Chapter 6: Fractures in the Glass
MARCUS'S POV
Isabelle's peonies scent – her new wedding obsession – filled our VIP lounge with its perfume. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, refracting off the platinum band on her finger as she tapped on her tablet. "Hydrangeas or orchids for centerpieces, darling? The florist must–"
Flashback (Two Weeks Ago)
Rain lashed the cafe windows. Ava knelt in front of me, curled around a paper napkin, charcoal pencil moving frantically. The morning after Victoria's coffee attack, she'd been a fawn-faced, startled thing. My message had been off the cuff: "Congrats on Sterling. Coffee? Zero family drama promised."
"Thanks for being here with me," she'd growled, not looking up, her eyes burning. The naked power in her voice – stole my breath.
My finger had strayed over hers searching for the sugar. A jolt. Static. Her eyes had sprung up, wide hazel eyes meeting mine for a moment too long. "Why?" she'd demanded, her voice rough. "Why did you recommend me for the job?".
"Because genius this hot comes with armor, Ava Thompson. Let me help you." My thumb moved across a smudge of charcoal on her hand, the knuckle. She didn't pull away. The air snapped.
"Marcus? Orchids or hydrangeas?" Isabelle’s voice sliced through the memory. She smiled, blissfully unaware of the grenade in my hands, the treacherous warmth still humming where I’d touched Ava’s skin. Guilt, cold and slick, coiled in my gut.
Later, on Sterling roof garden. A twilight oasis above the city din. Ava stood against the railing, the sun warming behind her, defining her profile in dark and gold. Strands of chestnut hair were blown loose by the wind, her face unendurably young and grimly naked. Victoria's poison had acted, clearly.
"Then she told them they gnaw up lively stuff like me," Ava panted, her voice scraped thin. She did not turn. "Spit out the bones. Did she have it right?"
I stole in, moth-like. Her scent – vanilla and twisted sweat – cut through night jasmine. "Victoria devours everything that may pose a threat to her throne, Ava. You're not quarry." My hand went up, almost on its own, to brush the harsh curve of her shoulder. I withdrew it again, once more curling my fingers into a fist at my side. Isabelle's daughter. Your wife's child.
"You're a storm. And storms reconfigure coastlines."
She turned slowly. Defiance and fear fought in her eyes. "Julian sees me as a faulty blueprint. Caleb sees me as. as a puzzle he can't solve. And you." Her eyes speared into mine, cold and unblinkingly perceptive. "You see something else."
The pull was strong, physical, a current running me through the inches between us. "I see you," I said, my voice low, close against the din of the city. Her breath caught. "Not Isabelle's daughter. I see the architect who brings passion onto paper. Who sketches truth where others varnish lies." My knuckle brushed along a stray tear path on her cheek. The contact sent sparks up my arm. She was un-freaking-believably silky. Stop. Back up. I didn't. "That vision? It frightens people like Victoria. That is why she will try to shatter you."
Her lips parted. Soft gasp. Her eyes met mine, drowning pools of confusion and seeping nightmare awareness. The space between us melted away. I caught the taste of her fear salt, the frantic thudding at the hollow of her throat. My heart rammed against my ribs, a frantic counterpoint. Kiss her. Take her mouth. Show her what she does to you. The need was lightning strike, thrumming and frightening. I leaned in, a fraction—
Victoria materialized out of thin air alongside us, blood-red silk eyes and feline beauty. Chanel No. 5 tasted like ill, stifling savagery. "Mentoring the new protégée, Marcus?" Her smile cut. "Cute. Though maybe a bit too intimate?"
I stepped back suddenly, the cold night air rushing between Ava and me like a wall of flesh. My smile was polite frosting, my voice cold. "Merely ensuring Sterling's latest purchase sees the value of her vision, Victoria. Even with all her critics."
Her smile was low and cruel. "Her vision is charmingly naive, darling. Fragile. Sterling needs steel, not glass. When reality eventually shatters her fragile illusions." She leaned forward, her eyes darting back and forth between Ava's stunned face and mine once more. ".choose your allegiances wisely." She swept away, leaving in her wake only the suffocating aroma of poison and triumph.
The city's neon lights obscured Ava's face in fronds of cold light as I walked her to the waiting cab. Victoria's poison, the ghostly heat of Ava's skin, the image of her wide, open eyes – it all screamed within my head. Keep her safe. You vowed.
"Here," I growled, mysing with repressed tension. I inserted a crisp business card into her hand – my private number on the back. My hand encircled hers, holding the card in place. The contact sent a spark through me, clutching my stomach. Her eyes, blinding with confusion, rage, and lingering vulnerability, warred with mine.
"Why?" she breathed.
My other hand rose, almost automatically, cradling her cheek. My thumb tracked the curve, an illicit touch. She gasped, warmth on my wrist. The pull was agony. Say it. Tell her that her fire burns you, that you'll burn down buildings for her. "Because you're not cannon fodder," I snarl, my voice torn raw with everything I couldn't say. My gaze dropped, helplessly, to her lips, wide and fat. Inches. Agony. I drew back as if burned, the spot where her warmth had lain now chill.
She stepped into the cab, the card clutched tightly in her white-knuckled fist. The door shut. The cab disappeared. I stood paralyzed on the sidewalk, the image of her charred skin scorching against my hand, Victoria's warning ringing in my ears, and the aching, devastating weight of yearning for something that would never be mine. The breaks weren't just in the glass skyscrapers looming overhead; they were within me, shattering me in half.