The Halstead Hotel glittered like a jewel against the night sky, its grand ballroom alive with soft jazz and the hum of expensive conversation. Laughter echoed off crystal chandeliers. Waiters moved like shadows, balancing trays of champagne and imported wine. Everyone was dressed in their finest. Everyone was watching everyone else.
Ava Sinclair stepped through the double doors like she belonged there.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Only purpose.
She walked alone—on purpose. She wore a fitted black gown with a plunging neckline and open back. Her hair was swept up, her eyes lined sharp. She wasn't here to hide. She was here to be seen.
And she felt every pair of eyes follow her as she entered.
Let them watch.
Let him watch.
Julian had offered to escort her. She declined. This wasn't a social appearance—it was a statement.
She was done letting men speak for her.
She didn't see Damien right away.
But she felt his presence.
The way the energy shifted, the way heads turned, and whispers started.
She followed the direction of the crowd's attention—and there he was.
Damien Blackwood.
The man who once dismantled her family's future like it was a game of chess.
Tall. Composed. Commanding.
He wore a black tailored tux, cufflinks glinting under the chandelier light. His expression was unreadable. Calm. Controlled.
He stood with a group of foreign investors, but he wasn't paying attention to any of them.
His eyes were on her.
Their gazes locked across the ballroom.
And neither of them looked away.
Not even for a second.
It wasn't him who approached first. It was Ava.
She walked through the crowd, each step deliberate, each breath steady. She stopped just a few feet from him, holding his gaze like a weapon.
"Mr. Blackwood," she said, voice smooth, like silk over steel.
He gave a slow nod. "Miss Sinclair."
"You invited me."
"I did."
"Any particular reason?"
"To meet the woman whose reputation has risen faster than most startups I've seen in a decade."
Ava gave a small, bitter smile. "So this is flattery now? That's rich."
"I've always appreciated ambition," Damien replied. "Especially when it's dressed in black and staring at me like it wants to burn the world down."
A flicker of something passed between them—recognition, heat, fury.
She leaned in slightly, her tone cool. "I don't want to burn the world down, Mr. Blackwood. Just you."
He didn't flinch. "Then you'll have to get in line."
She laughed—quiet, sharp. "Still hiding behind clever words. Tell me, is it guilt or ego that brought you here?"
"Neither," he said. "I came to see if you were still that girl with fire in her eyes."
"I'm not."
He tilted his head. "No. You're something else now."
The crowd moved around them like they were invisible, but neither noticed. The air between them was heavy—charged.
Ava glanced around. "You really know how to throw a party."
"Only the best. Especially when war is on the guest list."
"You call this war?" she asked.
"I call it tension," he said. "A better start than silence."
Silence.
The word hung there. Heavy with the weight of years neither of them had spoken about. The day her father begged for more time. The way Damien walked away from it all.
She straightened. "You're not forgiven. You never will be."
"I didn't come for forgiveness."
"Then what did you come for?"
He looked at her, something shifting in his gaze—curiosity, maybe even admiration.
"I came to see what kind of woman you became without me."
A beat.
Then she turned, voice quiet but sharp as a blade. "Stronger."
She walked away before he could say anything more.
But even as the music swelled and conversation resumed, Damien stood still.
Watching her.
And smiling.
Because now he knew—
This game had just begun.