Twisted vows, ruthless hearts

POV: Ava Three years ago, she walked away in silence. No goodbyes. No explanations. Just the sound of a closing door and the rustle of divorce papers left unsigned on mahogany. She hadn’t cried that night. Not in front of him. She’d saved that for the car, for the long ride out of a life she once thought was hers to keep. Now, Ava Remington stood under the gilded lights of the Calloway Foundation gala, a flute of untouched champagne in one hand and a purpose far colder in the other. Her name no longer echoed through headlines or courtrooms—it had vanished, same as her. And in her place stood Ms. Vale, sharp as cut glass and ten times harder to touch. The music was polished, the laughter rehearsed, and the crowd as venomous as ever. Old money smelled like old sins. And she was back to collect. Her heels clicked against the marble like war drums—measured, deliberate, deadly. The red dress she wore wasn’t just bold. It was strategic. It made her unforgettable. It said: I dare you to look away. She didn't come to play fair. She came to own the board. And she knew he would be watching. Ava scanned the ballroom, expression unreadable. Her gaze slipped past bankers, socialites, washed-up actors pretending relevance. She spotted board members she used to host dinners for. Investors who once promised loyalty then ghosted her the moment the scandal hit. They smiled now—nervous, plastic, forced. Not one of them recognized her under the soft waves of newly darkened hair and sculpted calm. A small, bitter smile played on her lips. She wasn’t here to be remembered. She was here to remind them. “Ms. Vale,” a voice called smoothly. She turned. Soren Vale. Of course. Justine’s legal pitbull and PR fixer. He approached like he didn’t already know exactly who she was, holding two drinks with practiced charm and guarded eyes. “I didn’t believe the rumors until I saw the guest list.” “Then you should stop underestimating rumors,” she replied coolly, accepting the glass. He raised a brow. “Still as sharp as ever.” Ava took a sip but didn’t smile. “Still loyal to the wrong man?” That earned a pause. His eyes flickered. “Some would say the wrong man was loyal to the wrong woman.” There it was—the subtle jab. The unspoken accusation. You left him. You broke him. You ran. If only he knew. She stepped closer, her voice low and precise. “You’ll want to brief him before the second course. I doubt he’ll enjoy the main event with me sitting at the head table.” Soren’s face stayed polite, but the muscle in his jaw betrayed him. Ava moved past him before he could recover, gliding into the center of the room as the lights dimmed slightly and a fresh wave of guests arrived. And then— She felt it. That familiar pull. A slow tightening in her chest like an invisible cord had snapped taut. She turned her head. Justine Calloway. He stood like an anchor in the chaos, surrounded by executives and sycophants, the very picture of cool authority. Same commanding presence. Same infuriating elegance. Same eyes—deep, unreadable, and already fixed on her. Three years. No contact. Not a word. And yet here he was, watching her like she was a hallucination he wasn’t sure how to handle. He stepped forward, cutting through the crowd like he owned it—which, technically, he still did. When he reached her, silence bloomed in a ten-foot radius. “Ava.” Just her name. Just that. It nearly undid her. Nearly. But Ava had mastered control in exile. She arched a brow. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Justine didn’t flinch, but his lips twitched into something too bitter to be called a smile. “You disappear for three years,” he said, voice low, “and crash my event dressed like this?” “I didn’t crash anything,” she said. “I was invited. And it’s not your event. It belongs to the Calloway Foundation. Which, as of thirty-six hours ago, has a new primary stakeholder.” She handed him a black envelope, embossed and sealed with her own custom insignia. His name, written in gold ink, caught the light. He didn’t open it. Not yet. “What game are you playing?” he asked, tone clipped. “No games. I just bought Virexo. The merger finalizes Monday. Which means your company just lost its safety net. Or… its leash, depending on how honest you want to be.” Finally, he opened it. His eyes scanned the paper. The shift in his posture was subtle—but she saw it. “You’re bluffing.” “You wish.” He stared at her, jaw tight, hand gripping the envelope like it was burning his fingers. “You did all this just to hurt me?” Ava leaned in, voice like silk over steel. “You hurt me the moment you chose them over me. I just returned the favor—with interest.” He swallowed. “This isn’t who you are.” “You’re right. She died the night you destroyed her.” And before he could speak, before emotion could crack through the concrete she’d poured around her chest, she turned. She walked away without looking back—again. But this time, she didn’t walk away broken. This time, Ava Remington walked away as the storm he never saw coming.