ONE LAST CHANCE

Later that evening....

The skyline outside Ava’s window was stunning—diamond lights glittering against an inky sky, the Empire State Building glowing like a beacon in the dark. She stood with a glass of wine in hand, her reflection faint in the glass.

She hated how rattled she felt.

It had taken everything in her not to flinch when Julian said her name. The way his voice curled around it—like a memory and a challenge all at once—dragged her right back to nights she had long since boxed away.

"I never meant to hurt you."

What a lie. Or maybe worse—what if he had meant it once, and the fallout was just collateral damage?

Her phone buzzed. A text from Layla – PR Queen & Actual Saint.

> L: Checked in yet? And don’t ghost me like you did in L.A.

L: Also, is he as hot as the internet says?

Ava smirked despite herself and typed back:

> A: Yes, checked in. And yes. Worse in person.

A: I think I hate him more than ever. That’s probably a good thing.

A few seconds later:

> L: Hatred is the first cousin of unresolved s****l tension. Just saying.

L: Call me if you need to scream into the void.

Ava set the phone down. The silence rushed in again.

Julian had built an empire in five years. CrossTech wasn’t just a tech firm anymore—it was a cornerstone of the digital infrastructure movement. And now it was in trouble. Rumors of misappropriated data, internal leaks, whispers of someone on the inside feeding information to competitors.

And she was supposed to clean it up.

She walked to her laptop, flipped it open, and pulled up the file her assistant had forwarded. A preliminary timeline of the events surrounding the scandal. A few employees had been placed on leave, including a senior data engineer named Ethan Mori. Ava’s brows furrowed. The name tugged at something, but she pushed it aside for now.

She scrolled to the next item: Initial press leak traced back to an anonymous tip submitted three weeks ago to TechMirror.

Three weeks. That lined up almost exactly with Julian’s sudden absence from the public eye. Had he known something was coming?

A knock at her door startled her.

She frowned and glanced at the clock. Nearly 10 p.m.

Peeking through the peephole, her heart did a stupid, familiar lurch.

Julian.

She opened the door partway. “This better be important.”

He looked unfairly good in black slacks and a slate gray shirt, the top buttons undone. Relaxed. Dangerous.

“I figured since you’re managing the PR nightmare, you might want to hear something off the record.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “This couldn’t wait until morning?”

Julian’s jaw ticked. “It’s about the leak. I think I know who started it.”

A beat.

She opened the door wider. “Five minutes.”

Julian stepped inside like he owned the place.

Ava crossed her arms, watching as he scanned the room, his gaze flicking over the laptop, the open file, her half-finished glass of wine. He didn’t sit, didn’t ask. Just stood there, taking up space like he always had.

“Well?” she prompted.

He looked at her then, something shadowed in his expression. “Ethan Mori.”

She blinked. “The data engineer?”

Julian nodded. “He was working on one of our newest AI platforms. Had access to everything—client contracts, prototype codes, internal audits. He’s smart. Too smart to be sloppy, which makes the leak look intentional.”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “What’s his motive?”

Julian hesitated, jaw tightening. “That’s the problem. I don’t know. He’s clean on paper, loyal for years. But the timing lines up. The platform he was on? It ties directly into the files that were leaked.”

“And HR hasn’t been able to prove anything.”

“No,” Julian said. “But I have reason to believe he didn’t act alone.”

Ava’s blood went cold.

He looked her dead in the eyes. “Someone from the outside is feeding him information. Maybe even funding him. And if we don’t get ahead of this, the board is going to panic—and the press will eat us alive.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. “So let me guess. You want me to spin it. Again.”

Julian stepped forward, the air between them tightening. “I want you to help me fix it. You’re the best at what you do, Ava. You always were.”

The compliment slid through her armor before she could stop it. She hated that.

She turned, walked to the window, needing space. Distance. “And what happens when the press starts asking about me? About us?”

“They won’t,” Julian said quietly. “I won’t let them.”

