⭑· · ───── ·( 𝐂 𝐡 𝐞 𝐨 𝐥 )· ───── · · ⭑
The entire day drags. Every minute feels like an hour, and every hour an eternity. I’ve been through hell and back, faced down guns, knives, and countless enemies, but this—waiting for Ava—this is something else entirely.
My mind is fixated on her.
I couldn’t focus on anything at work, couldn’t even keep my thoughts straight.
Every plan, every meeting, every conversation... her face kept intruding.
Those sharp eyes, her defiant mouth, the way she looked at me like she could either kill me or kiss me at any second.
Goddamn it.
It’s maddening.
The clock reads 6:30 PM. Almost time.
I take a deep breath and step in front of the mirror, adjusting the lapels of my black tailored suit.
I chose this one carefully—sleek, simple, but with just enough edge to make a statement.
The fabric fits perfectly over my shoulders and chest, hugging my frame in all the right places. A dark burgundy tie contrasts against the crisp white shirt beneath, adding just a hint of danger.
I roll my shoulders, testing the fit. It feels good. Power in fabric form.
I study myself in the mirror, running a hand through my hair, slicking it back just enough to be neat but not too polished.
Ava doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’s impressed by perfection. She likes her edges rough, just like her.
My gaze lingers on my own reflection. There's a tension in my jaw, a tightness in my chest.
I've been in dangerous situations more times than I can count, but this... this is different.
Ava's different. She makes me feel things I’m not used to feeling, things I’m not sure I like. It’s unsettling, but it’s also... thrilling.
I straighten my tie one last time, taking in the full image. The man in the mirror looks calm, composed, and utterly in control. Exactly how I need to be tonight.
But beneath that surface, there’s a storm brewing. One that only she can set off.
With a final glance at the mirror, I grab my watch from the dresser, strapping it on with practiced ease. The seconds tick by, each one bringing me closer to seeing her again.
Finally.
I can’t wait to see her face when she shows up tonight.
I've booked us a meal at a swanky new restaurant. It's classy, expensive, and low-lit.
When I arrive, I get a drink at the bar, the place redolent with almost architectural displays of lush and elegant flowers. I decide to play a game while I wait.
Ava will be punctual... after going back and forth all day over whether or not she'll turn up.
I think she'll be on time and wait to walk in a few minutes late.
She's either going to dress upscale or frumpy. I haven't decided which.
But I'm going to find out because my watch just ticked over when she was meant to be here.
That's when the door opens.
I almost drop my drink.
"Holy fuck."
If Ava wanted my attention, it's worked. I can't tear my gaze from her.
She's wearing black. The dress is pretty, the wrong side of short, and the silky material's painted on.
The neckline plunged dangerously low, revealing just enough to stir the imagination while leaving much to be desired. And from the man staring almost bug-eyed at her ass, I'm going to guess it's fucking backless too.
The dress was slit high on one side, showing off a long, toned leg with every step she took. The heels she wore only added to the effect, making her look taller, more powerful.
Her lips were painted a deep red, matching the fiery hue of her hair that was pinned up.
As she walks towards me, the sway of her hips was hypnotic, and for a moment, I forgot why I’d even asked her to come.
But only for a moment.
She's dressed to the nines, but there's a wicked edge to it—something too bold, too provocative for a public place.
She looks like a temptress out of some twisted fairytale, a modern-day courtesan with every intention of owning the night and whoever dares cross her path.
It’s as if she’s heading straight to the king’s private chambers, ready to bring him to his knees.
And every fucking man in the place is stripping the scraps of material off her.
I want to gouge every male eye that's glued to her from each man's head.
A surge of heat, sharp and biting, courses through me, and I toss back my drink and rise slowly.
Looks like Ava needs to be taught a lesson.
