The boardroom was silent, the air so thick it could've cracked glass. Helena stood frozen, her lips parted in disbelief as Damian's hand still rested, trembling, on the polished mahogany table.
"Get out," he said again, each word like broken glass.
She didn't argue. Just turned sharply on her heel and exited, heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor.
Damian didn't move. He just stared at the spot where she'd stood, eyes distant, knuckles white.
But the damage wasn't done.
Not even close.
⸻
Two hours later, the dossier was in his hands.
She'd waited for the heat to fade before striking again. This time, she didn't scream or sabotage in public. She waited until Damian was alone in his office, lights low, tie loosened, and handed him a single, unmarked folder.
"No cameras. No reporters," Helena said. "Just facts."
Damian opened it. Slowly. Warily.
Inside were half a dozen glossy photos. Surveillance-style. One looked like Ava entering a run-down building in East London, head low, makeup thick. Another showed her speaking to a man with a blurred-out face heavily suggestive in posture.
A business card fell out next.
Exotique Elite Agency – Discreet. International. Untouchable.
Damian said nothing, but his jaw twitched. The kind of twitch he only allowed when something got to him.
"She used another name back then," Helena said coolly. "I had it traced through a defunct email and a payment account that was wiped six years ago. She was desperate for money. Sound familiar?"
He didn't look up. "You forged this."
"Then prove it," Helena replied, voice sweet and slow. "I'm just trying to protect the company. Again."
She turned and walked out, leaving the folder open on his desk.
Damian didn't move for a long time.
But that night, for the first time since their marriage began, he didn't come home.
⸻
Ava sat in the kitchen long after the sun went down, a half-eaten apple turning brown beside her.
Something had changed.
She felt it in the stillness of the house, in the way Naomi wouldn't meet her eyes that morning, in how Damian's texts had gone from clipped to nonexistent.
He was distant again. But different. This wasn't coldness.
It was suspicion.
It was watching.
⸻
The next morning, he returned. No apology. No explanation.
He walked in like the night hadn't swallowed him whole and poured himself a black coffee, flipping through emails on his phone.
Ava studied him from across the counter.
"You didn't come home last night."
"I had meetings."
"At 2 a.m.?"
He didn't answer. Just took a slow sip and walked out.
Naomi entered moments later, clutching a file she clearly didn't want to deliver.
"Where was he?" Ava asked quietly.
"I'm not sure."
"You always know."
Naomi hesitated. "Maybe… he just needed space."
Ava stared. "Did Helena show him something?"
Naomi's shoulders stiffened.
Ava's heart thudded. "Naomi, if there's something I should know…"
"There isn't." The reply came too fast. Too practiced. "Helena's playing her usual games. Don't let her get to you."
But Ava already felt the walls shifting.
The way Damian's eyes lingered on her just a little too long.
The way his tone tightened when she mentioned her past, even in passing.
He hadn't asked her anything.
But he was watching everything.
⸻
That afternoon, Ava sat outside in the garden, trying to ignore the static building in her chest.
The sun was warm. The flowers are fragrant. But none of it touched her.
Not while she felt like a suspect in her own home.
She thought of Lily, of the recent article, of the pain that still pulsed in her sister's eyes when she visited. Ava had fought so hard to keep the past buried. But if Helena had found something real or forged it wouldn't matter.
The perception was everything.
And Damian didn't need the truth to pull away.
He just needed a reason.
⸻
That evening, Ava heard the door creak at midnight and peeked through the hallway.
Damian stood outside her bedroom door.
Not knocking. Just… standing.
His expression is unreadable.
She pretended to be asleep when he finally entered, walked across the room, and paused by the window.
A full minute passed.
Then he turned back toward the bed. Toward her.
Ava's breath slowed. She kept still.
He moved closer. Slowly. Each step was like a question he couldn't ask out loud.
Then… he spoke.
So now it was barely a whisper.
"What are you hiding from me, Ava?"
The words sank into the dark like poison.
She didn't answer. Couldn't.
Not when she didn't even know what he'd seen.
But one thing was clear.
He didn't trust her anymore.
⸻
The next morning, Naomi appeared in the garden where Ava had taken refuge again.
"He asked me to make dinner reservations," Naomi said cautiously. "Private chef. Here. No staff. Just you and him."
Ava looked up, startled.
"He said no press. No distractions. Just… talk."
Talk?
After three days of silence, suspicion, and stares?
Ava stood, brushing invisible dust off her lap.
Maybe this was the moment. The unravelling. The point where everything was either going to fall apart or finally fall into place.
Either way…
She was done sitting in the dark.