TANGLED AMBITIONS [2]

The silence between them stretched, thick with everything unsaid. Avie was the first to move, stepping back as if distance could erase what had just transpired.

Quentin didn't stop her. He let her retreat, but his gaze remained fixed on her, as if memorizing every flicker of emotion that crossed her face.

Avie exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off an unseen weight. "That was a mistake."

Quentin's lips parted, but no words came immediately. He simply studied her, the same way he had done years ago when they first found themselves tangled in a web of ambition and consequence. "You don't believe that."

Avie let out a breath of laughter—short, humorless. "Belief is irrelevant. Perception is what matters, and that—" she gestured vaguely between them "—cannot exist."

Quentin crossed his arms, leaning against the edge of the marble counter. "You think Clara doesn't already suspect? You think the rest of them don't see the threads that tie us together?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "It's not about suspicion, Quentin. It's about control."

"Then tell me," he said, voice quieter now, edged with something dangerous, something tender. "Who's controlling who?"

Avie's eyes darkened, but she didn't answer. Instead, she turned on her heel, moving toward the large windows that overlooked the city.

 The skyline stretched endlessly before her, a sea of golden lights and restless energy, mirroring the turmoil within her.

She had played this game too long to forget the rules. But Quentin…Quentin had always been the exception. And exceptions were dangerous.

"You should take me back," she murmured, keeping her back to him.

He didn't move. "And if I don't?"

She closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and whiskey that clung to the air. "Then you're making a mistake."

The words echoed back at him, a mirror of his own warning earlier.

 But even as she said them, she knew they were both past the point of simple mistakes.

Quentin pushed off the counter, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he approached. He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence without touching.

"You never answered my question."

Avie turned her head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze from the reflection in the window. "And I never will."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn't press her. He simply nodded, as if conceding a battle neither of them wanted to win. Then, without another word, he stepped away, grabbing his keys from the table.

The drive back to the Harcourt estate was just as silent as the ride before. But this time, the silence wasn't just tension—it was finality.

By the time they pulled up to the grand entrance, the night had fully settled, casting the estate in soft shadows. Avie hesitated only a moment before pushing open the car door. 

The cold air hit her like a splash of reality, grounding her.

She turned back just as Quentin spoke. "Be careful, Avie."

A smirk ghosted her lips. "Always."

And with that, she disappeared into the looming halls of the Harcourt estate, where Clara was waiting, and the game was still far from over.

Inside, Clara had not moved from her spot in the foyer. 

A crystal glass of wine dangled from her fingertips, the deep red liquid swirling under the low light. Her gaze, sharp and knowing, locked onto Avie the moment she entered.

"Took your time getting back," Clara mused, her voice smooth yet edged with quiet accusation. "Did Quentin have much to say?"

Avie rolled her shoulders back, slipping her coat off with a practiced air of indifference. "Nothing of consequence."

Clara tilted her head, setting her glass down with a deliberate clink. "Oh, I doubt that."

A tension crackled between them, silent yet thunderous. Avie knew this game well, knew the power of silence as much as words. She refused to be the first to break it.

Clara sighed, stepping forward, her eyes never leaving Avie's. "You think I don't see it? The way you two orbit each other like it's inevitable?"

Avie smirked, but there was little humor in it. "And what does it matter?"

"It matters because you and I have an understanding." Clara's voice dipped lower, her meaning unmistakable. "And I don't appreciate distractions."

Avie arched a brow. "Is that what you think he is? A distraction?"

Clara's lips curled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "I think you have a choice to make."

The weight of those words settled between them. A challenge. A warning. And perhaps, a threat.

Avie didn't flinch. "I don't lose, Clara."

Clara smiled then, slow and knowing. "Neither do I."