Loving the enemy

Chapter 18

Liam’s pov

There was something about Ava I couldn’t get out of my head.

I didn’t remember her but it didn’t feel like meeting someone new. It felt like finding pieces of something I had lost—her laugh, the fire in her eyes when she teased me, the softness in her voice when she let her guard down.

I knew I should be careful. But I wasn’t. I wanted her. Like gravity, pulling me closer no matter how much she tried to keep space between us.

And that scared me.

Because if I truly didn’t know her… why did I want her this much?

After a while, I stood up from the booth. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I said with a grin. “Try not to miss me.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.

I slipped down the back hallway, nodding at the waiter as I passed. I told myself I just needed a minute—to breathe, to clear my head, to understand why being near her made me feel out of control. Maybe it was the memory loss. Maybe it was something else. After a while I felt in control.

When I came back, I slowed.

Ava hadn’t seen me yet. She was turned slightly away, phone pressed to her ear, her voice low but sharp, sharper than I’d ever heard it.

“Stop calling me, Damian,” she hissed.

I froze. The name hit me like a shot. Damian?

Her shoulders tensed. She ended the call fast and shoved the phone into her purse like it burned. Then she looked up and saw me. Her eyes widened for a second before she quickly masked it with a calm face.

“Everything okay?” I asked as I slid back into the booth, keeping my tone light but edged. “Who was that?”

“Nobody,” she said quickly, waving it off. “Just a wrong number. Some i***t who won’t quit.”

“Persistent enough for you to know his name,” I said evenly, watching her carefully.

She laughed, too lightly, reaching for her glass. “People talk. Don’t read into it.”

I held her gaze a little longer. She didn’t look away, but her eyes were guarded. I didn’t want to push, so I let it go.

I called the waiter. “We’ll take this to go.”

Ava snapped her head at me. “What? We barely ate.”

“Lunch isn’t over,” I said, standing and offering my hand. “I told you—I plan to spoil you. And trust me, Ava, I’m only getting started.”

She paused, then slid her hand into mine. Her skin was warm and softer than I’d expected. For a second I felt something.

Outside, camera flashes lit the way. She moved closer, smiling perfectly, and I couldn’t stop the question in my head—

How much of this is real?

How much of her is real?

How much of us?

The driver opened the door. I helped her in and climbed in after. As we got stuck in traffic, I caught her profile in the window—beautiful, fragile, dangerous.

I might not remember Ava, but I was going to learn her piece by piece.

The boutique doors slid open the moment we stepped out of the car. Not the kind of glass doors that waited for customers to push them—these opened like they knew who I was.

“Ava,” I said, holding out my hand as she hesitated on the curb. “Come on. I did promise to spoil you.”

Her fingers slid into mine, warm but unsure.

Inside, a row of staff waited and in the middle of them stood a familiar face.

“Mr. Vance,” the woman greeted with a warm smile. Angela was in a black dress and a sharp bob. My personal shopper. She knew luxury better than anyone.

I gave her a small smile. “Angela, this is my wife, Ava. I want her to have the best today. No limits.”

Angela’s brows lifted, just a flicker of surprise, before she turned smoothly to Ava. “Of course, Mrs. Vance. We’ll make sure you look… unforgettable.”

Beside me, Ava tensed. Mrs. Vance. The name didn’t sit easily on her. But when she caught me watching, she lifted her chin and smiled.

Good girl.

Angela clapped her hands, and right away racks of gowns rolled out, trays of jewelry opened, velvet boxes revealing diamonds that lit up under the lights.

“Would you like to start with evening wear?” Angela asked Ava.

Ava’s eyes flicked to me, unsure. I only shrugged, leaning back in the chair. “Try everything. I want to see what makes my wife glow.”

Her cheeks flushed, giving her away, and she nodded before letting the staff guide her into the dressing room.

I watched the curtain fall behind her, and a strange feeling ran through me. Not pride in the wealth or the attention, not even the way everyone treated her like a queen because she was mine.

No, it was because for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, it didn’t feel like an act. For a moment, it felt real. Like Ava truly was mine.

And I couldn’t tell if that was dangerous… or exactly what I wanted.

Then the curtain opened.

Ava stepped out slowly, her hands brushing over the silk like she wasn’t sure she deserved it. The gown was deep emerald, low in the back, hugging her body before falling loose at her thighs. I forgot to breathe.

She looked… breathtaking.

Her eyes found mine, nervous, waiting.

“Turn,” I said, my voice lower and rougher than I meant.

She turned, and the curve of her back caught the light, her bare skin shining. My hand tightened on the arm of the chair, a sharp ache pulling through my chest.

Angela clapped softly. “It’s stunning on her.”

“Yes,” I murmured, still staring at Ava. Stunning wasn’t the word.

Her cheeks warmed under my gaze. She tried to look away, pretending to check herself in the mirror, but I caught the quick flick of her eyes back at me, her lips parting like she wanted to speak but couldn’t.

Then I saw it again, her gaze dropping to my mouth. Lingering.

Heat surged low in my body. For a second, I almost gave in. Almost reached for Ava to see how much of a wife she really was in front of the staff.

Instead, I stood up slowly. “Everyone out,” I said.

Angela blinked. “Mr. Vance?”

“You heard me.” My voice stayed calm but sharp. “Give my wife and me a moment.”

There were quick nods, clicking heels, the rustle of fabric and then we were alone.

Ava swallowed, her fingers gripping the dress at her hips. “Liam—”

I crossed the space between us in three steps. Close enough for her to tilt her chin to see me. Close enough to feel her warmth.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” I said softly. My hand lifted, hovering near her waist but not touching. “Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s why you keep looking at me like that.”

Her breath caught. “I-I wasn’t—”

“Liar.” The word came out low, but my mouth softened as I leaned closer. “You were staring at my lips like you wanted me to kiss you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

The air between us felt heavy, sparking with something I couldn’t name. I could feel the s****l tension between us.

Damn! How much I want to have her.

I finally let my fingers touch her waist, just barely through the fabric. She tensed, holding herself back.

And God, that only made me want her more.