The morning after the gala came with blood in the water.
Headlines exploded across every business outlet:
"Ava Callahan Returns: The Ex-Mrs. Blake Now CEO of Billion-Dollar Calla Luxe.""Golden Goddess or Silent Threat? Ava's Speech Rocks Blake Corp Gala.""Power, Scandal, and a Billionaire's Former Bride."
Vivienne Blake's carefully built image of corporate perfection trembled beneath the collective gasp of the public.
She stood in her solarium that morning, a silk robe around her shoulders and a barely touched espresso in hand, watching news anchors dissect the gala like it was a warzone.
Across the screen, Ava's face lit up—flawless, glowing, untouchable.
"Turn it off," Vivienne muttered.
Her assistant hesitated. "Ma'am, the board wants to schedule an emergency—"
"I said turn it off."
The screen went black.
She'd underestimated Ava. Not the businesswoman—Vivienne had always known the girl was smart. But the performer—the tactician—that part, she hadn't anticipated.
"She wants a war," Vivienne whispered. "She'll get one."
At Blake Corp headquarters, Killian walked into the executive floor with his phone buzzing non-stop.
Investors. Board members. Journalists. Even his godfather from Geneva.
All asking one question:Is Ava Callahan coming for the company?
He didn't answer any of them.
His mind was stuck replaying her voice from last night: You never asked.
God, he'd looked her in the eyes and still seen the same fire—the one that used to laugh with him in bed at 2 a.m., or fall asleep mid-sentence while reading patents with him.
And he'd seen something else.
Hurt.Still raw. Still bleeding beneath the gold.
His assistant caught up with him in the hallway. "Mr. Blake, the board's waiting in conference room three. Also—your mother called twice."
"Let her wait."
He stepped into the boardroom, where ten sets of eyes turned to him immediately.
One of the older members, Mr. Langston, cleared his throat. "Killian, are you aware that Ms. Callahan purchased shares in two of our smaller logistics partners last quarter? Through shell holdings connected to Zurich?"
Killian blinked. "No."
"She now controls the backend supply chain for our East Coast fragrance rollout."
A pause.
"Meaning she could delay, reroute, or stall it entirely," another board member said. "If she wants to."
"And last night," Langston added, "she just gained the goodwill of half the business community in Manhattan."
Killian sat down, feeling the weight of their glares.
"She's not here to ruin us," he said slowly. "She's here to remind us we tried to ruin her."
Langston arched a brow. "Do you disagree that she now holds power that could hurt us?"
Killian didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because the truth was: yes, Ava Callahan now had the pieces to dismantle them—piece by silent piece.
And no one saw it coming.
Across town, Ava stood before a glass wall in her penthouse suite, phone in hand, watching the world buzz with her name.
She wasn't smiling.
Naomi entered with a tablet. "Stock price of Calla Luxe is up six percent this morning. Blake Corp is down three. Also, we've been invited to the Global Women in Power Summit next month. Keynote speaker slot."
Ava nodded. "Accept."
Naomi hesitated. "Chloe's tutor just left. She asked if you were still mad about the cookies."
That pulled a faint laugh from Ava's throat.
She turned toward the hallway and walked into the room where Chloe, six years old, sat cross-legged on a plush carpet, playing with puzzle pieces.
Her golden-brown curls fell over her eyes, and her pink pajamas were covered in tiny cat prints.
"Hi, baby," Ava said softly, kneeling beside her.
Chloe looked up, lips pouting. "You were gone all night."
"I had work," Ava replied, brushing her daughter's hair back gently.
Chloe squinted. "Did you wear the dress with sparkles?"
"I did."
"I wanted to see."
Ava paused.
Then, slowly, an idea formed.
That evening, as the gala decor was being torn down, Ava stood with Chloe in the backseat of a black SUV parked near the Blake Corp's ballroom doors.
The security was minimal now—just clean-up crews, a few last reporters, and tired staff.
"Look," Ava whispered, pointing through the tinted window. "That's where I gave the speech."
Chloe's eyes widened. "Did people clap?"
"They did."
"Did he see you?"
Ava's breath caught.
"He?"
Chloe shrugged. "The man you look sad about. The one in the picture with your old ring."
Ava didn't answer.
Chloe looked back at the entrance. "Do you still love him?"
Ava swallowed. "Some people," she said slowly, "are hard to forget. Even when they break your heart."
Chloe nodded. "Like my balloon that flew away?"
Ava smiled faintly. "Exactly."
Then Chloe pointed toward the doorway where Killian, dressed in dark casuals now, stepped out with his phone to his ear.
Ava stiffened.
He paused, frowning slightly—almost as if sensing something. He looked around once, twice.
But the SUV stayed parked in shadows.
Chloe watched him. "He looks nice."
Ava didn't answer.
Then Chloe whispered, "He looks like me."
Ava closed her eyes.
Not yet. Not tonight.
"Come on," she said gently, buckling her daughter in. "Let's go home."
As the car pulled away, Killian glanced one more time toward the street, an odd twist in his chest.
He didn't know why. Didn't know that just meters away, his daughter had looked him in the eye... and smiled.
***
That night, Killian stood in his penthouse, staring out over the Manhattan skyline.
The city glowed beneath him—busy, indifferent. The same city that had once witnessed him fall in love... and now watched him unravel in silence.
He loosened his tie and poured a glass of scotch, but the taste was bitter on his tongue.
Ava's voice still echoed in his head.
"You never asked."
He ran a hand through his hair.
She was right. He didn't ask. He didn't fight. When the allegations came—the whispered rumors of mental instability, of emotional outbursts—he had trusted the board. Trusted his mother. Trusted everything but her.
The memory burned.
Their last fight played like an old film reel—Ava standing barefoot in his office, eyes wide, pleading.
"Killian, I'm not crazy. They're framing me—Vivienne is behind this."
"You need help," he had said coldly. "You're not well, Ava."
"I need you."
He hadn't answered.
She disappeared two days later.
And now—three years later—she returned, cloaked in power and elegance, but still bleeding beneath the gold.
Killian set the glass down.
Something about last night nagged at him. Not just her words. Not just the anger. But something in her eyes... a shadow that hadn't been there before.
A quiet, painful protectiveness.
Like someone shielding more than pride.
He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out an old photograph.
It was folded, edges worn.
Him and Ava at the lake house. She was laughing, soaked from head to toe after falling off the dock, her hand wrapped around his wrist.
She had looked free back then. Open. Soft.
Last night, she looked like a fortress.
And he couldn't shake the feeling that behind that wall... was something she was guarding fiercely.
A secret.
Something she couldn't risk him knowing.
Killian clenched the photo.
Whatever she was hiding, it mattered.
And this time, he would ask.
Elsewhere, Ava stood beside Chloe's bed, brushing a few curls from her daughter's forehead.
The girl had fallen asleep mid-sentence, her tiny hands wrapped around a plush lion.
Ava leaned down, kissed her temple, then pulled the covers higher.
She sat by the bed for a while, staring.
Her daughter—half Blake, half Callahan. The proof of a love story that had burned too fast and too bright.
And still... a love she had never entirely let go.
But Chloe didn't know the truth.
Not yet.
Killian didn't either.
And Ava wasn't ready. Not until she was sure—absolutely sure—that the man who had once doubted her wouldn't do the same to their daughter.
Her eyes drifted to the window.
From this high, the city looked almost small.
But secrets had a way of growing. Of spreading like cracks in marble.
Ava breathed in deeply, then stood.
War had begun.
But some battles... were still too precious to expose.