Ava’s POV
If there was an award for enduring silent psychological warfare disguised as leadership, I was confident I’d be polishing it on my desk by now. Liam Duarte didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. He didn’t even really criticize in a traditional sense. He just... slowly, methodically, dismantled every sentence I spoke like it was a logic puzzle he’d already solved and was deeply bored by.
He’d glance at my work, skim, arch one perfectly annoying brow, and ask one—just one—razor-edged question that made the entire thing fall apart like a house of cards someone had tried to waterproof with good intentions and blind ambition.
And yet—I kept trying.
Kept staying up late adjusting margins on slides, reviewing case studies, color-coding spreadsheets with formulas I double-checked three times because God forbid he found an error and gave me That Look™. The one where he blinked once and exhaled like I’d insulted his family name.
Which is why, when the Duarte conference room erupted into quiet panic over the sudden hesitation of Delman Strategic Ventures—a top-tier investor we absolutely, categorically, needed to close—I didn’t just listen. I pounced.
They were hesitating because they didn’t believe we had the infrastructure to support the pivot into AI-led systems across the board. Which was stupid, because I had written an entire proposal about exactly that last week. A proposal Liam had declared “overambitious” and “not grounded in current company bandwidth.”
But Delman liked overambitious. Delman wanted vision. And I had it.
So I printed the proposal, added two more charts, color-coded the key points like I was organizing a college dorm planner, and ran.
Literally. I ran down the hallway.
When I burst into Liam’s office, breathing like a linebacker and waving papers in the air, he barely looked up.
“Give me sixty seconds,” I said, already flipping pages. “This—this is exactly what they want. You told me it was too much, but it’s not. Not for them. Look at slide seven. Look at the infrastructure modeling. And here, I pulled data from—”
He reached out slowly and took the packet from my hand. His fingers brushed mine.
I absolutely did not notice.
He skimmed. His eyes moved faster than seemed humanly possible.
And then—he stood.
Without a word.
He walked out.
I followed, mostly because I wasn’t sure if I’d hallucinated the whole thing.
Three hours later, Delman was back in. The deal was done. Duarte Tech was saved, apparently. People were smiling, nodding, murmuring “Great work, sir” in the way that only powerful men receive credit for things their underpaid staff made happen.
But Liam—Liam didn’t smile.
Not until I marched into his office after the meeting, still riding the post-crisis high, and dropped a giant manila folder on his desk with theatrical flair.
“You owe me that partner title,” I said, grinning.
He glanced at the folder. Then at me.
No smile. Nothing.
God, he was so annoying.
“You approved one of my proposals. That means we’re now in the ‘sometimes tolerates’ phase of our dynamic.”
“At this point, it’s only fair,” he finally caved in with a sigh. “Great job, Ava.”
And then—I couldn’t help it—I screamed.
Joyfully. Loudly. I twirled, let out a small shriek of triumph, and did an uncoordinated, possibly humiliating little bounce on the balls of my feet.
And that’s when he laughed.
Soft, but real. Quiet, but there. Not a smirk. Not a huff of breath. An actual, honest-to-God laugh.
I froze.
He kept laughing.
“What?” I asked. “What’s funny?”
“You,” he said, voice low. “You’re...”
“What?” I stepped forward, suspicious now.
He shook his head, the edges of his smile still visible. “It’s just—adorable.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I mean it,” he said, standing slowly. “It’s... refreshing. You’re either the most brilliant person I’ve ever met or completely insane.”
“I contain multitudes.”
He was closer now. Too close. And I didn’t step back.
I could feel it, feel the heat start to creep in behind my ribs, the way the air felt too full, too charged. The way his eyes weren’t cold anymore, weren’t guarded. They were looking.
At me.
At my mouth.
Oh, no.
And I was looking too—at the curve of his jaw, the place his collarbone disappeared beneath his button-down, the quiet concentration in his eyes like he couldn’t stop himself.
He leaned in, just barely. Just enough.
My heart was an idiot, because it stuttered. My knees were traitors.
And then—his phone rang.
A shrill, unromantic buzz that cleaved the moment in half.
He stepped back, and I breathed for the first time in what felt like hours.
“I—uh—I should go,” I said, already halfway out the door, not waiting for a reply.
He didn’t stop me.
Liam’s POV
It wasn’t just a phone call, it was a bomb.
“Liam,” my father said without even a hello. “We found your fiancée.”
There was something strange in his voice. Something... unsettled.
I paused. “You’re serious?”
“I’m forwarding the photo now. Don’t react. Not until you’ve seen it.”
I clicked into my inbox, opened the image, and forgot how to breathe.
Dark hair. Bright eyes. Ridiculously expressive mouth.
Smiling like she was getting away with something.
No. It couldn’t be.
It wasn’t.
But it was.
Ava Green—my most stubborn employee, my unexpected obsession, the girl who had just jumped and squealed in my office like a rom-com heroine and very nearly kissed me—was not Ava Green.
She was Avelina Sinclaire.
Daughter of Athena Sinclaire. The most untouchable woman in the country. The political kingmaker who’d practically built the Duarte family’s influence.
The runaway heiress.
My fiancée.
“You’re joking,” I whispered.
“No. And Athena is furious. She’s threatening to freeze us out of every piece of legislation we’ve ever lobbied for unless you bring her back.”
I was still staring at the photo. I couldn’t reconcile it—wouldn’t—but there she was. The girl I’d flirted with, challenged, maybe come close to falling for.
“I’ve been working with her,” I said slowly. “She’s here. In the office.”
My father hissed. “Then fix it. Get her back. Quietly. Don’t let her slip away again.”
I didn’t respond.