AVA SINCLAIR.
The pool water sparkled under the Los Angeles sun, catching the light in a way that made my skin glow radiantly. I arched my back, letting my dark auburn hair spurt in wet, glossy waves down my shoulders and sharp cheekbones. I pouted my full lips, so my blue eyes were half-lidded as I gave the camera my best smoldering stare. The music video director shouted something about angles, but I barely heard him over the pulse of the soft hum vibrating through the air. Every stroke I made through the water was deliberate was a performance not just for the lens but for Damian Pierce, knowing he was watching despite dismissing me like I was nothing more than a spoiled debutante playing at being a star. My slender body sliced through the pool with a confidence that masked the fire raging in my chest, a fire that whispered I would make him see me, really see me, no matter what it took.
I kicked off the pool's edge, gliding beneath the surface, the world muffled and serene for a fleeting moment. My thoughts flowed as fiercely as the surrounding water. Damian had always been there, lurking in my life like a shadow I couldn't shake. He was Zane's best friend, older by a decade, with an infuriating charm that made my knees weak and my temper flare.
I remember the summer I turned eighteen, the way his dark eyes had lingered on me for so long at Zane's beach house, his lips curling into a half-smile that promised things we would never dare to voice. We had stood too close on the balcony, the ocean breeze tangling my hair, as I felt his breath warm against my cheek when he had leaned in, only to pull back, muttering something about his loyalty to my brother. Loyalty. As if I were a child who couldn't handle her own heart. I broke the surface, gasping softly, water streaming down my face as I tilted my head for the camera.
The photographer clicked furiously, shouting, "That's it, Ava! That look is fierce and untouchable!"
I wasn't untouchable, though. Not when it came to Damian. Every dismissive glance he had thrown my way since I returned to Los Angeles and every time he called me "kid" or brushed off my attempts to talk, it cut deeper than I would admit. I wasn't the naive girl he seemed to think I was. I have walked runways in Paris, sipped champagne with royalty in Dubai, danced under the stars in Santorini. I had lived a life most could only dream of, yet here I was, still chasing the approval of a man who saw me as Zane's little sister and nothing more.
The video shoot wrapped with the director clapping like we had just filmed the next blockbuster. I climbed out of the pool, wrapping a silk robe around my bikini-clad body, the fabric clinging to my damp skin. The crew bustled around, packing up equipment, but my focus was elsewhere. Damian.
He had been at the shoot earlier, lounging by the bar with that effortless swag, his tailored suit hugging his broad shoulders. He hadn't stayed long at the location but just long enough to watch me dive into the pool and then leave without a word. The memory of his indifference to me burned. I would show him I was his equal, not some flighty heiress. I would make him want me.
While the crew cleaned up the location, I found myself lingering with my manager, Andrea. She was a petite woman with a pixie cut and a laugh that could light up a room. We had walked through the chaos of the day, and now we sat at a corner table, sipping martinis.
"You were a vision out there today," Andrea said, her eyes sparkling. "I mean, damn, Ava. You made that pool look like it was made for you."
I laughed, swirling my drink. "Thanks, Andrea. You made me look like a goddess. That smokey eye? Lethal."
She grinned, leaning closer. "So, spill. What's with you and Mr. Tall, dark, and brooding in the shadows? I saw the way you two were looking at each other."
I blushed, glancing down at my glass. "It's... complicated. He's my brother's friend. I've known him forever."
"Uh-huh," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And I've known my cat forever, but I don't look at her like I want to climb her like a tree."
I burst out laughing, "Okay, maybe I like him. A little. But he's... difficult. And there's stuff with my brother I can't ignore."
Lila reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "Hey, you're Ava freaking Sinclair. You've walked runways and have caused a few international incidents with that smile. Whatever's going on, you've got this. And if that guy can't see how incredible you are, he's an idiot."
Her words warmed me. "Thanks, Kayla," I said softly. "I needed that."
"Anytime," she said, clinking her glass against mine. "Now, let's order another round and plot how you're gonna make that man beg for mercy." I grinned, letting her words reignite the fire in my chest for Damian.
I took the elevator back to my suite at the Château Marmont. I kicked off my heels and let the robe fall to the floor, the cool air kissing my skin. The room was a study in opulence, a gold-accented chandelier full of crystals that sat over my palatial-sized bed. I grew up in places like that, raised by my maternal grandparents after Mom died. Their wealth had shaped me into the sleek, confident woman I had become. I had decided to be a Sinclair, not Calloway, a deliberate shield against the shadows of my half-brother's world.
My half-brother, Zane Calloway, who is the billionaire genius behind Atlas Group, was a man everyone in LA revered. But I had heard the dark whispers of how folks had vanished after crossing him. When our father died five years ago, I saw a shift in Zane, the way his eyes suddenly became hardened and his smiles grew rare. Yet I had pretended not to notice, focusing on my modeling career.
