TWO GRAVES, ONE VOW

Chapter 2: Intentions Revealed

AVA'S POV

"Be back in two hours," I told my driver.

"Of course, Ma'am."

I nodded and made my way toward the entrance. The building itself was impressive, though not in the way most people would think. It wasn't the marble columns, the towering glass façade, or the carefully curated luxury that caught my attention. Wealth could build beautiful structures. What interested me was the intention behind them.

Every detail of the gala had been designed to communicate something. Power. Exclusivity. Influence.

Victor Harrington understood perception better than most people understood business.

As the doors opened, I found myself paying less attention to the architecture and more to the atmosphere waiting beyond it. Conversations drifted through the hall in carefully measured tones, and beneath every smile and handshake, I could already see the negotiations taking place. Business gatherings had always fascinated me that way; people rarely said what they wanted outright, yet their intentions revealed themselves all the same.

The main hall stretched before me like a private museum.

Artifacts rested inside glass displays, paintings adorned the walls, and sculptures occupied carefully selected spaces throughout the gallery. None of it felt random. Every piece had been chosen to tell a story about legacy, achievement, and permanence.

Near the entrance, a small crowd had gathered around an ancient artifact while one of the employees explained its history.

I slowed my pace, listening from a distance.

The woman spoke with genuine enthusiasm, describing the civilization that had created the piece centuries ago and the long journey it had taken before arriving here.

Most of the guests nodded politely.

A few of them were actually listening.

Their eyes wandered too often. Their attention remained fixed on the room rather than the artifact.

I found that disappointing.

The artifact itself was remarkable. It had survived generations of wars, governments, and changing civilizations. Someone, somewhere, had considered it valuable enough to preserve for centuries.

That interested me far more than the people pretending to admire it.

Continuing through the gallery, I allowed myself the rare luxury of slowing down. A painting could reveal as much about its creator as a balance sheet could reveal about a company. Both were products of decisions, discipline, and vision.

One landscape painting in particular held my attention longer than expected. The brushwork was meticulous without feeling rigid, ambitious without becoming excessive.

Talent has always fascinated me.

Not because it was rare.

Because it was useful.

People often underestimate how much success depends on recognizing excellence when it appears. I moved on, studying the rest of the collection while the crowd around me continued to grow. The hall was far busier than I had anticipated.

Businessmen stood in small groups discussing acquisitions and investments. Women in tailored designer dresses exchanged business cards while simultaneously evaluating each other's worth. Several couples moved through the crowd together, and judging by the conversations I overheard, many of them had built their companies side by side. Interesting. I paused beside a display case and surveyed the room more carefully.

This wasn't a private meeting.

In fact, it wasn't even close.

Victor had gathered an unusually diverse collection of executives, founders, investors, and industry leaders under one roof. Which meant he was planning something. The realization settled quietly in my mind. Not a concern. Simply a fact.

Victor Harrington did nothing without purpose.Whatever his purpose was, I'd discover it eventually, but it wasn't why I had come. I came to see Victor.

Everything else was secondary.

A bar occupied the far side of the hall, positioned near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. Since I still had time before my scheduled meeting, I made my way toward it and took a seat on one of the high leather stools lining the marble counter.

The bartender approached almost immediately.

"What would you like to drink, Ma'am?"

My eyes drifted over the collection of bottles arranged behind him.

Expensive whiskey,vintage wine,champagne. Enough alcohol to bankrupt poor judgment.

"Something non-alcoholic." The bartender blinked once before nodding.

"Certainly, "he said, smiling. I leaned back slightly as he prepared the drink and turned my attention toward the crowd once more.

If I were meeting Victor Harrington today, I would have no intention of clouding my thoughts beforehand.

Opportunities required preparation.

And I prefer facing them completely sober.

The bartender returned a moment later and placed the drink before me.

"Thank you."

He nodded politely before moving on to his next customer.

I lifted the glass and took a small sip. The drink was light, refreshing, and forgettable, which was perfectly acceptable. I hadn't ordered it to enjoy it. I had ordered it to occupy my hands while I observed the room.

A soft melody drifted through the hall, weaving itself between conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. Judging by the expressions around me, the song was meant to be emotional. Sentimental, even. I never understood the appeal.

Most emotional songs relied on the same formula: longing, heartbreak, and regret. Different lyrics, identical destinations. Predictability is disguised as depth. My attention shifted back to the crowd.

Executives moved between conversations with calculated ease. Investors evaluated opportunities while pretending to discuss the weather. Founders pitched ideas without realizing they were pitching them. Everyone wanted something.That much never changed.

Then, I noticed a familiar figure moving through the crowd.

Unfortunately.

I didn't need to turn fully to know who it was. Some people announced their presence without saying a word. Maya Williams was one of them. The confidence in her walk was exaggerated. The smile was artificial.

And the fact that she was heading directly toward me suggested that whatever peace this evening had offered was about to expire. Wonderful. I took another sip from my glass, perhaps she'd change direction. She didn't.

