Berlin dawned grey and restless.
In the penthouse suite overlooking the Spree, Ava stood barefoot in Damien's shirt, staring at the open laptop. The decrypted files glowed against her face, illuminating names, figures, and emails . Years of corruption unraveled in rows of damning evidence.
But her gaze kept returning to one name.
D. Wolfe.
The silent ghost.
The orchestrator who had torn both the Sinclair empire and Blackwood legacy apart.
"Why haven't we heard this name before?" she asked quietly.
Damien stood behind her, freshly showered, tying the sleeves of his black shirt with mechanical precision. "Because he made sure of it. Wolfe doesn't leave a digital footprint. Not unless he wants to be found."
"You knew him."
"I met him once. I was twelve."
Ava turned to him, surprised. "What happened?"
Damien's eyes flicked with memory. "He came to my father's study. I listened from the stairs. He had this voice — calm, persuasive. Said he could make the Blackwood name global. But when the markets crashed two years later, everything connected to Wolfe vanished. Including our holdings."
Ava folded her arms. "You think he manipulated your father?"
"I think he orchestrated his downfall."
She stepped closer. "And mine."
Their eyes locked, a long moment held between pain and purpose.
Then Damien's phone buzzed.
Lucien's voice came through, clipped and cold.
"He's not just a ghost anymore. I found something."
---
An Hour Later — Safehouse Conference Room
Lucien tapped the tablet with a grim expression. A photo flickered on-screen: a man in his late fifties, salt-and-pepper hair, sharply tailored three-piece suit, eyes hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses.
"Dominic Wolfe. Based out of Geneva. Head of a shadow firm called Wolven Global. Real estate, tech, bio-pharma, lobbying. All off-book."
"And he's behind Sinclair Pharmaceuticals?" Ava asked.
"He's behind the buyout, the crash, and every falsified trial Miranda orchestrated." Lucien's jaw ticked. "This isn't just corruption. It's international fraud. And murder."
Damien's face hardened. "You're saying Wolfe killed Ava's father?"
Lucien didn't blink. "I'm saying he ordered it."
Silence fell.
Ava gripped the edge of the table, bile rising in her throat. "Why?"
"Your father refused to sell the remaining shares of Sinclair Pharma. The moment he refused, the pressure began . Legal suits, defamation, closed bank lines. And the night before he died, he tried to call someone."
Lucien turned the screen.
It showed a missed call log.
A single attempt: to Damien Blackwood.
Ava turned slowly to look at him.
Damien's lips parted. "I changed my number that week. I never knew."
Her throat tightened. "He was trying to warn you."
"Or protect us both."
Lucien added, "And now Wolfe knows you have the ledger. He'll come for it."
Damien looked at Ava. "Then we don't wait."
She nodded. "We take the war to Geneva."
---
That Night — Geneva, Switzerland
The city sparkled beneath them as the private jet descended into Cointrin Airport. The plan was already in motion. Ava would present herself at a pharmaceutical summit Wolfe was rumored to sponsor, under her maiden name. Damien would infiltrate the off-site tower where Wolfe's true records were kept.
But in their hotel suite , high above the lights, before the storm broke , Ava leaned against the window, her nerves coiled tight.
She hadn't changed into armor yet.
Just silk . Her skin bare beneath a midnight-blue robe. Damien walked in from the adjoining room, his shirt unbuttoned, tension bleeding from every line of his body.
"Ava."
She turned.
And the sight of him — dark, raw, unguarded — made her breath catch.
"You should rest," he said.
"I can't. I keep hearing Helena's last words."
He stepped closer. "She tried to break you."
"She almost did."
Damien reached for her, his hand curling at the small of her back. "But you're still standing."
Ava looked up at him, their bodies almost touching.
"Do you still hate me?" she whispered.
His jaw clenched. "I never did."
"You used me."
"I thought I was avenging my family."
"You almost destroyed me."
"I destroyed myself," he said hoarsely. "Every time I looked at you and told myself you were the enemy, I knew I was lying."
Ava reached up and touched his face.
"I don't want lies anymore."
His breath hitched. "Then let me show you the truth."
She didn't speak.
She leaned in and kissed him.
And when he kissed her back , it wasn't cold. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't control.
It was a slow unraveling.
---
The First Real Night
They reached for each other like the war was already behind them.
Damien's mouth devoured her breath, and Ava melted beneath his touch. He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed as her robe slipped off her shoulders.
She wasn't trembling anymore.
She was choosing.
And when he laid her down, he treated her like something sacred . A woman carved from fire and scars, not a pawn, not a contract.
Just Ava.
He whispered her name like a vow, his hands memorizing every inch of her. His lips found her throat, her collarbone, the place just beneath her ribs that made her gasp. Ava arched into him, nails sliding down his back as he entered her slowly — fully — and the breath caught in both their throats.
It wasn't fast.
It wasn't rushed.
It was the kind of slow that rewrote promises.
The kind that blurred revenge and redemption into something altogether different: love.
And when they broke apart hours later, tangled in each other and breathless, Ava touched his cheek again.
"Don't let me fall alone."
Damien pulled her close.
"We rise together."
---
The Next Morning — Geneva Summit
Ava stood in a crisp white power suit, chin lifted, eyes steady.
Damien's lips brushed her temple before she stepped out of the car. "You ready?"
"More than ever."
She strode into the building — a lioness in heels while across the city, Damien entered Wolfe's tower under an alias, Lucien in his ear, hacking access to the encrypted vault.
Wolfe's web was vast.
But now?
They were at the center of it.
And the spider didn't know the fire was coming.