Poisoned Pedestals
1268 Words
The light that crept in through the blinds wasn’t soft this time—it was piercing. A harsh reminder that night had ended. That reality had, once again, caught up to them.
Ava lay awake on Kian’s chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under her cheek grounding her more than she wanted to admit. His fingers, still tangled lazily in her hair, moved with the slow rhythm of sleep. He hadn’t stirred once all night.
But Ava had barely slept. Not really.
Last night had been… everything. Raw, messy, intimate in a way that didn’t feel like lust anymore. And that terrified her.
Because this wasn’t love—not yet—but it was something. And something was always dangerous.
She sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. The silk sheets slid off her skin like a whisper. Her feet touched the cold marble floor, but the chill didn’t bother her. Her thoughts did.
Last night, they crossed a line. This wasn’t about fake marriages or public appearances anymore. This was starting to feel real.
She wrapped his robe around herself and padded into the kitchen, needing space. Air. Clarity.
The penthouse was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that made your thoughts echo too loud in your own head.
Ava poured herself a glass of water and stared out the massive windows overlooking the city. Sin City looked so small from up here. Like it couldn’t touch them. But Ava knew better.
Trouble had a way of finding you when your guard was down.
A buzz behind her made her jump. Kian’s phone.
She turned, her gaze drifting to the glowing screen. A name flashed.
Selene.
The message preview was short.
We need to talk. Alone.
Ava’s grip tightened around the glass.
She didn’t know much about Kian’s past. Just pieces. Just the parts he was willing to show her, which wasn’t much. But she had heard the name before—from the gala, whispered between old-money wives with too much time and Botox.
Selene. His ex-fiancée. The one he was supposed to marry before everything blew up. Before Ava.
Ava turned away, pulse racing. She wasn’t the jealous type. She wasn’t insecure. But she wasn’t stupid either.
You don’t get to be married to a man like Kian Thorne without learning how to read the smoke before it becomes fire.
And this smelled like gasoline.
Kian found her later that evening in the kitchen, barefoot, robe still loose around her frame.
“You’re quiet today,” he said, setting down his phone on the counter.
“You’re popular today,” she countered, flicking her eyes at the device.
He sighed. “You saw it.”
“I’m not blind.”
Kian nodded and walked over to the fridge. “You hungry?”
“For answers, yes.”
He turned, expression unreadable. “Let me cook first. You’ll think better on a full stomach.”
Ava blinked. “You cook?”
“I seduce,” he said with a wink. “Sometimes with my hands. Sometimes with my knives.”
Despite herself, Ava snorted. “That was cringe.”
“Good,” he said. “Cringe is human. You make me human.”
She watched as he rolled up the sleeves of his Henley and started moving through the kitchen. There was a rhythm to him—precise, efficient, yet oddly sensual. He chopped garlic with a control that felt almost surgical. Tossed in butter, wine, seared the chicken with thyme and lemon. The kitchen slowly filled with mouthwatering aromas.
“You’re way too hot for this domestic fantasy,” she said, sitting on the island.
Kian looked up from the pan. “You saying I should cook shirtless next time?”
“I’m saying you’re dangerously close to becoming wife material.”
He grinned and plated the food with care. “Crispy lemon chicken with white wine reduction and roasted vegetables. I also make a mean breakfast burrito.”
They sat at the small marble dining table, the city lights sprawling around them like jewels.
But tension lingered.
“So, Selene,” Ava said finally, setting down her fork.
He sighed, dropping his knife. “We were engaged. It was political. Strategic. Our fathers… expected it.”
“But it didn’t work.”
“Because I didn’t love her. And she loved power more than me.”
A beat passed.
“She texted this morning,” Ava said.
“I know. I haven’t replied.”
“She said she wants to talk.”
“I’m sure she does.”
The silence crackled.
Then Ava sighed. “Finish your damn chicken first. If we’re going to talk about exes, I want dessert in front of me.”
Kian smirked and continued eating. “You’re something else.”
“Survival,” she said simply.
Later that night, after dishes were abandoned in the sink and wine was replaced by whiskey, Ava curled up in the oversized armchair while Kian played her something on his phone.
It was… a t****k video.
Her brows lifted. “Are you showing me memes now?”
“Shh. It’s important,” he said seriously.
The video played: two cats fighting over a pizza box, one slapping the other in slow motion.
Ava blinked.
Kian laughed first. Then Ava cracked. Laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
“God, we’re ridiculous,” she wheezed.
“You like it,” he said, smug.
“I do. But you’re not getting laid for this.”
“Who said anything about that?” he replied, wiggling his glitter-blue toenails at her. “I’m a classy lady now.”
They didn’t rip clothes off this time. Instead, they got drunk and painted each other’s toenails.
Kian insisted on hot pink for her. She made him wear glitter blue. He pretended to hate it. She pretended not to like the way he traced little stars on her feet.
Then they sat back-to-back on the rug and played 20 Questions. Cringe. Sexist. Silly.
“Biggest turn-on?” she asked.
“Intelligence,” he said. “And knee-high socks.”
She snorted. “Okay, perv.”
“Your turn.”
“Men who cook and let me win arguments.”
“I never let you win.”
“That’s why we’re not married for real.”
“Yet.”
The air shifted.
Not serious. Not yet. But getting there.
By midnight, Ava wandered back to the living room, where Kian sat sprawled across the couch, glass of whiskey in hand. His Henley had been swapped for a black tee, casual and soft against the sharp lines of his chest.
She walked over silently and climbed into his lap, straddling him, her thighs draping over his like a warm second skin.
He blinked up at her. “This is new.”
Ava leaned forward, brushing her lips just past his but not kissing him yet. Her fingers played with the hem of his shirt.
“I figured I’d let you be the blushing virgin tonight,” she whispered.
Kian’s laugh rumbled against her chest. “Bold of you to assume I blush.”
Her mouth met his—soft at first, then deeper, teasing, taunting. She nipped his bottom lip before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.
“Selene won’t scare me off,” she said, voice quiet but sharp as glass.“Let her come. I’m not going anywhere.”
And in that moment, Ava Monroe made a silent decision:
She wouldn’t just survive in Kian’s world.
She would rule it.
End of Chapter 6
- Writer
