playing with Fire

As soon as Ava stepped through the Cole estate's grand entrance, she was met with the stern, disapproving glare of Mrs. Bella, the head housekeeper. Her sharp voice sliced through the air like a whip.

"Madam Ava! You left without informing anyone? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? And what would Mr. Damien think?"

Ava sighed, rubbing her temple. "Mrs. Bella, I just wanted some fresh air. I'm not a prisoner."

Kiara, always quick to defend her, crossed her arms and scoffed. "Oh, come on. She's a grown woman, not some child you have to chase around. And last I checked, she's his wife, not his property. So maybe stop screaming at her like she's some runaway teenager."

Mrs. Bella clamped her lips shut, fuming but unable to argue. Ava exchanged a grateful glance with Kiara before heading up the staircase, her phone buzzing ominously in her hand.

Damien.

His text was short and sharp: "Come to the room. Now."

Ava exhaled slowly, already sensing the storm brewing. When she reached his room, she found the door slightly ajar. The dim lighting, the scent of whiskey lingering in the air—it told her everything before she even saw him.

Damien sat on the couch, a crystal glass dangling loosely from his fingers, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, exposing just a hint of his chiseled chest. His dark eyes, hazy from alcohol but still burning with that undeniable intensity, locked onto hers.

Without a word, he poured another glass and pushed it toward her.

"Drink."

Ava hesitated. "Damien, I don't think—"

"I said, drink." His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the command in it.

Reluctantly, she picked up the glass, feeling the cold rim against her lips before taking a small sip. The liquor burned down her throat, making her shiver.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, his voice came, smooth but edged with something dangerous. "You think you can just waltz around the city like some nobody? Do you have any idea what kind of attention you're drawing?"

Ava set the glass down, lifting her chin defiantly. "I wasn't doing anything wrong, Damien. I just needed space. You suffocate me."

His jaw ticked. "Suffocate you?"

He leaned in, too close, the scent of whiskey and something uniquely him making her head spin.

"You're my wife, Ava. The wife of one of the richest men in the country. And yet, you act like some reckless little girl running around, letting men like Olive look at you like you're—"

"Like I'm what?" she challenged.

His fingers brushed against her chin, lifting her gaze to his. His breath was warm against her lips, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Like you're available."

Ava's pulse stuttered. Her skin tingled where his fingertips lingered.

She should have pulled away. She should have said something—anything. But then, the world blurred. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the tension that had been suffocating them both for too long.

Or maybe it was the way their bodies gravitated toward each other—inevitable, like a storm meeting the sea.

Their lips brushed.

A mistake. A miscalculation.

But neither of them pulled away.

Heat coiled between them, sharp and undeniable.

Ava's breath hitched as Damien's fingers tangled into her hair, deepening the kiss, his body pressing closer, stealing the air from her lungs.

They were high on frustration. On desire. On everything unspoken between them.

And for that moment, logic ceased to exist.

Nothing mattered but the fire between them, the way their hands found purchase against each other's skin, and the way their names slipped from their lips like prayers.

Ava's breath came in shallow waves as she forced herself to break away, her lips tingling, her body still thrumming from the unintentional yet electric moment. Damien's dark eyes were unreadable, his breath uneven as he studied her like she was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

The tension in the room was suffocating.

Ava swallowed, her throat dry. "I should go."

But before she could step back, his fingers tightened around her wrist, stopping her. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm, possessive.

"You think you can just walk away after that?" His voice was dangerously low, rough with something that sent shivers down her spine.

Her heart pounded. "Damien, you're drunk."

He scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk, but there was no amusement in his gaze. "That's convenient, isn't it? Blaming this on the whiskey."

Ava tried to keep her voice steady. "It was a mistake."

Damien let out a short, humorless laugh. "A mistake?" He let go of her wrist, leaning back slightly, but his gaze never wavered. "Tell me, Ava, did it feel like a mistake?"

She hated that she hesitated. That for a split second, she couldn't answer.

Damien took that silence as an answer. His expression darkened, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. He reached for his glass, taking another slow sip, watching her over the rim.

"You're playing with fire," he murmured.

Ava squared her shoulders, trying to steady herself. "No, Damien. You're the one lighting the match."

With that, she turned on her heel, forcing herself not to look back as she walked toward the door.

Just as she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her cold.

"Next time, don't wear that if you don't want trouble."

Her fingers clenched around the doorknob as she realized what he meant. The thin silk of her nightgown clung to her body in all the wrong ways, revealing more than she had intended. Heat crept up her neck.

She turned slightly, her voice quieter now. "I wasn't trying to—"

"I know," Damien interrupted smoothly, his lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. "That's what makes it worse."

Ava didn't respond. She couldn't.

Without another word, she slipped out of the room, her pulse still erratic, her mind spinning.

She had escaped the fire.

But the embers still burned.