The hospital room was quiet, save for the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor. Damian lay in the bed, shirtless under crisp white sheets, his shoulder bandaged and stitched. Pale, but breathing. Alive.
Ava sat beside him, curled in an uncomfortable chair, arms folded, gaze locked on his sleeping face.
He'd taken the bullet for the truth.
And yet here he was—still here.
She couldn't say the same for herself.
The morning after the gala had been chaos. The footage had aired for less than ninety seconds before the feeds were cut, but it was long enough. Lucian Wolfe's name was now tangled with scandal, and while he hadn't been arrested, he was officially missing—gone underground. The board was in disarray. The press were calling it the Wolfe Reckoning.
And somehow, Ava had become the reluctant face of it.
She turned when she heard a knock.
Cecelia Wolfe stepped in, cool and composed in a charcoal-gray coat, lips pressed in a line of something between approval and exhaustion.
"He'll recover," Cecelia said, walking to the foot of the bed. "He's as stubborn as his father. But smarter."
Ava stood. "Why are you really here?"
Cecelia glanced at her, unflinching. "To protect what's left. And to offer you a choice."
"I'm listening."
"The board wants a clean narrative. They'll spin the scandal as a father's sins uncovered by his son. You'll be erased. Conveniently omitted."
Ava's brows rose. "And you?"
"I want you in. On record. The woman who stood beside him. Not as a liability… but as proof of who Damian is now. Someone who chooses transparency."
Ava hesitated. "You want me to stay."
"I want him to survive this. And you're the only thing keeping him tethered."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Cecelia added, softer, "You remind me of the woman I should've been."
Ava exhaled slowly. "If I stay… I'm not staying quiet."
Cecelia gave a rare smile. "Then make them listen."
She left.
A moment later, Damian stirred. Eyes fluttering open. Finding her.
"You stayed," he murmured.
Ava moved to him, touching his cheek. "Of course I did."
"Then let's finish what we started."
The Wolfe Enterprises executive boardroom was colder than Ava remembered—chrome, glass, and the smell of old money trying not to panic.
Eleven board members sat in silence, their gazes flicking between her and the empty seat at the head of the table.
Damian's seat.
Ava wore a navy suit cut sharp enough to bleed. Her heels clicked against the marble as she approached the far end of the room, laid a folder on the glass, and didn't sit.
"I'm not here to be polite," she said, voice calm but edged with steel. "I'm here because you need me more than you want to admit."
Chairman Roth cleared his throat. "You're not officially part of this board, Ms. Sinclair."
"And yet I was the one who stopped the bleeding," Ava replied. "Literally."
Roth flushed. "The damage from the gala has cost us partnerships, stock value, and investor trust. We are in crisis—"
"Exactly," Ava cut in. "And crisis requires leadership, not cowardice."
Murmurs stirred down the table. A few younger members leaned in. Roth sat back.
Ava opened the folder.
"This," she said, "is a full recovery and restructuring proposal. Damian and I wrote it together. It includes a financial roadmap, PR strategy, and a new foundation directive with full transparency measures. I'll be heading the transition team."
"You?" scoffed Roth. "You were a temp six months ago."
Ava didn't blink. "And now I'm the reason Wolfe Enterprises didn't burn to ash."
Silence.
Then a voice from the far end of the table. Ms. Calderon, the oldest board member.
"I read the file last night," she said. "It's aggressive. But smart. Bold. I move to appoint Ava Sinclair as acting Director of Corporate Transition."
A beat.
Another board member nodded. "Seconded."
Votes were cast—seven for, four against.
It was done.
Ava took her seat.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message. No name.
Just a video.
She hit play beneath the table.
Lucian's face filled the screen—bloody, bruised, smiling.
"Well played, sweetheart. But checkmate takes more than one move. Hope you didn't throw all your pieces on the board just yet."
Behind him… Naomi. Gagged. Eyes wide with fear.
The feed cut out.
Ava stared ahead, heart pounding.
They'd won the battle.
But Lucian had just made it personal.
It took less than an hour to trace the video metadata—encrypted, bounced across five proxies, but one thing stood out.
