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I glance at Ava again, at the way her fingers have relaxed against the sheets, at the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Ava is nothing like Vanessa.

Vanessa was calculated, manipulative, cold. Ava is reckless, stubborn, warm. A wildfire instead of an ice storm.

And she terrifies me.

Because I know what happens when you let someone in.

And yet, as I watch her sleep, I can't shake the thought sinking into my bones, settling deep, inescapable.

I'm already in.

I run a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. No use fighting it. Not anymore.

The hours pass, and I drift in and out of sleep until my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Stifling a groan, I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes before glancing at the clock—8:30 a.m.

Ava is fast asleep. At the last second, I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead.

She doesn't stir.

I pull back and leave before I change my mind.

The car ride is painful, but the destination is worse.

Café Leclerc is just as insufferable as I remember.

The clinking of porcelain, the low chime of conversations spoken in muted, careful tones. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in soft morning light, casting long shadows over the sleek marble tables. A chandelier—because of course there's a chandelier—glitters overhead, an absurdly lavish addition to a place that serves nothing but a thousand overpriced renditions of coffee and sandwiches with a side of quiet judgment.

Vanessa is already there, sitting by the window, perfectly poised in a navy-blue sheath dress, her blonde hair swept back into a polished bun. A picture of unbothered elegance.

Except for her grip on the coffee cup.

White-knuckled.

She's furious.

Good.

I take my time walking over, lowering myself into the seat across from her. I don't speak first, just settle back, watching her with mild interest, letting the silence stretch.

Slowly, she lifts her phone between two manicured fingers. She waves it lightly, like a cat toying with a trapped mouse.

"You've really outdone yourself, darling," she purrs, scrolling leisurely. "A leak? How very theatrical. I almost believed it."

I lean back against my chair, stretching out my legs, feigning boredom. "Almost?"

She sighs, ever the condescending queen, crossing one elegant leg over the other. "Please. I know you too well, Liam. You're controlled. Methodical. You don't leak things. You bury them." She glances at the screen again, her expression all faux amusement. "But I'll admit, you had me curious. Just for a moment."

That means it worked.

Vanessa thinks she's already won. That's her biggest weakness—always believing she's untouchable. She doesn't know just how much I've uncovered, how far I've traced her moves back, how many of her allies have already started slipping through my fingers like sand.

She doesn't know she's already lost.

I tap a finger against my coffee cup, keeping my tone mild. "So, what gave it away?"