopping, the teasing, the way he let me in…
It doesn't feel fake.
Liam watches me like he's trying to solve a puzzle. Like if he stares long enough, he'll figure out what I'm thinking.
Which is ridiculous, because I don't even know what I'm thinking.
I take another sip of my tea, letting the warmth soothe me, letting the moment stretch. We've been going at a breakneck pace since this whole mess started—plotting, scheming, reacting. But right now, in the dim glow of his kitchen, it's just us. No threats. No Vanessa. Just a girl and a guy and way too many shopping bags.
I set my cup down and clear my throat. "Okay. I'm calling it. That was the best shopping trip of my life."
Liam exhales, rubbing the back of his neck like he's still recovering. "I think you actually enjoyed torturing me."
"Oh, without question." I grin. "But admit it, you had fun."
He scoffs, but I don't miss the way the corner of his mouth twitches.
Fun. When was the last time Liam Carter let himself have fun?
Probably a long time ago, which is exactly why I dragged him through a luxury fever dream of silk, leather, and overpriced accessories.
Not that I'm going to tell him that.
I glance at his new jacket, still draped over his shoulders like it belongs there. Like it's always been his. "You love it."
He sighs, shifting. "It's… fine."
I beam. "You love it."
Liam narrows his eyes. "I tolerated it."
I place a dramatic hand over my heart. "High praise."
Damn it, I'm forgetting this isn't a real relationship.
But then Liam looks—really looks—at me, and I start to wonder if maybe I'm not the only one struggling to remember that.
At this precise moment, a phone call saves me from embarrassing myself.
I don't immediately answer and clear my throat instead. "I… um… I have to go run some errands. Pick me up at six?"
He raises a brow but doesn't press further. I move to wash the empty teacup.
"Let it be. I'll see you tonight."
With a little nod, I step toward the exit.
Maybe I need a few hours away from him and in the presence of a girlfriend, someone who can talk some sense into me. Once I'm outside, I return the call.
"Hey, newlywed," I say, propping the phone between my shoulder and ear.
Emily's laugh is warm, even through the phone. "I knew you were avoiding me."
I roll my eyes. "I was not avoiding you."
"You absolutely were. You disappear for days, and then I see you and Liam all over everyone's social feeds at that gallery opening last night, looking like some kind of high-society power couple."
I freeze, my fingers caught in the web of necklaces. "We were not?—"
"Oh, please, Ava." She snorts. "You were in a red carpet level gown, and he was giving off brooding billionaire vibes. It was a whole aesthetic."
I open my mouth. Close it. Because damn it, she's not wrong.
Emily hums knowingly. "So. Lunch?"
I sigh. "Am I even allowed to say no?"
"Nope."
I laugh. "Fine. I'll meet you in thirty."
"Good girl." Her voice is all smug amusement. "And Ava?"
"Yeah?"
"Wear something cute. You're glowing lately, and I wanna see it up close."
I roll my eyes. "Hanging up now."
She's still laughing when I end the call.
* * *
Emily is already waiting for me when I get to Riverwalk Café, sitting outside beneath the string lights with two iced lattes and a plate of croissants.
"Finally," she teases as I sit. "I was starving."
"You ordered before I even got here," I point out, stealing half of a croissant anyway.
Emily shrugs. "Like I said. Starving."
We settle into an easy rhythm, sipping our drinks, catching up on all the wedding chaos I missed while pretending my life isn't spiraling into a high-stakes thriller.
Then, casually—too casually—Emily leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. "So. You and Liam."
I immediately choke on my latte.
Emily grins, clearly delighted. "I knew it."
"There is nothing to know," I insist, still coughing. "We're just?—"
"You like him," she interrupts, pointing at me with the straw from her drink. "You so like him."
I scowl. "Even if I did, what does it matter? It's not like?—"
"Ava." Emily sighs, reaching for my hand. "Look, I know you, okay? I know how much you overthink everything. And I also know that, despite your best efforts, you absolutely suck at pretending when it comes to people you actually care about."
I stare at her, my stomach twisting. "You think I care about him?"
She just smiles sweetly at me.
I groan. "I hate you."
Emily grins, unbothered. "I love you, too."
We finish lunch with easy conversation, but as I walk home, Emily's words stick with me.
You suck at pretending when it comes to people you actually care about.
The problem is… she might be right.
By the time I get back to my apartment, I'm exhausted. Too much thinking. Too much feeling.
I collapse onto my bed with every intention of closing my eyes for five minutes.
Naturally, I wake up two hours later to my alarm screaming at me to get ready.
I groan but force myself up, stretching before heading straight for the shower.
Tonight needs to be perfect. Flawless. If Vanessa is going to believe I'm spiraling, I need to look just put together enough that my little cracks will seem real.
By the time I'm done with my hair and makeup, I look… stunning. Even I can admit it. The deep blue dress I picked with Liam is sleek and impossibly elegant, dipping low at the back and hugging my figure in a way that makes it clear I didn't come to play.
When I slip on my heels and add the finishing touch—my mother's bracelet, still warm from where I'd held it tightly in my palm—I feel invincible.
I exhale slowly. Game on.
Liam is waiting downstairs in the car, and when I slide into the passenger seat, I don't think he forgets to breathe.
I know he does.
His hands tighten on the wheel. His jaw goes slack for half a second. And then his gaze drags over me, slow and heated, like he's committing every detail to memory.