I padded across the plush carpet to the dressing table, my reflection staring back at me. I was reaching for my phone when my eyes caught a folded piece of paper on the floor, half-tucked under the bathroom door. My pulse quickened as I bent to pick it up, the edges crisp and heavy, like it carried weight beyond its size. I unfolded it, and the words made my breath pause.
"Stay out of my business, or you will regret it."
That was it; there was no signature or hint of who had left it, but I knew who sent the threat note: Kamar. His threat hung in the air, choking me until I sank onto the edge of the bed, still holding the note with trembling hands. Zane had always kept me at arm's length from his company, insisting it was for my safety. I had played along, jet-setting across the globe, modeling, living the life of a carefree heiress. But I wasn't stupid. I had overheard enough late-night calls, seen enough guarded looks between Zane and his men, to know Atlas Group wasn't just a tech empire. Our father's death had changed Zane. He had stepped into a role I didn't fully understand, and now this note confirmed what I had feared: His world was darker than I had let myself believe.
My mind raced, piecing together fragments of the past. The way Zane's jaw tightened whenever I asked about Atlas. Damian and his other friends, too. The thought of him sent a jolt of longing through me. He was Zane's right-hand man, always at his side, always in on the secrets. If anyone knew what this note meant, it was him. And if I played this right, I could use it to pull him closer, to force him to see me as more than Zane's sister.
I grabbed my phone, letting my fingers fly over the screen as I typed a message to Damian.
"Meet me at the rooftop bar... 9 PM. We need to talk." I hit send before I could second-guess myself. This note was about proving I could handle whatever Zane was hiding and showing Damian I wasn't the spoiled girl he thought I was. I had spent years chasing my freedom, but now I was chasing something else: truth, and just maybe, Damian.
֍
At 8 pm, I showered, letting the hot water wash away the day's tension, but it couldn't rinse away the unease curling in my gut. I walked to my closet to choose my clothes for the night. And after several selections, I decided to wear black leather pants that hugged my long legs, a silk blouse with a neckline dipped low enough to catch his attention, and a matching heel that made my six-foot frame tower. I styled my hair in loose waves before I swiped the hot-red lipstick across my lips, giving my poise the slash of defiance. If I was walking into danger, I would do it looking like a queen.
I made it to the rooftop bar at exactly 9 pm. I spotted Damian immediately, leaning against the bar, holding a whiskey glass in his hand. His dark hair was tousled, his suit jacket unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt.
I strode toward him, ignoring the heads that turned my way. "Damian," I said.
He turned, his eyes raking over me. First, it lingered on the lipstick, the heels, and back to the fire in my expression. "Ava," he drawled, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. "You look ravishing, as always. What's this about?"
I slid onto the stool beside him, crossing my legs, letting the movement draw his gaze. "Don't play dumb," I said, keeping my tone light. "You saw me at the shot today. You left without a word. And now I get this." I pulled the note from my clutch, sliding it across the bar.
His smirk faded as he unfolded it, his jaw tightening as he read. "Where did you get this?" His voice was low yet dangerous, and it made me flinch.
"Under my door," I said, meeting his gaze. "Someone's watching me, Damian. And I'm betting you know who and why."
He folded the note, slipping it into his pocket, his expression unreadable. "You need to stay out of this, Ava. Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong."
"Am I?" I leaned closer. "I know Zane's not just running a tech company. And I know you're in on it. Don't lie to me."
His eyes darkened. "You're playing a dangerous game, kid."
"Don't call me that," I snapped, my temper flaring. "I'm not a child, Damian. I'm not blind, either. If Zane's in trouble, I deserve to know. And if you don't tell me, I'll find out myself."
He laughed, "You think you can handle it? You've spent your life posing for cameras, Ava. This isn't a runway."
His words hurt my feelings, but I refused to let him see them. "Maybe that's not so far from the truth," I said. "But I'm not as fragile as you think. And I'm not letting this go. So here's the deal; You help me figure out who sent that note, or I will go digging. And trust me, I know how to make noise."
For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes searching for mine like he was seeing me for the first time. Then he leaned in, so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath, the faint cedar of his cologne. "You're trouble, Ava Sinclair," he murmured. "Always have been."
My heart raced, but I didn't back down. "Good," I said, curving my lips into a smile. "Then you'll help me."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and I knew I had him. "Fine," he said. "But you do exactly what I say. No questioning."
"Deal," I said, my pulse singing with victory.
As he signaled the bartender for another drink, I basked in my feelings. Though I was stepping into a world I didn't fully understand, I wasn't alone.
