The Billion Dollar Wife

#13.

The informant sounded uncharacteristically hesitant, his words uncertain.

"I couldn’t gather much, Boss," the man admitted, his voice crackling with static. "It’s as if her history has been scrubbed clean. There are no school records that stick, no digital footprint beyond the last few years. But from what I’ve observed... I don't think she’s a bad lady. She doesn't fit the profile of a professional plant."

Dominic’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixing on his own reflection in the darkened window. "You wouldn’t know that," he argued, his voice a low. "In my world, the ones who look the most innocent are usually the ones holding the knife. Lack of a record isn't a sign of goodness, it’s a sign of a very talented handler."

"I’ll keep digging, Boss," the man promised. "There has to be a thread somewhere."

"You better do that," Dominic snapped. He ended the call with a sharp flick of his thumb and tossed the phone onto the bed. He needed a shower to wash off the grime of the warehouse and the stench of his father’s office, but more than that, he needed to clear his head before facing the woman waiting for him downstairs.

When he finally descended, the scent of garlic, rosemary, and seared meat met him halfway down the stairs. It was a domestic, aroma that felt entirely out of place in a house built on secrets. Ava was already at the dining table, her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in front of her. The table was set, a far cry from the haphazard meals he usually ate over a laptop.

When she saw him, she didn't flinch or recoil as she had on the couch. Instead, she beamed at him, a sweet, radiant expression that felt like a carefully constructed mask. "You’re just in time," she said softly.

Dominic sat down in the velvet chair at the head of the table. Without being asked, Ava rose and began to dish out his portion. She moved with a quiet aura, her movements fluid. He watched her closely, his gaze lingering on the way the light caught the threads in her hair.

He looked down at the steaming plate she placed before him, but he didn't reach for his fork. He simply stared at the food, his suspicion a physical weight in his chest.

Ava noticed the hesitation. A small, knowing smirk played on her lips. She picked up her own spoon, scooped up a generous portion from the serving dish, and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, her eyes locked on his, before swallowing.

"It’s not poison, Dominic," she said, her voice carrying a trace of weary amusement. "If I truly wanted to get rid of you, I wouldn't do it over a roast. I’d find a way that didn't involve me being the primary suspect in our own dining room."

Dominic’s mouth twitched, a reluctant smirk ghosting across his features. "You really couldn't poison me even if you tried, Ava. I’ve survived far worse than a home cooked meal."

He picked up his fork and took the first bite. He didn't offer a compliment, praise was a currency he rarely spent but the way he continued to eat told its own story. The tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate slightly with every mouthful. He finished the entire plate in silence and, to Ava's silent triumph, reached for the serving spoon to dish himself a second helping.

Ava leaned back in her chair, watching him with a quiet, satisfied smirk. "It seems someone actually enjoyed their dinner," she noted when he finally set his cutlery down.

Dominic leaned back, exhaling a slow breath. "It’s decent," he conceded, his voice returning to its usual flat, clinical tone. "Nothing out of the ordinary. A man has to eat."

Ava didn't press him. She rose and began to clear the plates, her movements brisk. When she returned from the kitchen, she didn't head for the stairs. She sat back down directly across from him, her gaze expectant.

The air in the room shifted. Dominic leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes boring into hers.

"Who are you really, Ava? What’s your deal?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low hum. "No one ends up in a seat across from me by accident."

Ava didn't blink. She met his gaze with a cool, indifference. "I’m just a girl, Dominic. A girl who found herself in a situation she didn't ask for."

Dominic let out a harsh, dry laugh. "A girl who shakes her way into my life, into my home, and into my father’s good graces is not just a girl. And she’s certainly not a woman I could ever love."

The words were intended to cut, to remind her of the transactional nature of their union. Ava fired back instantly, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp light. "I’m not looking for your love, Dominic. Believe me, that’s the last thing on my list of requirements."

"I’m not surprised," he countered, his voice dripping with a cold distain. "You look like the kind of woman who is only after the money. Love isn't a factor for women who are willing to give their bodies up to get what they want. You sold yourself the moment you said 'I do'."

The comment hit her like a physical blow. The color drained from Ava’s face, leaving her deathly pale. She stood up abruptly, her chair screeching against the floorboards. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, her knuckles white.

"I don't sell my body for money," she hissed, her voice trembling with a raw fury. "I am holding onto my dignity, Dominic. Something you clearly wouldn't recognize if it hit you in the face."

Dominic stiffened, his own anger rising to meet hers. He rose slowly, his large frame towering over her, casting a long, dark shadow across the table. He stepped around the furniture until he was standing directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"And what dignity is that?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous snarl. "The only dignity I know in a woman is about virginity."

Ava went rigid. Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating until her eyes were almost entirely black. She didn't look away, but the sudden, tell tale flush that crept up her neck and onto her cheeks told him more than any words could. She swallowed hard, her throat working as she struggled to find her voice.

The realization hit Dominic with the force of a tidal wave. The suspicion, the anger, the cold calculation—it all seemed to stall in his mind. He looked at her, really looked at her, noting the genuine vulnerability in the set of her shoulders and the way she refused to meet his eyes now.

He reached out, his hands clamping around her waist with a sudden, urgent intensity. He pulled her flush against him, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of the shirt she had stolen from him.

"Ava," he growled, his voice dropping into a husky, disbelieving register. "Are you a virgin? My god... I’ll be damned."