Chapter Eleven – Recognition & Warnings[Part1]
1014 Words
If the gala were a chessboard, Ava had just realized she was never a pawn.
She was the piece everyone was waiting to move.
The rest of the night feels like walking a tightrope over knives.
She leads the mayor through the exhibit of glossy renderings and miniature models, reciting rehearsed lines about sustainable materials and community integration. Her mouth moves; she hears the words. Her brain, however, is still in that tight circle near the entrance.
*Ms. Moretti. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.*
Behind her, Riley hums occasionally in agreement like a backup singer, eyes scanning the crowd with the predator awareness of someone raised on bad neighborhoods and worse boyfriends.
“—and with this project, we’re hoping to integrate more public green space,” Ava finishes, gesturing to a model park balanced perfectly between high-rises. “Not just rooftops. Actual soil.”
The mayor nods, impressed. “Very forward-thinking. Your father’s lucky to have you on his team.”
“Thank you, sir,” she says.
If Vince heard that, he’d choke on his own ego.
“Yes, yes, she’s very clever,” Vince’s voice cuts in, a little too sharp. “Why don’t you let the mayor enjoy his drink rather than bury him in zoning trivia?”
Ava steps back automatically as Vince slides between her and the model, claiming the conversational center like a man reclaiming territory.
She lets him.
For now.
Riley tugs lightly at Ava’s wrist. “Bar,” she mouths.
Ava nods.
They peel away, weaving through clumps of donors and minor celebrities until they reach a quieter stretch of marble where the bar glows under soft gold lighting.
Riley flags down the bartender. “Two of whatever will make her forget men exist.”
“Sparkling water is fine,” Ava says.
Riley glares. “Trader.”
“Tomorrow,” Ava says. “When I don’t have to drive or lie through my teeth.”
“Fine,” Riley says, settling for one gin and tonic and one soda. She hands Ava the soda. “Here. Hydrate your trauma.”
Ava takes it, the condensation cold against her fingers.
“Okay,” Riley says, leaning against the bar, eyes still on the crowd. “Honest question. On a scale from one to ten, how badly do you want to drag him into a supply closet?”
“Riley,” Ava hisses.
“What?” Riley shrugs. “s*x and death look the same on you.”
Ava’s cheeks heat. “I don’t—this isn’t—”
“Don’t even try to ‘this isn’t’ me,” Riley says. “I watched you look at each other like you were mentally undressing and reloading at the same time.”
Ava stares into her drink.
“I didn’t know,” she says quietly. “Who he was. At the auction.”
“Bullshit,” Riley says. “You knew he was dangerous. That’s why you kissed him back.”
“I didn’t—”
Riley tilts her head. “Do you really want to lie to someone whose job is literally making people look in mirrors?”
Ava exhales, shoulders slumping a fraction.
“It was in the dark,” she says. “There were guns. He was covering me. It wasn’t—”
“Sweetheart,” Riley says softly. “The gunfire stopped. Your eyes didn’t.”
Ava drains half her soda in one go, bubbles burning her throat.
Across the room, Damian talks with a cluster of tech CEOs, his back half-turned. He’s more animated than he was with Vince, eyes sharp, hands moving occasionally as he makes a point. Every now and then, his gaze slides past his conversation partners, skimming the room.
Always finding her.
Riley follows his line of sight and smirks. “For what it’s worth, he looks even worse.”
“How is that comforting?” Ava mutters.
“Because if this explodes,” Riley says, “you’re not the only one walking away with shrapnel in their soul.”
Before Ava can answer, a shadow looms at her elbow.
“Enjoying yourselves?” Vince asks.
Her spine snaps straight.
“Yes,” Ava says smoothly. “Riley was just telling me how inspired she is by the floral arrangements.”
“The what-now?” Riley blinks, then pastes on a bright smile. “Yes. It's very inspiring. Love a flower. Huge fan of chlorophyll.”
Vince stares at her for a moment, then dismisses her as safely insane.
He turns to Ava. “You handled the mayor well. But next time, less talk about the people on the ground. More about the skyline. Aspirational sells better than guilt.”
Ava bites down on her first three responses and picks one that won’t result in being disowned on a staircase.
“Of course,” she says.
Vince follows her gaze across the room.
To Damian.
His jaw tightens.
“He is not aspirational,” Vince says quietly. “He is a parasite.”
“You invited him,” Ava points out.
“The board insisted,” Vince says. “Optics. Our investors like to see their monsters in the same room. It makes them feel they understand the food chain.”
“And where do we sit?” Ava asks. “Above or below?”
Vince looks at her then, really looks. His eyes flicker down to her bare shoulders, up to her carefully neutral face.
“You don’t sit anywhere,” he says. “You stand where I put you. And you don’t move toward him. Ever.”
Riley makes a small, incredulous sound.
Ava keeps her tone level. “I was polite.”
“You were visible,” Vince says. “That’s all it takes with a man like that. He sees a crack; he wedges himself in until something breaks.”
“He’s standing thirty feet away and drinking bad champagne,” Riley mutters. “Not exactly wielding a sledgehammer.”
Vince ignores her. “Do you understand me, Ava?” he asks.
- Writer