She turned back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He exhaled slowly. “Ava, I didn’t ask for you to be assigned to this account. But I’m not stupid enough to pretend I don’t want you here now that you are.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Ava stared at him, her pulse ticking like a metronome. “Five years ago, you let me walk away without a word. Now you show up at my hotel room door with secrets and half-truths and expect me to—what? Trust you?”

Julian’s voice was rough. “No. I expect you to help me survive this.”

Ava didn’t flinch. “That’s what I’m paid for.”

But even as she said it, the old ache returned. The one she thought she’d buried somewhere back in L.A., beneath long hours and champagne launches and safe, uncomplicated flings.

Julian Cross was neither safe nor uncomplicated.

And now, he was her client.

She drew in a breath. “Send me everything you have on Ethan Mori. All internal memos, emails, time logs—everything. If there’s a trail, I’ll find it.”

Julian gave a single nod. “Done.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“One more thing,” he said, without looking back. “You were wrong earlier. About me letting you walk away.”

Her pulse jumped.

“I did try to stop you. You just weren’t listening.”

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Ava stared at it for a long time, heart hammering, the silence deafening.

Outside, the city kept moving.

Inside, something old and dangerous stirred to life.

Ava sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the city lights. Her phone rang.

Unknown number.

She hesitated, then answered.

Silence.

Then a voice, distorted, almost robotic: “Go home, Ava. This doesn’t concern you anymore.” Her blood turned to ice. The line went dead.

***Later that day***

Ava stood frozen in the glass elevator, watching the city shrink beneath her heels. The press of tension in her chest hadn’t eased since the boardroom ambush. Her reflection stared back—composed, polished, unreadable—but inside, she was unraveling.

Julian Cross. Of all the men in Manhattan, it had to be him.

Five years of burying memories, of clawing her way to the top, of forcing herself not to check his name on headlines or social feeds—and just like that, he was back in her orbit. No, worse: he owned the orbit now.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. She stepped out, heels clicking on the marble floor as she walked back into the PR firm’s war room. Phones buzzed, screens flashed, and the scent of espresso and adrenaline filled the air. But the energy shifted the second she entered. All eyes darted to her.

Olivia, her assistant, stood by her desk, pale. “There’s something you need to see,” she said, holding up a tablet.

Ava took it. Her brows knit.

The headline read: "Julian Cross’s Return Shrouded in Corporate Turmoil and Allegations."

Below it, a grainy photo. Her—storming out of Julian’s office. Lips tight. Eyes hard.

The caption: “Cross’s Ex-Fiancée Returns Amidst Scandal. Coincidence or Strategic Damage Control?”

Ava’s stomach dropped. “This wasn’t supposed to leak. There were no cameras inside that building.”

“There weren’t,” Olivia whispered. “It’s like someone wanted this out.”

Ava’s blood ran cold. She glanced over the article again. The details were too precise. Someone knew about her connection to Julian—something she had kept buried even from her closest colleagues. And worse, someone had orchestrated this photo op to look like she was back in Julian’s life for reasons other than business.

“I want names,” she said, handing the tablet back. “Find out which outlet first published it. Find the source.”

Olivia nodded and rushed off.

Ava sat down, heart pounding. Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number lit up the screen:

“Back in his world again? Careful, Ava. Not everyone wants you there.”

Her fingers clenched around the phone. She reread the message twice, her mind reeling. Anonymous threats weren’t new in the PR world, but this was personal. Someone was watching. Someone who knew her history with Julian—and didn’t want her unearthing old ghosts.

She stood, grabbing her coat.

Where was Julian in all this? Had he leaked the photo to stir public interest? Or was he being targeted too?

She wasn’t sure which possibility unnerved her more.

One thing was certain—this job was no longer just about saving a company’s image. It was about navigating a web of secrets that had never truly stayed buried.

As Ava stepped back out into the New York wind, her jaw set.

She came back to the city for a job. But now? Now she was fighting for the truth, for answers—and maybe, if there was anything left to salvage—for her own closure.

Or revenge.

Whichever came first.