Chapter 6: A Game of Patience

Damian Calloway had mastered the art of waiting. Success, influence, and relationships all required careful timing, a skill he had honed over the years. Yet, when it came to Ava Sinclair, patience suddenly felt like an unfamiliar concept. Success, influence, relationships—everything he had built came from a careful balance of patience and precision. And yet, when it came to Ava Sinclair, he found himself dangerously close to wanting more, faster.

She was a force of nature—an unrelenting storm of sharp wit and ambition, always moving, always calculating her next step. Every interaction with her was a study in control—hers, not his. She spoke with the efficiency of someone who had no room for wasted words, no patience for pleasantries. And still, he couldn't help but push, just a little, just enough to see how she would react.

So when their paths crossed again—this time at a charity gala neither of them truly wanted to attend—he took it as an opportunity.

Ava was standing near the bar, a glass of something dark and expensive in hand, her posture as effortlessly regal as ever. She was dressed in black, because of course she was, and the slit in her gown revealed just enough to command attention but not an inch more than she allowed. Controlled. Intentional. Just like her.

He approached with a lazy confidence, stopping just close enough for her to notice but not so close that she would feel cornered. He'd learned that about her—Ava did not do well with feeling trapped.

"Didn't peg you as the gala type," he said, taking a sip of his own drink.

She barely glanced at him. "Didn't peg you as someone who assumes things."

He chuckled, enjoying the way she always met his prodding with barbed precision. "Fair enough. Let me rephrase—I didn't expect to see you here willingly."

Her lips curved in a ghost of a smirk. "I never said I was here willingly."

Damian nodded as if he completely understood. And, in a way, he did. He had spent years navigating circles of power, learning to decipher the silent games played between those who ruled their respective worlds. Ava, however, played by her own rules, and he found himself more intrigued with every move she made.

"Let me guess—work obligation?" he asked, watching her reaction closely.

She exhaled, a quiet but telling gesture. "Board members expect attendance. It's good optics."

"And yet, you're standing here alone."

Finally, she turned to look at him, her gaze sharp but curious. She wasn't sure why she was entertaining this conversation—perhaps because he was different, or perhaps because, deep down, she hated being predictable. "Your point?"

He smiled, slow and deliberate. "Just an observation. You play the game, but you don't indulge in it."

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, barely perceptible. Most people wouldn't have noticed. He did.

"I don't see the point in pointless conversations," she said smoothly.

Damian tilted his head. "Then what's a conversation that isn't pointless?"

She studied him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he was worth answering. Then, finally, she said, "One that doesn't waste my time."

"And yet, you're still standing here with me."

Her jaw tensed. Just a fraction. Just enough for him to know he had gotten under her skin. And yet, she didn't walk away.

Instead, she turned fully toward him, her expression unreadable. "Why are you here, Calloway?"

He took a slow sip of his drink before answering. "Would you believe me if I said curiosity?"

"No."

He chuckled. "Then I guess I'll have to prove it."

Ava's eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite place. Amusement? Interest? Annoyance? Maybe all three. But before he could push further, someone called her name from across the room.

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression smoothing back into its usual impassive mask. When she turned back to him, something had shifted.

"Enjoy your curiosity, Calloway," she said, already stepping away. "But don't expect me to indulge it."

Damian watched her go, the corners of his lips tugging upward. There was something about her—an unshakable presence, a quiet defiance—that made him want to learn every layer beneath her armor. She was a puzzle, not meant to be solved, but rather understood piece by piece.

Oh, he had no expectations—only the quiet certainty that some things were worth waiting for.

Just patience.

And he had plenty of that.