The image burned in Ava’s palm like it was molten iron, searing through skin and bone until it settled somewhere deep in her chest.
She didn’t even realize she’d stopped breathing until her heel shifted slightly, pressing into the base of her wineglass, and the faint c***k of glass reached her ears. It was barely more than a whisper — but enough to snap her back into herself.
Her gaze locked on the man in the photograph.
Tall. Lean. A shadow of muscle under a tailored jacket.
And the scar — sharp and deliberate — cutting across his jawline like a blade had claimed him and he’d survived just to spite it.
But it was his smile that cut deepest. Dangerous. Amused. The same smile he’d worn the night he left her bleeding on the cold pavement while the city lights blurred above her. A smile
