The estate library was still and hushed, the morning light casting soft gold through the windows. Ava had come there searching for a moment of quiet — the storm within her had barely settled after what she and Damien shared the night before. But what she found wasn't peace.
It was a letter.
Hidden in the hollow of an old leather-bound journal tucked behind tax files no one had touched in years.
Her name was written in her father's hand across the front:
To Ava — If you ever find this, I failed. But maybe the truth will help you survive.
Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope. The pages inside were faded, but the ink still sharp, like a blade slicing across time.
> My dearest Ava,
> There are things I've done that I cannot undo. I thought keeping you in the dark would protect you, but the darkness has found you anyway, hasn't it?
> Helena Vale was once my business partner. And for a time… more. We built empires from shadows and silence. I didn't realize until too late that she'd sell anyone for more power — even me. Even you.
> I left her. I tried to disappear. But I knew she'd come after you one day, and I couldn't stop her. Only someone strong enough, smart enough…
> Someone like you.
Ava felt the chill run down her spine as her father's sins laid themselves bare on the page.
> There's more. Much more. I kept files — recordings, ledgers. Names. They're buried under the Ashridge account, locked behind a cipher only you can guess. It's the date your mother died. You must use it when the time comes.
> I'm sorry. I should have told you everything sooner. But now… you must decide what kind of legacy you want to carry.
> With love, always.
Your father,
Michael Sinclair
Ava read the letter twice. Three times. The weight of her lineage settled around her shoulders like iron chains.
Helena hadn't just ruined her life — she had once owned part of it.
---
Damien found her still sitting in the library when the sun was high.
She handed him the letter in silence.
He read it slowly, brows drawn low, jaw tightening with every line.
"She used your father," he said finally. "Manipulated him."
"She destroyed him," Ava whispered. "And now she's trying to destroy you."
His gaze locked on hers. "Then this isn't just your fight because of me. It always was."
Ava nodded.
"I want to find those files," she said. "Whatever secrets he buried… I want to use them."
"I'll have Lucien run a trace on the Ashridge account. But Ava…" He knelt beside her chair, taking her hand. "Are you sure you want to keep going? Because this road — it doesn't end with clean hands."
"I'm not looking for clean hands anymore," she whispered. "I'm looking for justice."
He kissed her then, slow and fierce, a vow sealed in silence.
---
That night, they sat on the floor of Damien's private office, the letter between them, the fireplace crackling low behind them.
Ava leaned into him, her head on his shoulder.
"I used to think love made people weak," she murmured. "That it was a weapon to be used or a weakness to exploit."
Damien turned his head, brushing his lips over her temple. "And now?"
She tilted her face up. "Now I know it makes people dangerous."
His mouth was on hers before she could finish the thought.
The kiss deepened fast — tongues tangling, breaths merging, hands roaming. Damien lifted her onto his lap, her robe slipping loose again, revealing soft curves he had already memorized.
"I'll never get tired of this," he whispered against her skin. "Of you."
She ground down on him, gasping, teasing, guiding his hands between her thighs.
"Then show me," she dared. "Right here. Make me forget my name."
And he did — up against the wall, her legs around his waist, his name a growl in her ear as he took her fast, rough, relentless. They lost themselves in the storm of each other, bodies tangled in sweat and gasps, a kind of madness only two broken hearts could birth.
---
Later, they lay tangled in the rug, her breath slow, his heart pounding beneath her cheek.
They didn't need to speak.
Because for the first time, they understood what they were fighting for.
Not just revenge.
Not just survival.
But the kind of love that terrified their enemies — because it wouldn't break.
Not for anyone.
---