Christian
The glass of scotch in my hand caught the low amber light of the club. I wasn't paying much attention to it, mostly just rolling it between my fingers, letting the ice melt while Miles and Jordan kept the conversation moving.
We had our spot, the one tucked into the far corner of the private members' club. Dark wood, plush leather chairs, waiters who knew not to hover unless your glass was empty. It was quiet enough to talk business, but not so quiet that you could hear the sound of your own bad decisions echoing back at you.
Miles lounged in his chair like he'd just stepped off a GQ cover shoot, which, knowing him, he might have. Navy blazer, open collar, that smug grin that meant trouble. Jordan was the opposite; sharp black suit, understated watch, eyes that missed nothing.
"So," Miles said, raising his glass, "going solo tonight, Knight?"
I gave him a look over the rim of my glass. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"
He gave a lazy shrug, but the smirk didn't fade. "Only that it's your first official 'couples' event since the engagement and… where's your bride-to-be?"
Jordan cut in before I could answer, his voice calm but probing. "She's not avoiding the spotlight, is she?"
I glanced at him over the rim of my glass. "She's not avoiding anything. She just doesn't care enough to show."
Miles grinned wider. "So you are going alone. And Ava's going to be there."
Of course she was. The Winthrops never missed a chance to be seen.
That earned him a small, amused exhale from me. "You sound like the gossip blogs."
"I'm just saying," Miles said, swirling his drink. "The last time the two of you were in that same room, you disappeared for forty-five minutes and came back looking—"
"Like someone who didn't want to hear another word of that sentence," I cut in.
Miles grinned. "Well, that explains it. You're not flying solo, you're flying old-school."
I didn't dignify that with an answer, mostly because it was easier to let them talk. Miles and Jordan could speculate all they wanted—about Amaya, about Ava—but the truth was simpler than they made it. Ava and I had history, sure. Years ago we'd played at being a couple. When that stopped working, we kept what did.
It was easy, familiar, and there were no expectations.
If Ava thought it was anything more, that was her problem.
The conversation drifted to business after that - deals, investments, the usual numbers game. But I could feel Miles watching me in that way he did when he thought I wasn't paying attention. He lived for tension, and the idea of Amaya, Ava, and me in one messy triangle probably made his week.
---
The gala was everything I expected it to be. Grand, polished, and filled with more pretense than oxygen.
The Paragon's ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and too many orchids in too many silver vases. The kind of place where everything sparkled just enough to distract you from the fact that nothing real ever happened here.
Events like this weren't about charity, no matter what the program claimed. They were about being seen, shaking the right hands, smiling at the right cameras.
I moved through the crowd easily enough, greeting people I barely knew, shaking hands with people I didn't particularly like. The champagne was cold, the music was soft, and I had no intention of staying longer than necessary.
Half the conversations were about investments, the other half about people who weren't in the room.
And then I saw Ava.
She stood near the bar in a silver gown designed to catch the light, and the eyes of anyone with a pulse. Her pale hair gleamed under the chandeliers, and her mouth curled into that smile she always used when she knew she had the upper hand.
Miles noticed her at the same time I did. "Well, look at that. Trouble, table for one."
I didn't go to her. I didn't need to. She saw me and, predictably, started making her way over.
Jordan gave a small nod. "We'll leave you to it."
And just like that, they were gone.
Ava closed the distance with the kind of deliberate slowness that made people turn to watch. "Christian," she said, her tone smooth, practiced.
"Ava."
She tilted her head, studying me with that familiar amusement. "You're here alone."
I didn't answer immediately, letting the silence stretch just enough to make it clear I wasn't going to explain myself.
"I thought you might've brought…" Her brow furrowed theatrically, like she was searching for the name. "…Amaya, yes, that's it."
"She's not here," I said, leaving it at that.
"Shame," Ava said, lips curving. "I was looking forward to saying hello."
I doubted that.
"I'm sure you were," I said mildly.
She smirked. "If you'd brought me, though, I'd have shown up. You know that."
"That's funny," I said, sipping champagne. "Didn't realize attendance needed to be proven."
"You don't need proof," she murmured, stepping in so close her perfume threaded through my breath, "but you like an entrance. And no one walks into a room with you like I do."
"I own plenty of rooms, Ava. I don't need a plus-one to hold the door."
Her lips tilted. "You don't need it. But you like it. The eyes. The attention. The promise that you'll leave with someone who knows exactly what you want before you even say it."
I didn't answer, and she knew she had the floor.
"Remember Saint-Tropez?" she asked softly, her voice taking on a slow, taunting rhythm. "You didn't leave the villa for two days. I still have marks from where you—"
I cut her off. "You're wasting your breath."
She ignored me completely, smile deepening. "Or Milan. The gala where we almost missed dinner entirely because you had me bent over the balcony, and I was loud enough for the people in the next suite to hear every word you said."
I kept my face unreadable.
She leaned in until her lips almost brushed my ear. "Do you want to know what I was doing an hour ago?"
I didn't answer.
"I was in the back of my car, thinking about the way your hands feel on my throat. I was wet before we even left my street. And when I got here…" Her hand trailed briefly over my jacket before slipping something into the inside pocket. "I finished myself in the bathroom. Twice. That was what I was wearing."
Her mouth ghosted the edge of my jaw. "And yes, it's still damp. I came on it while thinking about you. About the filthy things you say when you forget how dangerous it is for me to love it that much."
I met her gaze evenly. "Not tonight, Ava."
Her mouth curved wickedly. "Tonight," she whispered, like it wasn't a suggestion. Then she turned and walked away, silver gown cutting through the crowd like a lure.
---
By the time I stepped out of the ballroom, the press was waiting in full force. Flashes went off the moment the doors opened.
"Christian! Over here!"
"Where's Amaya? Trouble in paradise?"
"Ava Winthrop was present and Amaya Devreaux wasn't, aren't you engaged to Amaya?"
I didn't stop. Didn't answer. I just moved past them, the sound of their questions fading as I slid into the back of the car.
The city blurred past the windows, streetlights streaking gold against the dark. I loosened my tie, letting the quiet sink in. Nights like this weren't exhausting. They were just… predictable.
---
The next morning, the headlines were exactly what I expected:
Christian Knight and Ava Winthrop Present Together at The Paragon Gala – Are They Back Together?
Where Was Amaya Devreaux? Sources Say She Was a No-Show at the Year's Biggest Event.
I scrolled past them without slowing down, set my phone on the table, and took a sip of coffee. Ava's games were nothing new. The only variable was how far she thought she could push before I stopped letting her.
I set the phone down, leaned back, and let the sunlight spill across the table.
The world could think what it wanted. I knew the truth. And I didn't care enough to correct them.