Chapter 20
HARLAN - SIN WRAPPED IN SILK
She felt different in my arms than I thought she would.
Not delicate. Not stiff or guarded like I half-expected. Ava Sinclair moved like she didn’t owe the world an apology, and maybe that was what pulled me in most.
That and the fact that she looked like sin wrapped in silk.
When she first walked in and took my breath away, the first thing I thought of was the officer who had once called her a fire sprite. He hadn’t been wrong. But standing this close, I knew that description didn’t even scratch the surface.
Her blonde hair fell in soft waves instead of her usual chaos of curls, catching the light like it had been spun just to test my patience.
The red dress clung in a way that left nothing to imagination and everything to temptation.
Ava may have been tiny, but in that dress, she was all woman, every inch of her daring me to forget the rest of the damn room.
The music swelled and faded behind us, some soft acoustic cover of an old rock song. Her hand rested against my shoulder, fingers light but certain, like she hadn’t fully decided whether she wanted to steady herself or shove me off the floor.
I wouldn’t have blamed her for either.
She was looking over my shoulder, jaw tight. I followed her gaze.
And there she was.
Erin.
Leaning against the far wall, dressed head to toe in black, drink in hand, eyes narrowed in the way that didn’t say jealousy, it said ownership.
Ava didn’t say anything right away. She just arched one brow and took a slow, deliberate breath. Her body shifted almost imperceptibly in my arms, her spine going rigid, and I hated that Erin had that effect on her.
“You know your girlfriend’s staring at me, right?” Ava’s voice was even, but sharp enough to cut.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Ava tilted her head. “Could’ve fooled me. Looks like someone didn’t get the breakup memo.”
My jaw clenched. I tightened my grip on her slightly, just enough to keep the dance moving, to keep her close. To keep us in motion.
“Erin and I… it wasn’t serious. It was barely a thing. When I first came home. Before I was her boss. Before I became Chief.”
“Convenient.”
Her tone was acid, but her eyes, damn her eyes, were searching. Testing me.
I let the silence settle a beat longer before adding, “I ended it when my dad died. When I stepped into this job. I knew I couldn’t keep things… murky.”
Ava gave a humourless smile, one corner of her mouth tugging up like she wanted to believe me but didn’t trust herself to. And not for the first time, I wondered how she lived in a world with jade-colored glasses, always expecting the blade to fall.
“She doesn’t seem to be on the same page as you.”
“She’s not used to hearing no,” I said simply. “Or being replaced.”
She scoffed and tried to pull away, but I held firm, steady as stone.
“I’m not a replacement, Chief.”
Her words were sharp, defensive, and entirely correct.
“I know,” I said without hesitation.
She looked up at me then, ocean eyes dark with warning. “I’m not built for drama, Chief. I wade through enough of it at work. I don’t want to be anywhere near it in my personal life.”
“I’m too old for it.”
“Then what are you built for?”
That one landed like a punch disguised as poetry. For a second, I almost forgot we weren’t alone, that a dozen people were stealing glances at us, that Erin was practically burning holes in Ava’s back from across the room.
I took a breath, steady and low. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I know I’m tired of half-truths. Of lonely nights. Tired of pretending it’s enough just to show up in a uniform and hope things change. That I am happy being alone.”
“And you think I’m the answer?”
“I think you’re the challenge.”
That earned me a look—sharp, skeptical, maybe a little curious.
“A good one,” I clarified, jaw twitching. “The kind that makes me want to do better. Be better.”
She didn’t soften. But she didn’t try to pull away again either.
We turned slowly, once more, just enough for the world to blur around us. Erin stayed in the corner of my vision like a storm cloud I couldn’t quite banish. But Ava was in my arms. Ava was fire and defiance and fragility, I knew she’d never admit. And I couldn’t let go.
“I’m not asking for anything tonight,” I said. “I’m not making promises. I just want...”
“Honesty,” she said.
I nodded.
“And what about me?” she asked, voice quieter now. Almost a whisper. Not uncertain. Just… testing.
“Honesty?” I asked.
She nodded, eyes locked onto mine and took a deep breath.
“I want you, Ava.”
She blinked. Just once. No dramatic reaction. No snarky retort.
But her hand flexed slightly where it rested in mine. And her eyes didn’t look away.
“Then maybe,” she said, “you should start by telling your ex to find a different woman to try to intimidate.”
I laughed under my breath, low and rough.
“Do it soon,” she said. “Because I am not a placeholder or a replacement for your bed buddy.”
I smirked. “Noted.”
The song faded. Another started, faster, rowdier. We stopped dancing but didn’t step apart right away.
I let go first, because if I didn’t, I wasn’t sure I ever would.
Ava didn’t smile. She studied me like she wasn’t sure she liked the answer to the question only she knew.
And as she turned toward the bar, I caught her whispering something to Remi.
Whatever it was, it made Remi laugh, low, surprised, and full of something I hadn’t heard in either of them in too long.
For the first time that night, I didn’t feel like the enemy in my own story. I felt like things were looking up.
And for the first time in a long damn while, I wanted to stay in the moment with her instead of running from it.