I always knew there would be another woman.
Maybe not one with a contract. Maybe not one wearing my earrings or sleeping in my bed. But there was always someone — a shadow in Maverick Ryder's past that moved like smoke behind glass. Unnamed. Unclaimed. But never forgotten.
And today, she arrived.
The Announcement
The morning started with a sharp knock on the penthouse doors and Harper's voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"Ava? You're going to want to see this."
I padded barefoot across the cold marble floor, hair still damp from the shower. The TV was already on in the living area, tuned into a morning gossip segment — a little too cheery for the bomb they were about to drop.
I stared at the screen.
"EXCLUSIVE: Genevieve Moreau, the heiress Maverick Ryder once called 'the one that got away,' has landed in New York for a mysterious high-profile deal."
"Sources says she'll be attending Ryder's exclusive charity gala this weekend— the same event where Ava Morales is set to debut as his fiancée."
Genevieve.
The name hit like ice water.
Blonde. French. A classic socialite with bones carved by royalty and scandals that made Vogue covers. I'd seen her once in a tabloid photo, barely dressed and laughing on Maverick's yacht. I'd told myself then — He has a type. And I'm not it.
I crossed my arms.
"She's not just some ex," I muttered.
Harper nodded grimly. "She's the ex. The one who walked away. She never wanted to belong to anyone. Until now, apparently."
"What changed?"
"You," she said simply.
I felt the walls close in. "He never mentioned her."
"No. But trust me — he felt her absence."
Later That Day
Maverick was in his office — all glass and obsidian, with a skyline view that screamed power. He didn't look up as I walked in.
"I saw the news," I said.
"I figured."
"You weren't going to tell me she was coming?"
He finally looked up. Cool. Calm. Dangerous. "Would it have changed anything?"
"Yes," I snapped. "It would've changed how I prepared."
"You don't need to prepare. You already won."
"Don't give me that game show nonsense. This isn't about a win. This is about the fact that your past is colliding with the contract you tricked me into signing."
His jaw tightened.
"She doesn't matter," he said evenly.
"She mattered enough to make the news."
He pushed back from his desk. "Genevieve and I were a disaster. Beautiful, expensive, and built to burn. Don't mistake history for desire."
"Then why does she get under your skin?"
He crossed the space in two strides. His hands gripped my waist. "The only woman under my skin right now is the one threatening to set my office on fire."
"Good," I whispered. "Maybe that's what you deserve."
His lips ghosted over my cheek. "Then burn me, Ava. Just don't run."
That Night: The First War
The penthouse buzzed with pre-gala preparations. Stylists came. PR teams rehearsed our entrance. Paparazzi were already staking out the underground garage.
But I couldn't shake her name from my mind. Couldn't shake the headlines or her perfect smile or the idea that maybe I was just a placeholder.
That night, I walked into the wardrobe room — a whole section of the penthouse dedicated to designer fashion — and saw it.
The dress.
It hung like temptation. Midnight black. Plunging neckline. Slit high enough to turn heads and spark rumors. A dress designed for warfare.
Harper raised a brow. "Going full femme fatale?"
I turned to her. "No. I'm reminding him who owns the contract."
The gala was held at Obsidian, one of Maverick's most exclusive luxury hotels. Black-tie. Candlelight. Opulence so rich it felt suffocating.
And of course — cameras.
The second we stepped from the car, they started flashing.
Maverick didn't say a word as he wrapped a possessive hand around my waist and led me through the glass doors like I was a crown jewel. He wore a custom black tux, no tie, shirt open just enough to make women blush and men bristle.
He looked dangerous. Unapologetically male.
And beside him, I wore sin like armor.
We were two storms walking into a ballroom full of prey.
Then she walked in.
Genevieve.
Blonde. Regal. Wearing Valentino red and dripping with old money. The crowd parted for her like she was still royalty.
Her eyes found Maverick.
And then… they found me.
She smiled.
I smiled back — sweet, deadly.
The war had officially begun.
The Conversation
It didn't take long before she approached. A slow, elegant prowl across the marble floor. I stood by the champagne tower, Maverick's hand resting lazily on my lower back.
"Bonsoir," she purred, French accent laced with amusement. "Maverick. And… Ava, yes?"
She offered her hand.
I took it.
"Genevieve," Maverick said coolly. "Didn't expect you here so soon."
"Surprise," she said, eyes never leaving mine. "You always did love surprises."
I stepped in. "So this is the infamous ex."
She tilted her head. "Infamous? I didn't realize I had such a reputation."
"Oh, you do," I said, sipping my drink. "And it's very… vintage."
Her eyes sparkled. "I see why Maverick likes you. You've got teeth."
"Funny. That's what they say about snakes."
Maverick let out a breath that might've been a laugh — or a warning.
"Ladies," he said smoothly. "Let's not start World War III in Gucci."
Genevieve looked at him. "You know this won't last, right?"
He went very still. "You don't know anything about us."
"I know you. And I know what you do to women who get too close."
She turned back to me. "Be careful, Ava. He doesn't break hearts. He devours them."
Then she vanished into the crowd.
Back at the Penthouse
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city twinkling beneath me like a million secrets.
Maverick walked in, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up.
"You were quiet on the ride back," he said.
"Because I'm thinking."
"About her?"
"About you. About whether this is still just a game."
He poured a drink. "She doesn't get to shake us."
"She did, though. The way you looked at her…"
"I looked at her like a closed chapter."
"Then why did I feel like the understudy?"
He turned to me, glass in hand. "Because you're used to being chosen for your looks, your likes, your clicks. Not because someone wants your fire."
I stared at him.
"Do you?" I whispered. "Want me?"
He crossed to me slowly. "I don't want you," he said, voice low. "I need you. And that terrifies the hell out of me."
His mouth was on mine before I could argue. Hot, hungry, filled with all the things he never said. His hands gripped my waist, lifting me onto the window ledge like he needed to prove something.
"I'll destroy anyone who touches you," he growled against my throat. "She comes near you again, I swear—"
"This isn't about her anymore," I whispered. "This is about us. And what happens when the world finds out this engagement isn't fake."
He froze.
I leaned in. "Because I'm starting to forget the difference."