Chapter Two: Her Shadow Never Left
1143 Words
POV: Justine
He should’ve known the moment the room quieted.
The subtle shift in air pressure. The way conversation faltered like a breath caught in the throat. Even the goddamn chandelier above him seemed to dim in anticipation. That kind of hush didn’t belong to weather or wine—it belonged to her.
Ava.
Justine Calloway didn’t believe in ghosts. But he swore, for a split second, his lungs forgot how to work.
Because that woman in crimson—poised, deadly, smiling like the devil was her date—wasn't a stranger.
She was his past.
His failure.
His only unfinished chapter.
He stared at her from across the gala hall, champagne bubbling forgotten in his hand. People spoke around him, but their voices sounded like static. It had been over a thousand days since he’d seen her last. And yet she moved through his world like she'd never left—like she still belonged.
But she didn’t.
Not after what she did.
Not after how she walked out without looking back.
He barely heard Soren's murmured, “She’s here. I tried to intercept her—she’s already made a move.”
A move?
He tore his gaze away from Ava just long enough to scan the floor plans of her reappearance. She was talking to people. Smiling. Collecting allies. And she hadn’t come as a guest—no. She’d come armed.
“She just dropped a letter on me,” Soren muttered, passing the envelope. “Virexo's acquisition. She’s buying your fallback.”
Justine opened it, slow and methodical, even as every muscle in his jaw fought to tense. His eyes moved across the document, and sure enough… her name—no, her alias—was inked in black across the contract.
Ava Vale.
She’d masked her identity well. Created shell firms. Boardroom backdoors. Everything legal. Everything traceable. But only if you knew where to look.
His hand curled around the paper.
“She’s had this in motion for months,” he said quietly.
Soren nodded. “She’s building something bigger. She’s already frozen two of our smaller accounts through acquisition proxies. Ava isn’t just back—she’s coming for blood.”
Of course she was.
And damn him, part of him respected it.
He downed the champagne and stepped forward.
When their eyes met, it was like gravity bent around her. The world fell away. Music, chatter, clinking glasses—it all blurred into a distant echo. Her eyes didn’t waver. Didn’t flicker. She met his stare like a challenge.
He approached her slow. Deliberate. Each step measured, not out of hesitation but out of calculation. Because if he moved too fast, he wasn’t sure what he’d say. Or worse—what he’d feel.
And then she spoke.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
He should’ve expected the cut. Still, it split something sharp inside his ribs.
He replied, voice low, “You disappear for three years and crash my event dressed like this?”
“Not your event. And I didn’t crash anything,” she replied, cool and venomous. “I was invited.”
Invited?
He didn’t even question it. Of course she was. Ava had always known how to get exactly what she wanted. With her looks. With her brain. With that dangerous blend of charm and cruelty she wielded better than any man in his boardroom.
And then she handed him the envelope.
A stake through the heart would’ve been gentler.
“You bought Virexo?” he asked, skimming the seal.
“No,” she said sweetly. “I bought you.”
He felt the burn long before the implication fully landed.
“What game are you playing?” he asked, already knowing this wasn’t a game. It was a vendetta. He saw it in her eyes.
“No games,” she said. “I just decided to take back what you helped destroy.”
Helped destroy?
Justine took a step closer. “You still don’t see it, do you?”
Her brows lifted. “See what?”
“That I was trying to protect you.”
A beat. A flicker. She blinked—just once. Then she laughed. Low and elegant and devastating. “You call betrayal protection now?”
“I had enemies—”
“You were my husband, Justine. My only ally. And you let them drag me through the mud while you watched from your throne.”
His fists clenched.
“You told the press I had a mental breakdown. That I fabricated documents.”
“That kept you out of prison,” he snapped.
“That made me look insane!” she shot back.
She wasn’t yelling. Not yet. But the ice under her words was thicker than ever.
“People erased me because you let them.”
“You think I had a choice?” he hissed. “They were going to ruin you. I made them believe you were unstable because the alternative was worse. Ava, you were—”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracked—not with pain, but control. “You don’t get to rewrite the story now.”
Justine didn’t speak. He watched her steady herself, pull her shoulders back, reapply the steel to her spine.
God, she looked like something carved from revenge and heartbreak.
And even now—even after all of it—she was still the most dangerous thing in the room.
“You think this ends with a hostile takeover?” he asked finally.
“No,” she whispered. “It begins there.”
And then she turned her back on him.
Again.
Only this time, he didn’t let her leave alone.
He followed.
Past the ballroom, past curious onlookers, into the shadowed hallway behind the stairwell where chandeliers gave way to silence. She stopped when she realized he was still behind her.
“Why are you following me?” she demanded.
“Because I’m not finished.”
She turned. Eyes locked on his. “Yes. You are.”
But something passed between them—some invisible thread that neither rage nor logic could sever.
She pushed at his chest. Hard. But he didn’t move.
“You hurt me,” she said. “More than anyone ever could.”
He nodded. “And you walking away nearly killed me.”
Their breath tangled in the narrow space between them.
It was hate.
It was history.
It was a love so broken, it still bled.
And for the briefest, most dangerous second—
She leaned in.
So did he.
But just before their lips met, she stopped. Not because she didn’t want it.
Because she wanted it too much.
“I’m not yours anymore,” she whispered. “And this time, I finish what I started.”
Then she left him there. Standing in the ruin of his own choices.
- Writer
