Fractured Bonds

THE WRONG KIND OF ATTENTION

Ava Sinclair was never the kind of girl who ran from a storm—until today.

The moment she stepped into the Sinclair family's ballroom charity gala, she could feel the weight of it suffocating her shoulders. The glittering chandeliers, the champagne flowing like a river, the smiles of those who only wore them when it suited them.

Her mother, Eleanor Sinclair, was already in her ear. "Remember, Ava, appearances are everything. This is your future."

Ava battled an eye-roll. It wasn't her future. It was their future—her family's legacy, their carefully built reputation, their high-society connections.

And one of those connections stood just across the room.

Damien Lancaster.

A billionaire. A corporate mogul. And a man with a reputation as ruthless as it was legendary.

Ava had heard rumors only about him—how he walked on rivals without mercy, how nobody dared to get in his way, how women fainted at his look but never came close enough to capture his heart.

And now? He was staring at her.

He stood like a shadow in the ballroom bathed in gold—quiet, powerful, invisible. Dressed in a black suit that fit him like a glove, his posture was slouchy, but his gaze was sharp. Judging.

Ava tilted her head. If he expected her to cringe like the others, he was wrong.

Ignoring the warning glance from her mother, she strode towards the bar, her emerald green dress trailing behind her. But before she could reach for a glass of wine, a low, unflinchingly smooth voice stopped her.

"Drinking already?"

She turned to face the piercing blue eyes of Damien Lancaster.

He was taller than she had pictured. Wider. Deadlier in person.

Ava smiled, unfazed. "Is that supposed to be a concern or an observation?"

His lips curled up ever so slightly. "A bit of both."

She took a slow sip of her wine. "And you're concerned because…?"

"Because I don't like wasted potential," Damien said, his voice low and even. "And you, Ava Sinclair, have more potential than anyone in this room."

She should have laughed. Should have told him to take his business-flattery elsewhere. But his tone contained a certain something—an unmistakable demand—that made her heart pound.

By the time she could find her voice, her father's barked through the air.

"Ava, come."

It wasn't a request.

Ava clenched her jaw but turned, plastering on the polite expression she’d perfected over the years. Her father, Richard Sinclair, stood beside a group of investors, his eyes flicking briefly between her and Damien.

“I see you’ve met Mr. Lancaster,” he said, his tone unreadable.

Damien’s smirk didn’t falter. “We were just getting acquainted.”

Richard nodded approvingly. “Good. You’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

Ava bristled. There it was. The real reason she had been dragged here tonight.

This was not a charity ball. This was a business arrangement in disguise of social niceties.

And she was the bargained-for object.

Her hand closed hard around her glass as comprehension filtered through. Her father was trying to negotiate with Damien Lancaster. And if she was not very much mistaken, she was being bargained for.

No chance in hell.

She turned to Damien, her smile icicle-sharp. "If so, I hope you don't get bored soon."

Damien's eyes snapped with something—amusement? Interest? Something malevolent?

"I never do," he whispered.

Ava wasn't sure if that was a threat or a promise.

And she was about to find out.