The message on my phone screen burned into my thoughts, even as I tucked it away like it didn't matter, but it did. And whoever sent it knew exactly what they were doing.
Damian didn't notice my distraction. He was too busy navigating whatever icy power game was playing out between him and Charlotte. Every glance, every carefully chosen word between them felt like a duel dressed up as polite conversation.
"So, Ava," Charlotte purred, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "how did you two meet? It's such a rare thing — Damian letting anyone close. I'm fascinated."
Her words dripped with condescension, and though she smiled, there was nothing warm about it. I could see the challenge in her eyes, daring me to stumble.
I smiled back, unwilling to flinch. "You know how it is. Some people meet at charity galas or yacht parties. We met on a sidewalk."
Charlotte's expression glinted for a fraction of a second before she recovered. "How... quaint."
Damian remained unmoved and he said nothing.
I couldn't help myself. "And you?" I asked, leaning forward. "You two go way back?"
Her smile sharpened. "Oh, we have history. Don't we, Damian?"
He looked at her then, something cold and distant in his gaze. "The past is irrelevant."
Charlotte gave a soft laugh, but it was brittle. "Not to me."
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. I didn't know exactly what had happened between them, but whatever it was, it was far from over.
I excused myself to the kitchen under the pretense of needing water, my heart pounding against my ribs. I needed to breathe, to think. I pulled out my phone again, staring at the message.
I know what you're doing. Stay away from him. Or else.
No number. No clue. But whoever it was, they were close enough to know I was here. Close enough to know Damian's movements. Which meant someone in this circle didn't want me around.
A tap on the marble counter made me jump.
Damian.
He was watching me, his expression unreadable.
"Who was that message from?" he asked quietly.
I stiffened. "How did you—"
"I saw your face," he said, voice low. "And you're not good at hiding when something's wrong."
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to lie, to brush it off. But something about the way he looked at me — not like the ruthless CEO the tabloids described, but like a man who needed to know — made me tell the truth.
"I don't know," I admitted. "It was a warning about you.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. "Show me."
I handed him the phone, and he read the message, his expression darkening by the second.
"I'll handle it," he muttered.
"Handle it? How? Damian, who would—"
His gaze snapped back to mine, sharp and unyielding. "There are people who'd do a lot worse than send a message. You need to be careful. From now on, you don't go anywhere alone."
The command in his voice both unsettled and — God help me — made my vessels quicken.
"I'm not some fragile girl you need to protect," I shot back.
His lips twitched, almost a smile, but not quite. "Maybe not. But you're in this now, whether you like it or not."
Before I could answer, a sudden crash came from the living room. A vase. Shattered.
Charlotte stood there, her phone in hand, her face pale as she stared at the screen.
And when she looked up, her gaze went straight to Damian.
"You didn't tell her, did you?" she whispered, voice trembling.
Damian's face went cold.
The silence stretched so long I could hear the faint hum of the city through the penthouse windows. Damian's eyes didn't leave Charlotte's, and whatever war was being fought in that stare wasn't meant for me.
I hated being the outsider in a conversation that was clearly about me.
"Someone tell me what's going on," I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.
Charlotte laughed softly — not with humor, but with something brittle and frayed. "Poor thing. You don't even know why you're here, do you?"
I turned to Damian, my stomach knotting. "What is she talking about?"
He finally spoke, his voice low, controlled. "It's complicated."
Wrong answer.
I took a step back. "Complicated? Try me."
For the first time since I'd met him, I saw a crack in his perfect exterior — something flickering in his eyes that looked a lot like guilt.
Charlotte tossed her phone onto the coffee table, her expression tight. "She deserves to know, Damian. Before someone else tells her in a far uglier way."
"Charlotte," he warned.
But she wasn't backing down. "Ava, your father. Do you remember his name?"
The question hit like a slap. It was the last thing I expected her to say.
I swallowed hard. "What does my father have to do with anything?"
Damian ran a hand through his hair, his control slipping. "Because, Ava… he used to work for my family."
My stomach dropped.
"He was head of security for Knight Enterprises," Damian continued, voice rough. "Fifteen years ago."
I shook my head. "No. That's not possible. My dad… he left when I was nine. Disappeared. My mom told me he—"
"Vanished," Charlotte finished for me, her voice softer now. "And no one ever told you why."
The room seemed to tilt.
I held my phone I was holding tightly. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because," Charlotte said, her expression unreadable, "your father didn't just leave. He was accused of betraying the Knight family. Of stealing from them. And no one's seen him since."
The world spun.
I stared at Damian, my heart hammering. "Is it true?"
He didn't deny it.
Which was all the answer I needed.
I backed toward the door, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run.
"Wait," Damian said, stepping forward, his voice rough. "Ava, there's more to it. I didn't know who you were when we met—"
"But you knew now," I snapped, my voice shaking. "And you didn't tell me."
His eyes were desperate, something I'd never seen on him before. "I was trying to protect you."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "You mean protect yourself."
Before he could answer, my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
No number.
No name.
"You should've stayed away. Now it's too late."
And attached was a photo of my father taken today. Alive.