Ava Sterling

Chapter 24 :

(Ava's POV )

I expected things to be awkward.

After last night. After the way we stared at each other too long, too intensely.

After the way my pulse raced when he stepped too close.

I thought he'd avoid me. Thought he'd go back to treating me like I didn't matter.

But when I saw him the next morning?

He acted like nothing happened.

And that was almost worse.

---

I sat at the dining table, stirring my coffee, trying not to look at him.

Damien sat across from me, sipping his own drink, flipping through some business reports.

Not ignoring me.

But not acknowledging me either.

I exhaled slowly, reaching for the butter knife.

The moment I did, Damien glanced up. "You hate butter on toast."

I froze.

My grip on the knife tightened as I slowly looked at him. "Excuse me?"

His eyes flicked to the plate. "You never eat butter. You like honey instead."

My stomach tightened.

I stared at him, trying to figure out why the hell he even noticed that.

He turned back to his reports like he hadn't just thrown my entire morning off balance.

I cleared my throat, setting the knife down. "I didn't realize you paid attention to what I eat."

His lips twitched slightly. "I don't."

Liar.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the honey. "Whatever."

He didn't say anything.

But I swore—I could feel him smirking.

And that?

That annoyed me more than anything.

--

I went through the rest of the day convincing myself that things were fine.

That the strange moment between us at breakfast meant nothing.

That Damien Sterling wasn't watching me more than usual.

That I wasn't hyperaware of him every time we were in the same room.

It was all in my head.

I just had to ignore it.

---

I was curled up on the couch, flipping through a book, when I felt him before I saw him.

Damien walked in, hands in his pockets, his usual calm, unreadable expression in place.

He didn't say anything.

Didn't smirk. Didn't tease.

Just… sat down in the chair across from me.

I glanced up. "Are you following me?"

He smirked. "This is my house, Sinclair."

I sighed, turning a page. "Then why are you in the library? You don't even read."

He tilted his head. "And you know this because?"

I raised a brow. "Because you don't seem like the type."

His lips twitched. "And what type am I?"

I hesitated.

Because I wasn't sure anymore.

He leaned back, watching me carefully. "You have a habit of making assumptions about me."

I scoffed. "Oh, please. Every assumption I've made about you has been correct."

He tilted his head. "Go on, then. What else do you think you know about me?"

I closed my book, meeting his gaze. "You hate being told what to do. You don't believe in love. You think money can solve every problem. And you…" I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "You like to control people....."

Something flickered in his expression.

Then—he smirked.

"Not bad, Sinclair," he murmured. "But you're wrong about one thing."

I frowned. "Which one?"

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low, smooth.

"I don't think money solves everything."

I blinked.

Because for the first time—he sounded serious.

I swallowed. "Then what does?"

He didn't answer.

Didn't look away.

And for some stupid reason, I couldn't either.

The air between us shifted.

Like we were both realizing something at the same time.

But before I could think too much about it—

Damien stood.

"Good talk, Sinclair," he said smoothly, turning toward the door.

I narrowed my eyes. "That's it?"

He paused at the doorway, his smirk returning. "What? Want me to stay something sweet heart?"

I grabbed a book and threw it at him.

He chuckled, dodging it effortlessly before walking out.

Leaving me with more questions than I wanted.

---