"Ava," he says, voice rough.
I grin cheekily. "You like?"
He huffs out a breath, shaking his head like I'm dangerous. "You know I do."
His hand flexes on the gear shift, like he's fighting the urge to reach for me.
For a second, the world outside this car doesn't exist.
Then he exhales sharply and pulls out onto the road. "Let's go."
A half-hour later, he pulls up beside an impeccably decked gallery.
Golden lights drape between towering marble columns, their glow soft and ethereal, like fireflies caught in midair. The grand entrance shimmers beneath them, every polished surface kissed with warmth. Beyond the towering glass windows, the city skyline stretches like a painted backdrop, its reflection rippling across the glass, blurring the line between reality and a dream.
The night hums with elegance, the air rich with the scents of roses and aged champagne. A valet in crisp black and white holds the door open, and as we step inside, the world transforms.
The ceiling soars above us, adorned with chandeliers that drip crystal like frozen rain, scattering light in a thousand directions. The walls, lined with gilded paneling and intricate moldings, gleam under the glow. Everywhere, the space breathes opulence—artwork framed in gold, fresh floral arrangements spilling over silver vases, and a polished parquet floor that reflects the twinkle of chandeliers like a star-strewn sky beneath our feet.
Laughter and soft conversation thread through the air, mingling with the faint strains of a live orchestra playing somewhere deeper within the hall. Waiters glide through the crowd, balancing trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and bubbling champagne, their movements seamless, rehearsed.
It's stunning. Romantic in a way I wasn't expecting.
Liam keeps a protective hand on the small of my back as we step inside, guiding me effortlessly through the crowd. But when I glance up at him, his gaze isn't on the art or the guests.
It's on me.
Like I'm the only masterpiece in the room.
Even though I don't want to, I slowly extricate myself from him. We can't do this night together if we're going to get something out of it.
Vanessa Chase is standing at the far end of the gallery, a vision in ice-blue silk, her blonde hair sleek and precise, a glass of champagne poised effortlessly between two fingers. She's laughing at something, tilting her head just so, a portrait of grace and power. She's perfectly at ease, perfectly untouchable.
I draw in a breath, letting my shoulders curve inward, my fingers tightening anxiously around the clutch in my hands. Let the nerves show, let the doubt flicker. I need to be someone she underestimates. Someone breaking, crumbling.
Liam is only a few steps behind me, but I don't turn to look at him. I can't. If I do, I might lose my nerve. I might remember that we are standing on the edge of something dangerous, something far bigger than just the games Vanessa likes to play.
The moment I step into her periphery, she notices. Of course, she does.
She doesn't react immediately. Just the smallest flick of her gaze, the tiniest curve of her lips—like she's already won whatever battle I'm about to start. Like she expected this.
I stop just short of her, exhaling unevenly. "You did this." My voice is pitched low, hoarse with feigned distress.
Vanessa lifts a delicate brow. "Did what, darling?"
I swallow hard, letting my grip on my clutch falter, like I'm barely holding it together. "The texts. The threats. The photos of my brothers." My voice wobbles just enough. "You're the one behind them."
A few people nearby glance over at the accusation, their polite conversations faltering. Good. Let them hear. Let them witness.
Vanessa sighs, the picture of exasperated patience. "Ava, be serious. If I wanted to ruin you, I wouldn't be this subtle."
I flinch, a calculated move. "Stop lying," I whisper.
She takes a slow sip of her champagne before setting the flute aside, her movements graceful, unhurried. "You poor thing. Is this what you've been telling yourself to make sense of everything?" Her lips curve, soft, pitying. "That I'm the villain in your story? That Liam is your knight in shining armor?"
I press my lips together, hands trembling at my sides.
Vanessa steps closer, her perfume wrapping around me like a warning. "I told you before, didn't I? You don't know him like you think you do."
It takes everything in me not to break character, not to snap back that I know exactly who Liam is. That I know the way he touches me, the way he watches me when he thinks I won't notice, the way he's fought every instinct in his body to keep me safe.
Instead, I let my breath shudder, my gaze darting away like I can't bear to meet hers. "Stay away from me," I murmur, voice small, breakable.
Vanessa smiles, slow and satisfied. "Oh, sweetheart," she purrs. "I don't think you understand how this works."
With that, she twirls around and leaves, pretending for all the world as if most of her time isn't being spent in hounding me alive.
I step out of the gallery. Moments later, Liam arrives beside me.
He mutters a curse under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Cliff was in there."
My stomach tightens. "Did you talk to him?"
"Yeah. And he played dumb." Liam's jaw tics. "Said he's just doing side jobs for Vanessa, that he doesn't know anything about the texts."
I exhale sharply. "Do you believe him?"
Liam looks at me, then back toward the gallery doors. "Not a damn word."
I wrap my arms around myself, the night air suddenly colder than before. "So, what now?"
He doesn't answer, just stares across the lot, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
Then, slowly, I follow his gaze.
Near the back entrance of the gallery, half-shrouded in the shadows, Cliff Reyes is standing beside Vanessa, speaking in low tones. And just as I narrow my eyes, trying to make sense of the exchange…
He presses something into her palm.
A small, sleek object.
A flash drive.
My pulse spikes. Liam notices at the same time I do, his body going still beside me.
Vanessa closes her fingers around it, then slips it into the folds of her dress.