An urgent call came through the staff radio. A pipe had burst in the west wing suites, flooding several executive rooms. Housekeeping scrambled, maintenance swarmed the floor, and guests were temporarily relocated.
Tasha grabbed Ava's arm amid the chaos. "You're being reassigned to penthouse level tonight. They need extra hands for damage control. VIP suites only."
Ava's heart sank.
She knew who was up there.
And it didn't feel like an accident.
By dusk, she found herself standing outside Damian's suite, clipboard in hand, heartbeat echoing in her ears. She'd told herself she wouldn't come here again. Told herself there were lines she wouldn't cross.
And yet…
The door opened before she could knock.
Damian stood there, dressed casually for the first time — a dark open-collar shirt and slacks. Somehow, the simplicity made him even more dangerous.
"I thought you might show up," he said, a trace of amusement in his voice.
"I'm here for work," she managed.
"Of course you are."
He stepped aside, and Ava hesitated before entering. The suite was spotless, untouched by the chaos downstairs. She moved through the room quickly, noting inventory and checking amenities she already knew were perfect.
But when she turned to leave, he spoke again.
"Are you happy, Ava?"
The question hit harder than it should have.
"I… I don't see how that's any of your business."
"It is when I'm the only one who seems to notice that you aren't."
She should have left. Should have thrown the door open and run. But something in his voice — in the quiet certainty of it — rooted her in place.
"I have a husband."
Damian's expression darkened, though his tone stayed even. "A man who doesn't see you. Who forgets you exist the second you walk out of the room."
She swallowed hard. "You don't know anything about my life."
"I know what it feels like to be invisible to someone who should have cherished you."
Ava's throat tightened.
Damian stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "I'm not asking for anything, Ava….Not yet. But don't lie to yourself and pretend this isn't real."
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it, his expression shuttering.
"I have to take this," he murmured, his attention momentarily pulled away.
It was the lifeline Ava needed.
Without a word, she left the suite, heart pounding as she rushed down the hallway. But before she rounded the corner, a figure stepped from the shadows.
Bryan...
His face was pale, his eyes filled with something between fury and disbelief.
"How long?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous.
Ava's breath caught in her throat.
"I… it's not what it looks like."
His jaw clenched. "We'll talk when you get home."
He turned and disappeared down the corridor before she could speak, leaving her world tilting on its axis.
The apartment felt colder than usual when Ava stepped inside.
Bryan was seated at the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of scotch beside him. The television was off for once, and the silence in the room stretched thin like glass ready to shatter.
She set her bag down carefully, every nerve screaming for her to turn and leave.
"You want to explain what the hell that was?" Bryan's voice sliced through the quiet.
Ava braced herself. "It wasn't what you think."
"Then tell me what it was, Ava." His gaze pinned her in place, bloodshot and accusing. "Because it sure as hell looked like you sneaking out of some rich guy's hotel suite."
"I was working," she replied, forcing calm into her tone. "A pipe burst in the west wing. I got reassigned. It wasn't a choice."
Bryan laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "Yeah? And what about the way he looks at you? The way you act when you come home — distracted, jumpy. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Ava opened her mouth, but no explanation felt safe. Not when she wasn't entirely innocent. She hadn't crossed a line, but she'd let herself stand at the edge too long.
"I'm not having an affair," she said quietly.
Bryan rose from the table, swaying slightly. "You might as well be. You think I don't see it? You think I don't know what kind of woman you are?"
That stung.
"Maybe if you paid attention once in a while," Ava snapped before she could stop herself.
The slap never came, though his hand twitched at his side. Instead, he grabbed his keys and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The apartment rattled in his wake.
Ava sank onto the couch, her entire body trembling. She'd spent years shrinking, folding herself into whatever shape Bryan needed. And for the first time, she'd spoken back.
The weight of it left her breathless.
Her phone rang on the coffee table.
An unknown number.
"He won't hurt you. Not while I'm watching. — D"
Ava's stomach twisted.
How did he know? How much was Damian seeing without her realizing?
She should've been terrified.
Instead, an unwelcome sense of safety settled over her.
At the hotel the next evening, Ava kept her head down. No penthouse assignments. No unexpected gifts. No carefully chosen glances across crowded rooms.
But every step felt like walking through a storm she couldn't see, only sense.
By the time her shift ended, exhaustion clung to her. She made her way to the staff entrance, eager for the empty solace of her apartment, when Tasha appeared, blocking her path.
"Someone left this for you," Tasha said, handing over a small, unmarked envelope.
Ava's heart plummeted.
She took it with numb fingers and unfolded the note.
"Meet me….Midnight… Terrace bar."
No name, but she didn't need one.
Damian.
She should have torn it up, ignored it, gone home. But the truth Ava didn't want to admit — even to herself — was that part of her had been waiting for this.
The terrace bar was empty at that hour, lit by strings of soft lights and the glow of the city beyond. Ava arrived early, every instinct warning her she was making a mistake.
Damian appeared as if from nowhere, dressed in a tailored black suit without a tie, his hair tousled as though he hadn't cared enough to tame it.
"You came," he said, as though he'd never doubted it.
Ava's throat tightened. "What do you want from me?"
Damian didn't answer right away. He stepped closer, resting his hands on the railing, staring out over the glittering skyline.
"I didn't plan for this," he said quietly. "I came to this city to close a deal. To destroy a man who double-crossed me. And instead… I noticed you."
Ava's chest ached. "You don't even know me."
"I know you better than he ever did," Damian murmured. "I see the way you shrink when people expect too much. The way you smile when no one's watching. The way you look like you're drowning in a life you never asked for."
She gripped the railing, fighting tears.
"I can't do this," Ava whispered.
"I'm not asking you to," Damian replied, though his eyes said otherwise.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it.
"I just wanted you to know," he said softly, "that you don't have to be invisible anymore."
Ava's heart splintered.
She should have ignored this flattering words.
Should have turned and left before things spiraled even further.
But then another phone chimed — hers.
She checked the screen and froze.
"I know what you're doing. You'll pay for this. — Bryan"
Ava's blood ran cold.
She looked up, but Damian was already moving toward her, reading the terror in her face.
"What is it?"
She showed him the message.
His expression darkened, not with anger, but with something colder.
"You're coming with me," Damian said, his tone final.
Ava's breath ceased a bit. "I can't—"
"You can. And you will."
Before she could argue, he took her hand.
And somewhere in the distance, a figure lingered in the shadows of the rooftop garden, watching them.
The storm was coming.
And no one would escape untouched.