The ballroom at the Sterling Regency Hotel was all polished wood, gold trim, and crystal chandeliers—grand in a way that announced: power is bought, not borrowed.
Ava had walked into dozens of rooms like this before.
But tonight felt different.
The Global Media Leadership Summit was one of those rare events where the real deals were made behind the press releases. Founders. CEOs. Strategists. Legacy names and future disruptors. And Ava was among them—not by inheritance, but by grit.
She stood near the espresso bar, watching as executives circled one another like wolves dressed in silk and tailored suits. A badge hung around her neck: Ava Sinclair | Easton Media Group | Operations Lead.
It was the kind of title that used to make people ask, Whose daughter are you?
Now, it made them listen.
"Ava Sinclair."
The voice came from behind her—low, crisp, and female.
Ava turned to see a woman with cropped auburn hair, dark tailored pants, and matte black lipstick. She extended a hand confidently.
"Carmen Voss," she said. "I've been hearing your name tossed around a lot lately."
Ava shook her hand, intrigued. "All good things, I hope."
"Not even a little," Carmen smirked. "Which means you're doing something right."
Ava laughed, relaxing slightly.
"I used to consult with Blackwood Holdings," Carmen added. "Years ago. Before the restructure."
Ava's eyebrows lifted. "You know Damien."
"I know his boardroom. He doesn't trust easily. Doesn't forget, either." Carmen's eyes narrowed. "But he does notice things… like you."
Ava's lips parted slightly. "We've crossed paths."
"I can tell," Carmen said. "The tension between you two has gravitational pull."
The summit's keynote panel opened with five speakers seated beneath a wall of LED screens: three men, one woman, and Damien Blackwood—positioned dead center.
He wore a charcoal suit, no tie. His voice was smooth, his points sharp. The room hung on every word he said.
Ava sat at a VIP table near the front, taking notes but also watching the way the crowd responded to him.
Damien didn't speak like a man who wanted attention.
He spoke like a man who already had it—and was just deciding who else deserved to keep theirs.
When the moderator turned the floor to the audience for Q&A, Ava didn't raise her hand.
But Damien saw her anyway.
He gave her the barest nod—acknowledgment, or warning.
She wasn't sure which.
After the panel, attendees scattered into the lobby for cocktails and whispered deals. Ava found herself near the open bar, sipping soda water and trying to ignore how Damien's words still lingered in the back of her head.
"Still not drinking?" a familiar voice asked.
She turned.
Damien stood beside her, two drinks in hand—offering one.
"I thought you didn't trust me with anything in glassware," she said dryly.
His smile was faint. "This one's just water."
She took it.
Mostly because she hated that he knew her preferences.
They stepped aside, out of the direct noise, into a quieter corner where the lights were dimmer and the walls lined with towering bookshelves for aesthetic effect.
Ava leaned against one of the shelves, studying him.
"You're always the center of attention in these rooms," she said.
"So are you."
"I work for it."
He stepped closer. "You think I don't?"
"I think you've forgotten what it's like to need approval. People already hand it to you."
Damien's eyes met hers—sharp, quiet.
"You still think you're the only one with something to prove."
"I don't need to prove anything," she replied.
He took another step. "Then why are you still fighting me?"
"Because I haven't decided if I want to win with you—" she paused, "—or against you."
The air stretched between them.
Damien reached out and touched the edge of her sleeve. Just a brush of fingers.
"You're not the same girl from the galas and boardroom lobbies."
"No," Ava said. "And you're not the man my father feared."
He flinched—just slightly.
It was the first time she'd ever seen him off-balance.
Someone cleared their throat behind them.
Carmen Voss.
She raised an eyebrow as she approached. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"You didn't," Ava said quickly, stepping slightly away from Damien.
Carmen's gaze flicked between them, unreadable.
"I was looking for you, actually," Carmen said to Ava. "There's someone I want you to meet. Woman out of Chicago—started a tech channel from nothing, just closed a multi-million-dollar deal with WesternNet."
"Impressive," Ava replied, grateful for the lifeline.
She followed Carmen across the room.
As they walked, Carmen said quietly, "You keep orbiting him like that, and you'll either end up burned—or pulled in too close."
Ava didn't answer.
Because Carmen was right.
She just wasn't sure which one scared her more.
Back at her apartment that night, Ava dropped her heels by the door, her purse on the counter.
She poured herself a glass of water and stood at the window, city lights flickering below her like embers that never died.
The letter from Lucien Maddox still sat unopened in her bag.
She pulled it out.
Held it for a long time.
But didn't open it.
Not yet.
Instead, she picked up her phone and typed a message.
Ava: "Do you have time for coffee tomorrow? Just… no business. No tension."
She hovered over the send button.
Then pressed it.
To Julian.
Because she needed to remember who she was—outside of power, strategy, and regret.
And because sometimes it is the safest place to stand…
Was beside the only person who didn't want anything from you.