Of course, she didn't.

"Ava."

"Maya."

She stopped beside me, smiling in the way people smiled when they were trying very hard to appear successful.

"What a surprise seeing you here."

"Not really," I replied. Her smile tightened. Good.

Maya and I had never gotten along,not because she was competition, it requires capability. Maya's greatest talent had always been attaching herself to people more competent than she was and calling the result her achievement. I found that difficult to respect.

"I've been incredibly busy lately," she said, adjusting her designer handbag. "The company's growth this quarter has exceeded every projection." I nodded politely.

She continued.

"We've secured several new partnerships. Investors are finally recognizing our potential."

Finally,

An interesting choice of words, she spent the next minute listing accomplishments as though she were presenting an annual report. I listened with the same level of enthusiasm I reserved for tax regulations. Around us stood founders whose companies generated more revenue in a month than Maya's produced in a year. Several industry leaders nearby could probably acquire her company before finishing their drinks.

Yet she spoke as though she'd conquered the business world. Confidence was admirable, delusion was not. My gaze drifted past her shoulder, a man was approaching.

Her husband.

Predictable.

I looked back at Maya.

"Your lapdog is coming." Her expression darkened instantly.

"What did you just call him?" I smiled into my glass.

Sometimes, people make things too easy. Switching languages, I replied in Japanese.

"A b***h remains a b***h, regardless of the company she keeps." Maya blinked.

"What did you say?"

The irritation in her voice was immediate.

I took another sip.

The advantages of speaking multiple languages were often underestimated, sometimes they opened markets, amd sometimes they ended conversations.

Before Maya could press further, her husband reached her side. "Babe," he said quietly, "Victor's here."

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CHAPTER 2 : The Condition

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"Victor's here." That got my attention.

Immediately. I lowered my glass and followed his gaze. Victor Harrington was making his way through the crowd. People subtly shifted aside as he approached. Influence had a way of creating space without needing to request it.

Two men walked alongside him.

One to his left.

One to his right.

Neither appeared interested in conversation. Both carried themselves with the quiet confidence of people accustomed to responsibility. Victor's smile widened when he spotted me.

"Miss Sinclair."

"Mr. Harrington."

I stepped forward and accepted his handshake. His grip was firm. Intentional. The kind of handshake designed to communicate respect without surrendering authority. Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel Maya watching.

Still standing there.

Still hoping to remain relevant.

I turned toward her with a pleasant smile.

"Would you excuse us, Mrs. Williams?"

It wasn't a request, and we both knew it. Maya knew it too. The anger that flashed across her face was almost worth the interruption. Almost.

Without another word, she turned and walked away with her husband. I watched them disappear into the crowd before returning my attention to Victor. To this day, I remain genuinely impressed by Maya's ability to keep her company operational. The business world was supposedly governed by logic and competence, yet it continued producing exceptions. And finally, Maya was no longer my problem.

Victor Harrington was.

And unlike Maya, he was a man worth paying attention to. Victor's attention lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary. Not in a way that felt uncomfortable. In a way that felt deliberate. Most people looked at others out of curiosity. Victor Harrington looked at people because he was calculating them, weighing them against whatever standards existed inside that remarkably strategic mind of his. That made him interesting.

"Miss Sinclair," he said, gesturing toward a quieter section of the hall. "Walk with me." I followed, declining would have been a pointless display of caution. Victor had already proven he could command a room without raising his voice. Men like him rarely approached people without a reason.

As we moved away from the crowd, the noise of the gala softened behind us. Conversations blurred into the background, accompanied by the distant melody of the orchestra and the occasional burst of laughter.

Interesting.

He had chosen a location where people could still see us, but not hear us. "I must admit," Victor said, "I was curious whether you would actually attend." I glanced at him.

"Why wouldn't I?" A faint smile appeared on his face.

"Because you have a reputation for avoiding unnecessary appearances." He wasn't wrong. Most events served no purpose beyond exchanging meaningless pleasantries with people who had a vested interest. "I don't attend places without a reason, Mr. Harrington."

"Exactly." His answer came too quickly. As if he had expected mine.

"You see, that's what separates you from most people in this room. They attend because they want to be noticed. You attend because you want something." I studied him carefully.

Compliments were rarely just compliments when they came from powerful people. More often than not, they were introductions to a request.

"And what makes you think I want something?" Victor kept his gaze ahead.

"Because everyone wants something." A reasonable answer, but incomplete.

"What do you want from me?" There was no advantage in pretending otherwise. Victor smiled slightly.

"I like that about you."

"Most people say that before they ask for something."

"Perhaps because it's usually true." I said nothing.

Silence has always been a useful tool. People often revealed more when they weren't being interrupted. Victor, however, seemed perfectly comfortable with it, and that told me something. He wasn't trying to fill the silence, he was waiting.

"I've followed your progress for some time, Miss Sinclair."

Ah.....there it was....