The Monday after the gala arrived with unspoken tension threading through Manhattan's elite business circles.
Calla Luxe's press coverage had dominated the weekend. Ava's poise, her cutting grace, the speculation about her return—it had all fueled a storm that even Blake Corp couldn't outshine.
At Blake Tower, Killian stared at the folder on his desk. Inside were the names of four private investigators, three corporate analysts, and one medical expert.
All of them hired discreetly.
All of them tasked with finding the answer to a question he hadn't dared ask three years ago.
Why did Ava disappear?
Why did she leave without taking anything—not even the house. Not the joint account. Not the name Blake.
Just silence.
But now… she was everywhere.
And this time, she wasn't avoiding attention.
She was controlling it.
Still, she hadn't spoken to him again since the gala.
Killian adjusted his cufflinks and grabbed his coat.
It was time.
Ava was reviewing campaign mockups when Naomi entered her office, eyes wide.
"Mr. Blake is here."
Ava didn't look up. "Security let him in?"
"He didn't go through reception. He used private clearance. The old one."
Ava exhaled, slowly. Of course he did.
Naomi hesitated. "Should I call building security?"
Ava finally looked up, voice even. "No. But make sure he's not allowed to use that entrance again."
Moments later, Killian stepped into her office.
It had barely changed since she opened Calla Luxe headquarters six months ago. Warm beige stone walls. A glass ceiling. A single, white orchid blooming at her desk.
She looked up, utterly calm.
"Is this a social call or a legal one?"
Killian stood still for a moment, watching her like she might vanish again.
"Neither," he said. "I just want to talk."
She folded her hands. "You should've sent a calendar invite."
He flinched slightly.
She motioned to the chair opposite her desk. "Since you're already here."
He sat, cautiously. "You look…"
"Different?" she offered. "Cold? Stronger?"
"I was going to say beautiful."
She raised a brow. "You've always been good with words, Killian. Just not with truth."
He leaned forward, ignoring the sting in her tone. "Why did you come back?"
Her expression didn't falter. "Because this city is mine as much as yours. Because I built something worth fighting for. And because silence no longer serves me."
"But you didn't answer the question."
"I'm not here for closure. Or revenge." She paused. "Not yet."
Killian studied her. Her tone was precise. Controlled. Like glass: beautiful and lethal.
He tried again. "You vanished. For three years. Not even a text."
Ava tilted her head slightly. "Would you have read it? Or would you have handed it to your mother's legal team?"
His jaw tightened.
She continued, "You let them silence me, Killian. You didn't even ask why I stopped speaking. You didn't come when they locked me away."
"I didn't know—"
"Because you didn't care to find out."
Silence stretched.
Killian stared down at his hands. Then, quietly: "I should have."
Ava's throat tightened, but she didn't let it show.
Instead, she stood.
"This is not the space for your guilt."
He looked up.
She added, "I've moved on. Calla Luxe is real. My life is real. I don't need you showing up and confusing it."
"I'm not trying to—"
"Then don't." Her voice hardened. "Stay out of my building. Stay out of my press. And stay out of my way."
He stood too, slowly.
"I just wanted to see you. Face to face."
"You've seen me."
"And I want to ask one more thing," he said, tone suddenly gentler. "Why does your assistant refer to someone named Chloe? You called her 'your world' in a voicemail three years ago."
Ava's breath caught—but only for a fraction of a second.
She smiled coldly. "You're not entitled to that answer."
"She's a child, isn't she?"
Ava's eyes sharpened. "Be careful, Killian."
He took a step closer. "Is she—?"
"I said careful."
Their eyes locked.
Something cracked behind his ribs.
Ava's voice dropped to a whisper, laced with steel. "You had your chance to ask about my world. You gave it up the moment you believed I was broken."
Killian felt the weight of it settle over him like smoke.
And then she said, quieter still:"You don't get to touch what you tried to erase."
He left.
He didn't slam the door.
But he wanted to.
Later that night, Ava sat on the floor of Chloe's room, listening to her daughter hum softly while building towers from alphabet blocks.
"Mommy," Chloe said, not looking up, "is the man from the picture still sad?"
Ava blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I saw him again. Through the window. He looked like he lost his favorite color."
Ava felt something twist in her chest.
She reached out and gently tucked a curl behind Chloe's ear.
"He did," Ava whispered.
"What color?"
Ava smiled faintly. "Gold."
Chloe beamed. "Like your dress?"
"Exactly like my dress."
Then Chloe looked up. "Will he get it back?"
Ava looked away, toward the city lights flickering beyond the glass.
"No," she said softly. "He won't."
But for the first time since her return, Ava wasn't entirely sure she believed it.
***
Killian didn't return to Blake Tower.
Instead, he drove aimlessly through Midtown, past the lights of buildings that once meant everything to him. Deals had been made in those towers. Fortunes earned. Reputations built.
But tonight, none of it mattered.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel as her words played on a loop in his mind:
"You don't get to touch what you tried to erase."
He pulled into a quiet underground garage and turned the engine off.
For a long time, he sat in silence, staring at the faint reflection of his face in the rearview mirror. His own eyes looked hollow. Tired. Older.
He remembered the first time he saw Ava.
Not at a gala.
Not at a boardroom.
But in a hallway outside a charity panel, holding a broken shoe in one hand and an espresso in the other, laughing at her own chaos. She was barefoot, disheveled, and radiant.
He had never been the same since.
And now, she wouldn't even let him near the version of her he helped destroy.
"Why does your assistant refer to someone named Chloe?"
That question still lingered, unanswered—but not forgotten.
He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the folded voicemail transcript. The one from three years ago, right before she vanished.
He had never told anyone he kept it.
He read it again.
"If anything happens… if I'm gone, tell her she was always my world. Tell her she was the reason I survived the fire."
Tell who?
He had assumed Ava meant herself.
But now… now there was a name.
Chloe.
His breath caught.
Was it possible?
He thought of the girl at the gala entrance. A flash of a child's silhouette. Hair like hers. Eyes too familiar.
The blood in his veins turned cold.
If Ava was hiding a child… his child…
Everything he thought he knew about the past three years collapsed beneath him.
And this time, he wasn't going to walk away.
Back at Calla Luxe, the office was quiet.
Ava sat alone in the boardroom now, long after everyone had left.
The city glowed beyond the windows. But inside, it felt hollow.
She'd kept her composure. Said the right words. Maintained the distance.
But now that the door was closed…
Her hands were trembling.
She pressed her fingers to her temple.
You don't get to touch what you tried to erase.
She had meant it. Every word.
And yet… something inside her rebelled. Some small ache that refused to die.
Killian's face—how broken he looked. How lost.
Ava exhaled shakily and stood.
She walked to the windows, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
If he found out about Chloe, everything would spiral. His family would claim blood rights. The press would devour her daughter's privacy.
She couldn't let that happen.
She wouldn't.
Chloe was innocent.
And she deserved better than the legacy of the Blake name and all its shadows.
Ava wiped her eyes once—quickly, angrily—then straightened her shoulders.
She had come too far to let guilt or nostalgia compromise her now.
This was war.
And war required armor.