AT YOUR SERVICE MADAM

Chapter 1- Fractured

AVELA’S POV

Happiness has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it.

For years, I told myself contentment was something reserved for people who had fewer scars, fewer burdens, fewer battles to fight. Yet here I was, thirty-five years old, standing at the wide glass window of my Manhattan office, looking down at the glittering city I had conquered brick by brick, dollar by dollar, sacrifice by sacrifice—smiling.

My heart was so full it almost scared me. I had everything I ever dreamed of.

A successful company—Avela Advertising Corporation—that I built from the ground up. A penthouse that overlooked the city lights like they belonged to me. A career that made me respected in boardrooms filled with men who once dismissed me as "just a pretty face."

And, perhaps most of all, Cameron.

The man of my dreams. The man I was going to marry.

Even thinking about it now made me breathe out a sigh of disbelief, my lips curving into a smile I couldn’t contain. After five years together, we were finally getting married. The preparations were in full swing, and for the first time in forever, I could say it without hesitation: my life was perfect.

“Miss Sinclair?”

The knock on my office door broke through my thoughts. I turned just in time to see Sophia—my assistant—step in, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She was as polished as ever in her pencil skirt and silk blouse, her glossy brown hair framing a face that carried just enough youthful charm to remind me of my own beginnings.

She set the mug down on my desk with a pleasant smile. “Your coffee. Just how you like it.”

“Thank you, Sophia.” I sank into the chair behind my desk, wrapping my fingers around the warmth of the cup.

“I know you’re stressed,” she said softly, almost with too much concern. “The wedding preparations and all the business travel… it must be overwhelming.”

I gave her a tired smile. “You’re not wrong. But I’ll manage. I always do.”

“Well,” she continued, perching herself slightly on the edge of my desk as though she belonged there, “I spoke to the event planner this morning. Everything is running smoothly. You can rest easy knowing it’ll all be perfect on your big day.”

Her tone carried a strange emphasis on the word perfect, but I brushed it aside.

“That’s good to hear. I appreciate it, Sophia.”

She stood, smoothing her skirt. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

When she left, the office fell quiet again. I checked the time on my wristwatch and my stomach tightened. My flight to Paris was in less than two hours.

A major client—the French skincare brand Lumière—wanted Avela Advertising to launch their new product line. It was the kind of contract that could make the company’s global reputation bulletproof. Missing this meeting wasn’t an option.

But that meant I had to finish reviewing the contract draft on my desk now.

I bent over the papers, my eyes scanning every clause, every detail, forcing my racing mind to focus. By the time I signed off the last page, I had only minutes to spare. I shoved the papers into my bag, grabbed my jacket, and hurried out of the office.

“Have a safe flight, Miss Sinclair,” Sophia called sweetly as I rushed past her.

“Thank you,” I replied with a distracted smile, stepping into the waiting elevator.

The ride down felt endless, every second reminding me of the ticking clock. As soon as the doors slid open, I strode into the lobby, heels clicking, and pushed through the glass doors into the New York evening. My car was waiting at the curb, sleek and black against the flashing lights of the city.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I started the engine and pulled onto the avenue. The city blurred past, neon and steel melting into a river of color as I sped toward the airport.

Then my blood ran cold.

The flash drive.

“s**t,” I hissed, slamming the steering wheel with my palm.

The flash drive with Lumière’s campaign samples—the one thing I couldn’t walk into that meeting without.

How could I have been so careless?

I immediately hit the call button on my steering wheel, dialing Sophia.

One ring. Two rings. Three.

Voicemail.

I tried again.

Nothing.

Frustration burned through me. I couldn’t risk missing my flight, but without that drive, the trip was pointless. With a curse under my breath, I made a sharp turn, heading back toward the office.

When I arrived, the building was nearly deserted. I raced back up to my floor, praying the drive was on my desk. But when I yanked open my drawer, it was empty.

A sinking realization hit me.

It wasn’t here.

Which meant… I must have left it in my penthouse.

I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. “Of course. Just perfect.”

There was no time to waste. I darted back to my car, weaving through late-night traffic until I reached my building. The valet barely had time to greet me before I stormed through the lobby and into the elevator.

As the numbers ticked upward, a strange unease settled in my stomach. The kind of instinct you couldn’t explain but couldn’t ignore either.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened.

The moment I stepped into my penthouse, I knew something was wrong.

The air felt heavy, thick, charged with something that didn’t belong. I froze just inside the doorway, my hand tightening on the strap of my briefcase.

Maybe Cameron came by.

That was the first thought that tried to calm me. It wasn’t unusual—he had access, after all. But then why was my pulse pounding like a warning drum?

I moved slowly through the living room, my eyes catching on the details that screamed out of place. A shirt draped carelessly over the arm of the sofa. A pair of trousers crumpled on the floor. A trail of clothing leading down the hallway.

My heart clenched.

No.

Not him. Not Cameron.

I wanted to call out his name, but something stopped me. Some instinct deeper than reason told me not to.

That’s when I heard it.

A sound that made the blood in my veins freeze.

The rhythmic slapping of skin.

The unmistakable cadence of moans and gasps, tangled together, raw and unrestrained.

One of those voices… was his.

Cameron’s.

My breath caught, sharp and painful.

I moved like a sleepwalker toward the bedroom, each step heavier than the last. The door was ajar, cracked open just enough to show me everything I never wanted to see.

And I saw it.

Cameron—my fiancé, the man I thought was the love of my life—thrusting hard into a woman, his head buried in her neck, groaning.

I stood frozen at the threshold, my body refusing to move, my mind screaming to look away.

But then the woman shifted, her face turning toward me just enough for the dim light to reveal her features.

My world tilted.

Her.