Ava’s POV
Two dozen red roses greet me Monday morning, their cloying perfume making my already sensitive stomach lurch. The card nestled among the blooms makes it worse: "For my girl - we're not over. T."
I stare at the arrangement taking up half my desk, fury rising in my throat like bile. His girl. Like I'm property he temporarily misplaced rather than a person who chose to walk away.
"Those are beautiful!" Sarah from accounting leans over my cubicle wall. "Someone's trying to win you back."
"Someone's wasting their money," I mutter, shoving the card into my drawer.
By 10 AM, my phone buzzes with the first text: "Did you get the flowers? We need to talk."
By 11 AM: "Ava, please. I know you're angry but we can work through this."
By noon: "You're being ridiculous. Three years doesn't just disappear because of one mistake."
Nine unread messages total, each one making my skin crawl more than the last. The progression is textbook Tyler—starting with apologies, escalating to accusations, ending with entitlement.
How did I waste three years on someone who thinks I owe him a relationship?
I grab my purse and keys, desperate for air that doesn't smell like roses and desperation. The parking lot bakes under the midday sun, heat shimmering off the asphalt as I dig for my car keys.
"Ava."
I spin around, stomach dropping. Tyler leans against the neighboring car, looking like he hasn't slept in days. His usual perfect appearance is disheveled—wrinkled polo shirt, hair uncombed, dark circles under bloodshot eyes.
"We need to talk," he says, straightening.
"No, we don't." I unlock my car door, but his hand slams against it, preventing me from opening it.
"Come on, Ava. Don't be like this."
His voice takes on that pleading tone that used to make me cave, make me smooth things over for the sake of peace.
"What happened with Megan was nothing. A stupid mistake. She came onto me, and I was drunk, and—"
"So it's her fault now?" The laugh that escapes me is harsh, bitter. "Amazing how you're never responsible for your own choices."
"That's not what I meant." Frustration creeps into his voice. "I'm trying to explain—"
"There's nothing to explain. You cheated. On my birthday. Very publicly. We're done."
I try again to reach my car door, but he moves closer, invading my personal space. I plant my hands on his chest, trying to create distance, but he catches my wrist.
"You're being stubborn for no reason." His grip isn't painful, but it's firm, controlling. "We're good together. You know we are. Stop being so dramatic about this."
The entitlement in his voice, the casual way he dismisses my feelings, makes rage flare white-hot in my chest.
"Let go of me."
"Not until you agree to hear me out properly. Somewhere private where we can really talk."
"I said let go." I try to twist free, but his grip tightens.
"Ava, be reasonable. What we had was real. You can't just…"
"Is there a problem here?"
Tobias's voice cuts through the parking lot like steel. Tyler drops my wrist immediately, both of us turning toward the building entrance where Tobias stands in his suit jacket, looking every inch the composed administrator except for his eyes.
They're locked on Tyler's hand that was just gripping me, and something in his expression makes my pulse race.
"Dad." Tyler's voice takes on a defensive edge. "This is a private conversation."
"It looks like harassment." Tobias steps closer, his gaze moving to my wrist where red marks are already forming. "Ms. Brennan, are you all right?"
The formality of using my last name in front of Tyler is deliberate, professional, but I catch the undertone of barely controlled anger.
"I'm fine," I manage. "Just heading to lunch."
"Perhaps you should join me. I have some grant paperwork that needs your input." He looks at Tyler with cold authority. "I believe you have somewhere else to be."
Tyler opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but something in his father's posture makes him think better of it. He stalks away, leaving me alone with Tobias in the baking parking lot.
The moment Tyler's car disappears, Tobias's professional mask cracks slightly.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No. Just... persistent." I rub my wrist absently. "I can handle Tyler."
"You shouldn't have to." His jaw tightens. "Come on. It's too hot out here."
***
When I return from my actual lunch break forty minutes later, the roses are gone. Not moved—gone entirely, like they never existed. Tobias stands by the break room, coffee mug in hand, looking deceptively calm.
But I've learned to read the subtle signs over months of working with him. The tension in his jaw. The way his fingers drum silently against his thigh. The controlled stillness that means he's fighting something deeper.
"Feeling better?" he asks as I pass, voice carefully casual.
"Much, thanks." I settle at my desk, hyperaware of his presence twenty feet away.
"Perhaps you should work from my office this afternoon. The quarterly reports need reviewing, and you'll have fewer... distractions upstairs."
It's not really a suggestion. Before I can respond, he's already moving toward my desk, gathering my files with efficient movements.
"Tobias, I don't think…"
"Productivity," he says firmly, tucking my laptop under his arm. "That's all."
I follow him upstairs to the executive floor, my heels clicking against polished marble. His office occupies the corner of the building, all floor-to-ceiling windows and expensive furniture that screams power and success.
The moment the door clicks shut behind us, the careful professional facade evaporates.
"How long?" His voice is rough, dangerous in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.
"How long what?"
"How long has he been harassing you?" He moves closer, backing me against the closed door.
"Since Saturday."
"Did those flowers make you reconsider?" His hands come up to bracket me against the door, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel his heat. "Did his pathetic attempts remind you what you're missing?"
"No." The word comes out breathier than intended. "God, no. Tyler means nothing to me. Less than nothing."
Something predatory flashes in his hazel eyes. "Good." The possessiveness in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it sends electricity racing through my veins, making my nipples tighten against my blouse.
"Tobias, we agreed—"
"Fuck what we agreed." His mouth crashes into mine, swallowing my gasp. The kiss is hungry, desperate, nothing like the tender dance we shared Saturday. This is claiming, marking territory.
His hands are everywhere at once—tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, sliding under my skirt with purpose that makes me whimper against his mouth.
"Did he touch you like I do?" he growls against my lips, fingers tracing the red marks on my wrist.
"No," I breathe, already lost in the heat building between us.
"Mine," his voice’s rough with possession. His hand slides higher under my skirt, fingers hooking in the waistband of my panties. "Say it."
"Yours," I whisper, and watch his pupils dilate.
His fingers find me already wet, ready, and we both moan at the contact. This is insane—we're twenty feet from the campaign office, anyone could knock, but rational thought dissolves under his touch.
"So responsive," he murmurs, circling slowly, teasingly. "Do you know how many meetings I've sat through this week, thinking about how wet you got for me? How perfectly you fell apart in my hands?"
"Tobias," I gasp, hips bucking against his touch.
"Shh." His other hand covers my mouth, palm warm against my lips. "Can't have the whole office hearing how good you sound when I make you come."
He builds the pressure methodically, expertly, like he's studied exactly how to unravel me. His thumb finds that sensitive spot while two fingers work inside me, and I bite back a scream.
"That's it, baby. Come for me. Show me who you belong to."
The orgasm crashes over me like a tsunami, my entire body convulsing as I cry out against his palm. He works me through it, whispering possessive praise against my ear until I'm boneless against the door.
"Mine," he says again, pressing a soft kiss to my temple as I come down from the high. "Whatever Tyler thinks he had with you, whatever claim he thinks he has—you belong to me now."
I can only nod, still shaking from the intensity, knowing that every rational boundary we've tried to establish has just been obliterated by desire and something deeper, more dangerous than either of us is ready to name.