The final ping came from The Glass Chapel—an abandoned church in Lower East Manhattan. Ava knew the name. Isabelle once whispered about it, back when "missions" still came with burner phones and bruised ribs.
It was where they trained the broken girls to forget who they were.
She left without telling Damian.
Not because she didn't trust him.
Because this wasn't his war.
Dressed in black, Ava parked three blocks out and walked the rest. Her boots splashed through filthy snowmelt, and her breath fogged in the winter air. The chapel loomed ahead—its stained-glass windows cracked, cross crooked against the night sky.
She entered slowly.
Candles flickered along the altar. Shadows danced.
And in the middle of the aisle—Naomi. Bound to a chair, bruised but breathing.
Ava stepped forward.
"Naomi," she whispered.
"You shouldn't have come," Naomi croaked. "It's a trap."
"I know."
From behind the pulpit, Lucian emerged.
Clean suit. Crooked smile. Gun in hand.
"I knew you'd come alone," he said. "You're predictable, Sinclair. Noble. So fucking tired."
Ava didn't flinch. "You don't get to rewrite the story, Lucian."
"But don't I?" he said. "Damian's bleeding heart was sweet. Yours? Much sweeter. Because you think you're free. But you're still the girl we made. Just smarter."
"You made a mistake letting me live."
"I made a wager," he said, circling her. "If you're truly done with the shadows, walk away. Leave Naomi. You and Damian get your happy ending."
Ava stared at him.
Then took one slow step closer. "Or?"
"Or you choose to fight. And we burn the rest of your past to ash."
She nodded—just once.
Then pulled a wire from her jacket.
Lucian blinked.
Ava's voice rang out, calm as a bell.
"Damian, now."
Glass exploded overhead as Wolfe private security descended through the rafters—tactical, masked, fast.
Lucian raised his gun—
—but Ava tackled him first.
They crashed to the floor, his weapon skidding. Fists flew. She slammed his head into the marble once. Twice.
Security swarmed them.
Lucian was dragged off, spitting blood and curses.
Naomi gasped as they cut her free. "You risked everything."
Ava looked her dead in the eye. "You're not the only one who owed Isabelle a promise."
The hospital room was quiet again.
Same antiseptic scent. Same scratchy blanket Damian insisted wasn't that uncomfortable. But now, it was Ava's turn to sit on the bed, legs curled beneath her, hair damp from a long, hot shower back at his penthouse.
Naomi was recovering in a secure clinic.
Lucian was in custody, awaiting charges that would bury him for the rest of his life.
The ghosts were finally quiet.
But Ava wasn't.
Damian reached over and brushed a thumb across the bruise forming along her cheekbone. "You shouldn't have gone alone."
"I know," she said softly. "But I had to. Naomi... she was the last tie to everything I used to be. I couldn't let him erase her too."
"You didn't just save her," he murmured. "You saved the company. The legacy. Me."
She smiled faintly. "And yet, you're still the one who makes this room feel safe."
Damian sat up slowly, wincing but determined. He reached to the drawer beside him and pulled out something small.
A velvet box.
Ava froze.
"You're not serious," she whispered.
He opened it.
Inside sat a ring—not flashy, not gaudy. Just gold and a single bloodstone set in a twist of onyx. Dark. Bold. Beautiful. Just like the woman he loved.
"I'm not asking you to be my secretary," he said, voice low. "I'm asking you to be my future."
Ava blinked. "Damian—"
"I know it's fast. I know we're bruised and burned and barely catching our breath. But I also know this: I've never fought harder for anything in my life than I've fought for you. And I'm not done."
Silence.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"You're asking me to marry a legacy that almost killed both of us," she said.
"I'm asking you to rewrite it with me."
She stared down at the ring.
Then up at him.
And smiled.
"I'm not saying yes because you're rich. Or powerful. Or wounded and handsome in a hospital bed."
He grinned. "Although that helps."
"I'm saying yes," she said, "because you saw the worst of me… and didn't flinch. Because we earned this. Every scar. Every fight. Every broken rule."
She took the ring.
Slid it on.
"Power. Passion. Mine," she said.
And kissed him like it was a promise.