Ghosts in Silk
1038 Words
Morning crept into the penthouse like it was afraid to disturb what remained of the night. Light threaded through the glass windows, pale and watchful. But Kian was already awake—blindfold gone, hands behind his head, a strange peace in his features as Ava lay curled against him, her leg draped over his waist.
For the first time in weeks, he hadn’t woken to tension or cold sweat.
He’d woken to her.
Ava stirred beside him. Sleep-soft. Golden. Dangerous.
“Stop staring,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
“I’m allowed to stare at my captor,” he said, brushing a thumb down her cheek. “Especially when she ties me up and ruins me.”
Ava opened one eye and smirked. “You didn’t seem too broken last night.”
“I’m broken now. Completely. Irreparably. Might need therapy.”
“Good. I hear trauma builds character.”
He laughed, pulling her closer.
For a moment, it was perfect.
But perfection never lasted in their world.
Kian’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. Once. Twice.
He didn’t move. Ava, however, did.
She sat up, slipping from the bed, draping one of his oversized shirts over her body. She didn’t ask who it was—she didn’t need to. Kian’s stillness said everything.
“Let me guess,” she said, tying the buttons without looking at him. “Selene?”
Kian exhaled. “No. It’s work.”
She turned. “Same thing.”
The silence stretched.
He finally sat up. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not yet.” Her voice was calm, but her fingers trembled slightly as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Because I’ll say something petty. And I’m trying not to be that girl.”
“Be her.”
She looked at him.
“Be all the versions of you,” he continued. “I’ll take every single one.”
That softened something sharp in her. She walked over and kissed his forehead. “I just need to shower the ghosts off me first.”
She disappeared into the bathroom, steam already curling from beneath the door.
Later That Day
By late afternoon, Ava found herself in the heart of the chaos she’d once ruled—another press event, another curated circus of smiles and champagne. This time, it wasn’t for her. Kian was being honored for his firm’s latest acquisition, and Ava, like every other headline reader, was expected to show up as “Mrs. Thorne.”
The title still felt like wearing someone else’s skin.
She wore black silk—backless, with a thigh-high slit. Classic Ava. Disarming. Distracting. Dangerous.
But when she saw Selene across the ballroom—draped in silver like a blade disguised as elegance—Ava knew exactly why she’d come.
The photos didn’t lie. The ones leaked just days ago.
Selene, her manicured fingers curled into Kian’s arm. Whispering in his ear. Smiling too wide.
The media called it nostalgia.
Ava called it a declaration of war.
She stood beside Kian at the edge of the marble steps, his hand resting low on her back, thumb brushing lazy circles. Protective. Possessive. But her eyes never left Selene.
Selene approached.
“Kian,” she said, voice like sugar dissolving in venom. “You look… happy.”
“I am,” he replied, gaze steady.
“And Ava,” Selene turned, smile tighter now, “what a stunning gown. I almost didn’t recognize it. I had the same one last season, but I believe I had it tailored to fit.”
Ava tilted her head. “That explains why it didn’t have any character.”
Selene’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Then, smoothly, “I hope you’re adjusting well. Kian’s world isn’t… easy.”
“I don’t adjust,” Ava replied, voice even. “I renovate.”
Kian bit back a grin, eyes flicking between the two women like he was watching live artillery being wheeled into position.
Selene leaned in slightly, lips barely parting. “Careful, darling. You might find the past has more claws than you thought.”
Ava leaned closer. Their noses almost touched. “And you might find I’ve already filed mine into knives.”
The two women held eye contact until someone on the other side of the ballroom called Kian’s name for a photo op.
“Play nice,” Selene murmured, stepping away.
“Only if I get bored,” Ava answered.
That Night
Back in the penthouse, Ava didn’t speak.
Not at first.
She peeled off her dress in silence, dropped it on the floor, then walked to the window, arms wrapped around herself.
Kian watched her from the bedroom doorway, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up.
“She was baiting you,” he said.
“She succeeded.”
He walked toward her slowly. “You don’t have to fight her. Not like that.”
She turned to him, eyes glowing with anger and something else—hurt.
“She touched you like you still belonged to her.”
“I don’t.”
“I know. But she still thinks she has a claim.”
Kian came closer. His hands slid along her arms, down to her wrists.
“She can think whatever she wants. You’re the only one who gets the truth.”
Ava tilted her head. “And what is the truth, Mr. Thorne?”
He leaned in, breath against her ear.
“That I’m yours.”
The silence pulsed between them.
Then—Ava grabbed his shirt, yanked him toward the sofa, and pushed him down.
Without warning, she straddled him, grabbed his hair, and kissed him hard. No buildup. No seduction.
Just hunger. Rage. Ownership.
She kissed him like she was stealing his breath, like his mouth was hers to punish. He grunted, surprised—and turned on beyond reason.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her voice like fire.
“If she thinks I’m scared of a woman in sequins, she hasn’t met the version of me that burns.”
He stared up at her, flushed and breathless. “God, I love this version.”
She smiled wickedly. “Good. Because she’s not going anywhere.”
- Writer
