Orion's POV

I watched from the upstairs window as she left with him. Ava—laughing, leaning into Connor, her face flushed with that carefree glow that felt like poison.

My hands tightened on the sill until my knuckles went white. I didn’t know why I was standing there, why I felt compelled to follow. But the very thought of her with another man sparked a fury so deep, so fierce, that I couldn't turn away.

She doesn’t have the right to be happy—not after what she did to my family, after she dragged me back into this mess. She forfeited that chance a long time ago.

But there I was, slipping into the shadows, following them through the crowd. I kept a safe distance, my eyes tracking her every move as if on instinct, like some part of me refused to let her go.

Every laugh, every smile she gave him felt like a dagger to my pride. I tried to tell myself it was about control, about keeping her on a leash. That’s what this was—me asserting my authority. Nothing more.

Then I saw her stumble, laughing too loudly, leaning a little too heavily on him. She was drunk. Connor’s arm tightened around her, his grip too familiar, too possessive. My teeth clenched. Before I could think twice, I stepped forward, cutting the distance between us.

“Mr. Connor, I’ll take it from here,” I said, my voice like steel. Connor paused, his eyes flicking between Ava and I, who was too dazed to notice the tension crackling in the air. “Look, she—” “I said I’ll take her,” I cut in, my tone icy. Without waiting for a response, I scooped Ava into my arms. She murmured something incoherent, her head resting against my chest, her fingers brushing lightly across my shirt, igniting a spark of something primal within me.

He looked at me, his face full of questions, but I didn’t give him a chance to argue. “She’s my wife,” I added, letting the word fall between us like a stone, even though it felt foreign on my tongue.

Wife. As if that title held any real meaning. She was nothing more than a loose end, a liability to be dealt with. And yet... the thought of her walking away with another man had set something off in me that I couldn’t ignore.

I picked her up, her body warm and soft against mine, and she murmured something, her hand sliding up to rest against my chest. That single touch was like a spark to dry timber, igniting something I didn’t want to acknowledge. My jaw tightened as I reminded myself—she means nothing.

She’s a complication in my father’s will, nothing more. But her hand brushed my cheek, her breath warm against my neck, and suddenly every logical thought slipped away, replaced by a heat that shouldn’t exist.

“Why didn't you just stay dead?” She muttered. Was she expecting me not to come back so she can have all my father's fortune to herself?

Golddigger.

By the time we reached the mansion, I was ready to drop her, to rid myself of this unexplainable pull. The door swung open, and Chloe’s silhouette appeared in the hallway, her gaze landing on Ava draped in my arms.

“Orion?” Her tone was sharp, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you carrying her like you two are on some sort of honeymoon?” There was a sharpness in her tone that I couldn’t ignore.

I bit back a scowl. “She got drunk,” I muttered. “I couldn’t leave her there. People would talk.”

Chloe didn’t look convinced. She stepped closer, her fingers trailing along my shoulder and resting on my nipple, a sly smile creeping onto her face. The tension eased from my body as she leaned in, her familiar warmth pressing against me.

Chloe knew her place, knew what this was, and for once, I welcomed that clarity. She wouldn’t question, wouldn’t challenge, wouldn’t unsettle me the way Ava did.

I dropped Ava onto the couch, her head falling against the cushions as I turned to Chloe, welcoming the distraction she offered. I pulled her close, feeling her lips on my neck, her hands sliding over me, and I let myself sink into her with a groan, letting her familiarity erase the confusion that had taken root.

This—this was what I wanted, what I could control.

She led me to the bedroom, her fingers pulling at my shirt, her breath hot against my skin. I thrust into her, our movements fast, almost mechanical, a rhythm that was supposed to distract, to ground me in the present. But no matter how hard I tried, an image lingered at the back of my mind—Ava’s defiant face, her challenging stare, her laugh with Connor. My grip tightened, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

Damn her.

My eyes closed, trying to shut out the vision of her, but it was no use. She was there, a haunting presence, her memory entwined in every thought, every touch. I pushed harder, trying to shake her, to make her disappear from the back of my mind. But with every movement, she was there—her laugh, her challenge, that infuriating spark of independence that I’d tried to snuff out.

With a final thrust, I collapsed back, a hollow feeling settling over me, deeper and colder than I’d expected. Chloe was beside me, her breathing slowing, but all I could feel was Ava—her name like a curse, a haunting refrain echoing in my mind.

I thought I’d left her downstairs. I thought I’d walked away, shut the door on whatever strange hold she was beginning to have over me. But no.

She was still here.

And no matter how much I tried, no matter how many times I told myself she was nothing, I knew, deep down, that I was lying.

Was this how she captivated my father and turned him into her slave? I am nothing like my father! I would never fall for her cheap seductions.

A rustle from downstairs broke through my thoughts. Chloe stirred beside me, but I was already up, every nerve on edge as I threw on a short. I moved out of my room and down the hall, my steps quiet, but as I neared the living room, I froze.

Ava was awake, sitting up on the couch, her gaze piercing through the lit room, straight at me. Her eyes were steady, unflinching, as if she’d been waiting.