Success had a sound.
Ava Montgomery learned that quickly.
It was quieter than applause but sharper than criticism—the low hum of attention that never fully faded. The way conversations paused when she entered a room. The way people smiled too quickly, nodded too eagerly, watched too closely.
Success wasn’t loud.
It was observant.
And it was dangerous.
⸻
The morning after the conference, Ava woke with a strange pressure behind her eyes. Not anxiety. Not fear.
Awareness.
She lay still in the hotel bed, listening to the city breathe outside the window, feeling Jaxon’s arm draped loosely across her waist. For a moment, she let herself exist there—safe, warm, unguarded.
Then her phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She reached for it slowly.
Twenty-seven no
