Page 60 of Lucas

“That sounds horrible. I’m sorry you went through that.” Ava’s soft voice drags me from the morose spiral of my thoughts. I’m surprised to discover her eyes are damp, lashes spiked with moisture.

“I never knew my mother,” she confesses after a moment. “She died when I was born.”

I knew that, of course. Read it in the extensive background report I had compiled when I was researching how best to destroy her father. It was just a footnote, a minor detail. But hearing her say it out loud, witnessing the flicker of old grief mar her lovely face...it hits differently.

I’m an asshole, but I’m not heartless.

“It must have been rough growing up without her.” I soften my tone. Ava’s never mentioned her mother to me before. But then, Ava doesn’t mention anything personal. We’re not exactly in the habit of having heart-to-hearts.

She lifts a slender shoulder, trying to affect a casual air, but I don’t miss the way her eyes go distant, a shadowdarkening the vibrant green. “I didn’t know any different. I had to learn to stand for myself early on.”

I frown. “What do you mean? Where the hell was your dad?”

“Working. Building his empire. He didn’t have time to coddle me.” Her smile is bitter. “I knew better than to disturb him with trivial things like school events or childhood milestones. The rare times I did, he made it very clear that I was a nuisance. An irritating distraction.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks as cold anger licks up my spine. “What a fucking prick. Did he ever...?” I can’t bring myself to ask. The idea of anyone laying a hand on Ava, of her father mistreating her, makes me see red. Makes me want to pummel the son of a bitch with my bare hands.

“No. He never hit me, if that’s what you’re asking. Not that he needed to. Neglect is its own form of abuse.” She drops her gaze, twisting the glittering clasp of her evening bag.

Jesus. No wonder she has a well-earned distrust of men. Her father dangled her like a prize to be won, an acquisition, not cherishing her as a daughter. It makes me sick.

And here I am, the asshole who swooped in to collect that prize. I’m no better than him, using her as a pawn to destroy Gant.

For the first time, shame curdles in my gut at the thought.

“Ava. I’m sorry. You deserved so much better.” To my horror, my voice goes rough with emotion. I risk a glance at her, but she’s staring hard at her lap, a perfect, glistening tear balanced on her lush lower lashes.

“Yeah, well. We don’t always get what we deserve, dowe?” She swipes at her eyes before pasting on a bright, fake smile. “It doesn’t matter. It’s ancient history.”

I can tell by the wobble in her voice it matters. That the wounds are still raw and weeping, even if she pretends otherwise.

I want to say something to comfort her, to soothe that little lost girl who still lives inside her. And yet I don’t have the first fucking clue where to start. I’m the last person in the world equipped to offer solace or softness. I destroy, I don’t heal.

That tight, squeezing sensation is back in my chest. It’s becoming harder to ignore. Harder to pretend Ava hasn’t delved deeper than any woman ever has.

It scares the shit out of me.

Thank Christ the valet stand comes into view, offering a much-needed distraction.

“We’re here,” I announce. “Remember, tonight you’re my loving wife. Smile pretty, laugh at my jokes, and fawn all over me.”

“I know the drill.” Ava’s voice goes arctic, annoyance wiping away the vulnerable girl of a moment ago. She smooths a hand down the front of her dress. “I signed your precious contract. You don’t need to remind me how to play my role.”

The contract. Right. She wouldn’t be here with me now if not for that devil’s bargain. And I’m only here to destroy her father and, by proxy, her.

Sentiment has no place in this arrangement. I need to get my head out of my ass and back in the game.

I square my shoulders and slide out of the car, handing the keys to the valet and circling around to Ava’s side. After abeat, she places her small hand in mine and allows me to help her out.

I tuck her hand into the crook of my elbow and guide her into the ballroom. Satisfaction unfurls in my chest as I notice the admiring looks directed our way. She’s the most stunning woman in attendance. Unlike the other women dripping in showy jewels and heavy makeup, Ava’s understated elegance and poise make her a standout.

I make the rounds with Ava on my arm, her face a perfect mask of pleasantry as she smiles at the society elite milling about the ballroom. She greets everyone with poise and polish, playing her role as my devoted wife to perfection. The deep crimson of her gown catches the light as we move, the fabric shimmering like flames against her pale skin.

“Lucas Valeur.” The smug voice cuts through the din of conversation, and I turn to find its owner.

“Ben.” I incline my head.

“And who is this ravishing creature?” His dark eyes rake over Ava in a way that makes my hackles rise.