Ava Sterling

Chapter 13: I Hate That I Liked It

(Ava's POV )

I couldn't breathe.

Not because of the cameras flashing.

Not because of the whispers echoing in the room.

Not even because I was standing in front of hundreds of people who just witnessed my engagement to a man I hated.

No.

I couldn't breathe because Damien Sterling had kissed me.

And for one stupid, reckless second… I kissed him back.

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What the Hell Just Happened?

The applause still rang in my ears as I turned away from Damien, my heart hammering.

I felt lightheaded.

Off-balance.

Like the floor wasn't solid under my feet anymore.

Because that kiss?

It wasn't fake.

Not for that single moment when his lips moved against mine—

When his fingers curled around my waist—

When his breath mixed with mine, pulling me into something I shouldn't have felt.

I swallowed hard, forcing my expression into something neutral.

I needed to get through the rest of this night.

Then, I could yell at Damien Sterling in private for making me feel things I had no business feeling.

I took a slow breath, looking around the room—

And locked eyes with Sophia.

Her smirk was pure evil

She practically bounced over, grinning like she had just witnessed the greatest event of her life.

"Well, well, well," she purred, folding her arms. "That was… unexpected."

I clenched my jaw. "Don't."

She grinned wider. "Oh, I'm going to."

Damien was still next to me, calm and composed, like he hadn't just kissed me in front of a damn crowd.

Sophia looked between us, her smirk growing. "You two looked very… committed."

Damien finally spoke, his voice lazy and amused. "She was very committed."

I turned sharply, glaring. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "You kissed me back, Sinclair."

I wanted to strangle him.

Sophia gasped dramatically. "You kissed him back?"

I whipped my head toward her. "I was in shock!"

"Uh-huh," she said, not even trying to hide her amusement. "Tell me, Ava, how did it feel?"

I scowled. "Like kissing an arrogant, smug bastard."

Damien chuckled. "That's not what your body said."

I whipped around, shoving him hard.

"You absolute—!" I cut myself off, inhaling sharply. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

His lips twitched. He was enjoying this.

I narrowed my eyes. "I hate you."

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Liar."

Before I could throw my drink in his face, Richard Sterling approached us, clapping his hands.

"Enough of the lovers' quarrel," he said smoothly. "There are still guests who wish to congratulate you."

I plastered on the fakest smile I could manage.

This night wasn't over yet.

But the second it was?

Damien Sterling was dead...

The Rest of the Night

For the next hour, we made the rounds, shaking hands, accepting congratulations.

I smiled at businessmen who probably thought I was lucky to be marrying into this family.

I laughed at empty compliments.

I played my role perfectly.

But every time Damien leaned in, placing a hand on my waist for the cameras, whispering smug remarks in my ear—

I wanted to punch him.

And I wasn't sure if I wanted to punch myself more.

Because every time he touched me, every time he smirked, every time his eyes lingered on me just a second too long—

I felt everything I wasn't supposed to feel.

And that?

That was the real problem.

By the time the party ended, I was done.

I stormed up the grand staircase, ripping the heels off my feet.

Damien followed, hands in his pockets, completely relaxed.

The moment we stepped into the hallway, I spun around.

"You arrogant, insufferable—!"

Damien raised a brow. "Go on."

I took a deep breath, fists clenched. "You kissed me."

He smirked. "That was the whole point, sweetheart."

I exhaled sharply. "Not like that."

His eyes darkened slightly. "Oh? And how should I have kissed you?"

I flushed. "Not—! I mean—!"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Did you want something softer, Sinclair?"

I glared. "I wanted you to not act like a complete bastard."

Damien chuckled. "I think what you wanted was for me to stop. But you didn't, did you?"

My stomach tightened.

I hated that he was right.

I hated that I let myself get caught up in something dangerous.

I hated that my body had betrayed me.

So I shoved past him, heading for my room.

Before I shut the door, I turned, glaring. "That won't happen again."

He smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "You sure?"

"Positive," I snapped.

He studied me for a second, then—he laughed.

I slammed the door in his face.

Liar, liar, liar.

Because the worst part?

I wasn't sure if I was lying to him—or myself.

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