Chapter Five: The Woman Behind the Storm
1144 Words
POV: Ava
There was something sacred about power.
Not just the boardroom kind—the kind Ava Remington wielded in silence, with steel in her spine and secrets in her mouth. She stood by the expansive glass wall of her penthouse office in the Delacroix building, one of the highest points in Manhattan. It overlooked a city that once mocked her, reduced her to whispers and scandal.
Now, it bowed.
Her assistant, Mila, entered without knocking. “Your ten o’clock is stalling in the lobby. He wants to reschedule.”
Ava turned slowly. “Tell him if he doesn’t show up in the next seven minutes, the Calloway shares he begged me to back will vanish.”
Mila blinked. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ava didn’t smile. She didn’t need to. She was past the age of softening edges. She’d been the lamb once—trusted too easily, loved too blindly. That version of her died the day Justine Calloway let the world tear her apart and called it strategy.
Now?
She was the storm.
She turned away from the window and walked back to her desk, heels clicking like a metronome of war. Her phone buzzed—an encrypted message from her London contact.
Confirmed. Razor is real. And illegal.
She stared at the screen.
Razor wasn’t just a name in a forgotten budget file.
It was a buried weapon. A black-market scheme Justine ran through a ghost holding company. And now that she had proof, it was only a matter of time before it detonated.
She closed the message and deleted it.
There were still pieces missing—dates, transfers, names—but the foundation was crumbling. And when Justine fell, she wanted the world to see why.
Not just for what he did to her career.
But for what he did to her heart.
She hadn’t walked away because she was weak. She walked because she was done begging.
Three years ago, she would’ve crumbled at the sight of him.
Now, she was setting traps he didn’t even know he’d stepped into.
The elevator doors dinged.
She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to.
“I said seven minutes, Nathan. You’re lucky to have made it in six,” she said.
But it wasn’t Nathan.
It was Justine.
Her heart skipped.
Not out of longing. Not even out of hate.
But because she hadn’t expected to see him here—on her turf. And nothing Justine Calloway did was without calculation.
She faced him, spine straight. “You’re either lost or desperate.”
He stepped inside like he belonged. “You’ve made it hard to schedule an appointment.”
“I wasn’t aware we were still doing polite business.”
“We were never polite, Ava.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Then what do you want?”
He stopped three feet from her desk, hands in his pockets like he had no intention of raising them. “I want to know how deep you’re willing to go. How far you plan to push before someone pushes back.”
“I’m not the one who started this war.”
“No. But you’ve certainly escalated it.”
She rounded the desk, not afraid of him. Not anymore. “You didn’t think I’d find Razor, did you?”
He blinked once. “It’s not what you think.”
“Really? Because what I think is that you laundered millions through a shell firm and passed it off as loss recovery. And when I started asking questions, you labeled me unstable and ruined my career.”
He said nothing.
Silence, again. His oldest weapon.
But she was immune to it now.
“I won’t go quietly this time, Justine.”
He exhaled, finally stepping closer, his voice low. “And I won’t let you destroy what I built—what we built—without knowing why you’re really doing this.”
She stiffened.
“Is it vengeance?” he asked. “Is it justice?”
Ava looked him dead in the eye. “It’s the truth. You should try it sometime.”
He looked at her then—not like a rival, not like an enemy.
But like a man who still saw the woman he used to wake up beside.
The tension stretched tight between them, the air charged with everything they never said, everything they never allowed themselves to feel.
Justine stepped back first.
“I came here to offer a deal,” he said.
She folded her arms. “Do I look like I want a deal?”
“No. You look like you want a funeral.”
“Yours.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“Three board votes are still loyal to you,” he said. “I’ll give you two. Let the Razor investigation die in committee.”
She stepped closer. “Or?”
“Or we both bleed.”
Ava paused.
Then whispered, “You really don’t get it.”
He tilted his head.
“I’m not afraid to bleed, Justine,” she said. “I did it for three years. Alone. Humiliated. Branded unstable in every investor room from New York to Dubai. But you? You’ve never had to suffer. Not once.”
He said nothing.
“You will.”
The words were quiet. Final. Like a verdict.
Justine held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded once. “Then let the games begin.”
He turned and left.
Ava stood still, heart thudding not from fear—but from clarity.
He was bluffing. Pressed. Uneasy.
Good.
Let him sweat.
Because the next move would be hers.
And she wasn’t done playing god yet.
---
Later that evening, Ava sat in a velvet chair at The Crimson Lounge, a speakeasy hidden beneath the guise of a cigar bar. It was one of the few places she could think without being watched. The flickering golden light painted her like a portrait in motion. She wasn't alone for long.
Elias Creed slid into the chair across from her, no invitation needed. The tech genius with a shadowy past and sharper instincts than most CIA operatives. He owed her a favor. And he knew better than to test her patience.
"You were right," he said without preamble. "The Razor funds passed through a Hong Kong account. The trail is thin but not invisible. If I dig deeper, I can find the keystone."
Ava nodded, sipping her bourbon neat. "Then dig. I want Justine cornered, not just wounded."
Elias raised a brow. "You sure you're ready for what you might find?"
"I've already found the worst part, Elias. I married it."
He let out a low whistle and leaned back. “Remind me not to ever get on your bad side.”
Ava’s smile was cold, unreadable. “There is no good side, Elias. Only the one you survive on.”
- Writer
