CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER SEVEN: CHESS MOVES AND COUNTER PLAYS

AVA MONROE'S POV

The following week proved one thing, I wasn't the only one

pretending.

Ethan Kingsley might have been cold, calculated, and emotionally elusive, but he wasn't invincible, and he certainly wasn't in control of everything.

No matter how flawless he played the role of an untouchable empire heir.

A leak made its way to the press.

A blurry photo of Ethan and me in a less-than-intimate embrace, paired with a speculative article that questioned the "real" nature of

our marriage.

The title read: Too Perfect to Be True?, accompanied by captions dripping with suspicion and subtle mockery.

Ethan's face was made for stoicism, but the morning the

article dropped, I caught a glimpse of something different.

Panic.

"We control the narrative," he said, pacing the study. "We always have. Someone breached that. Someone got close."

I leaned against the doorway, arms folded. "Are you worried they'll find the contract?."

His eyes snapped to mine. "Are you?."

"No." I pushed away and stepped into the room. "Because I haven't done anything wrong. And I've played my part better than you have."

"You're not paid to be perfect, Ava. You're paid to be convincing."

"I didn't know there was a difference."

We stared each other down, the tension humming like a live wire between us.

Then his phone buzzed.

He checked it, face tightening. "I have to go. There's a board emergency."

"What kind?."

He didn't answer. He simply left.

Hours later, I found myself seated at a charity brunch for underprivileged children, surrounded by women who smelled of roses and ruthlessness.

They asked questions designed to cut, sweetly laced daggers meant to unravel me.

"So, Ava, how did you and Ethan meet again?" one of them purred, twirling her mimosa.

"At a gala," I replied, sipping my water.

"And it was love at first sight?."

"No. It was obligation at first sight," I said without blinking. "Love came later."

Their laughter was a mix of surprise and mockery.

But it was the kind of bold reply they respected, even if they didn't like it.

"You're quite witty for someone who used to work retail," another added casually.

"I'm quite dangerous for someone underestimated."

This time, no one laughed.

When I got back to the penthouse, Diane was waiting.

She handed me an envelope.

"From the Kingsley legal department," she said. "You might

want to read it before dinner."

The document inside was unexpected. An amended clause.

It stated that should Ethan breach the marriage agreement or

compromise the public image of their 'union,' I would receive triple the payout, and attached to the document was a photo.

A recent one. Of Ethan and a woman.

Holding hands at what looked like a private restaurant.

Not a business meeting. Not a casual encounter.

Intimacy.

I stared at it for a long time, a strange sensation crawling

beneath my skin.

I should've been furious.

I should've been relieved, if he breached the contract, I could walk away, richer and free.

But all I felt was…, insulted.

Not because I loved him.

But because he never even gave me the courtesy of pretense.

He gave it to someone else.

When he returned that night, I was waiting by the bar with the photo on the counter.

He paused when he saw it.

"Care to explain?" I asked.

"It's not what it looks like," he said, unconvincingly.

"It never is."

He picked up the photo and studied it like it might dissolve in his hand. "It was a business discussion. She got emotional."

"She got emotional," I echoed. "You really need to work on your lies, Ethan."

He poured himself a drink, took a long sip, and leaned against the marble counter.

"This isn't about feelings, Ava. You knew that. I haven't breached the contract."

"No, you haven't. But you've insulted the integrity of the

performance."

His eyes narrowed. "You're angry because I wasn't acting with you the way I did with her?."

"I'm angry because you made me look like a fool. In public."

A beat of silence.

"I'll fix it."

"How?."

He didn't answer.

Three days later, we attended a press conference together, arm

in arm, practically glowing. Ethan announced a joint philanthropic initiative in my name. He spoke of my passion, my strength, and our deepening connection.

He kissed my temple on camera.

Held my hand like it was made of glass, and when the cameras

stopped flashing, he turned to me and whispered, "Satisfied?."

"No," I replied. "But it's a start."

That night, when I slipped into bed, I found a small box on my pillow.

Inside it was a necklace. Simple, elegant.

Not an apology, a distraction.

But I wore it anyway.

Because sometimes, a queen wears the crown, even when she's

planning to burn the throne.