Bound to the calloway's heir

Ava Sinclair.

The atelier's mirrored walls threw my reflection back at me as the stylist pinned the hem of my gown, one I needed for my Paris networking event. With that event, I could better solidify my place in the fashion world. Yet I knew it could also break it, if Vanessa and her minions had their way.

The dress clung to my curves, its deep neckline daring, its fabric whispering against my skin. I turned, catching the light, and tried to focus on the stylist's quiet murmurs about darts and stitching. But my mind drifted, pulling me back to the night. Everything changed without warning.

I had just clocked twenty years that summer night, with Damian's leather jacket slung over my shoulders. We had been sprawled on the hood of his sleek Mustang, the Los Angeles skyline glittering below us like a promise. His arm had brushed mine, deliberately, his eyes catching mine with that smile that made my stomach flip. "You're trouble, Ava," he had said in his charming, low, teasing voice, but his fingers had lingered on my wrist. I laughed, leaned closer and let myself believe we were perfect for each other. Until Zane walked in on us. When he registered what the scene meant, his fury was intense. After their fist-fight that got too bloody for me, he told Damian to choose me or their friendship. I had, without a doubt, believed that Damian would choose me, but to my utmost dismay, he had chosen Zane. He'd walked away, left me standing in the driveway with his jacket still warm in my hands, while my heart cracked into pieces.

"Miss Sinclair?" The seamstress's voice snapped me back to the fitting room. She stood, pins in her mouth, eyeing me expectantly.

"It's perfect," I said, forcing a smile. "Send the final measurements to my team." I stepped off the platform, the gown rustling as I slipped into my jeans and blouse, still carrying the weight of the memory of Damian's betrayal.

I grabbed my phone and fired off a quick email to my team, confirming my Paris itinerary: fittings, meetings, the gala. Routine, except nothing felt routine anymore. Not with Vanessa's whispers about my connections to Atlas Group and the Cartel dogging my every step, threatening to unravel everything I'd built.

Outside, the Los Angeles sun hit me hard. My white Porsche gleamed in the lot, a sleek beast that always felt like an extension of me...fast, free, untamed. I slid into the driver's seat, loving the way the leather cooled against my thighs, and then I froze. An untagged parcel sat on the passenger seat. My pulse spiked instantly, knowing I had locked the car. I always locked the car, yet there was a parcel in it. I glanced around the lot, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever had left it for me. But it was empty, save for a distant couple strolling hand-in-hand, oblivious to my dilemma. There was no one watching or lurking. But the air felt like I was being watched.

I reached for the parcel, turning it around to see if it was signed. Nothing. Then I tore it open. Inside was a single photograph of me, stepping out of Club Eden with Damian. Scrawled across the bottom in red ink was.

"We know who you are. Ava Calloway," My breath caught, I was never addressed by my father's last name. I flipped the photo over and read out the typed note, "Your cartel friends in Atlas can't save you. Step back, or we end you."

The words sank into me. This wasn't just about my career anymore. This was about Zane and Atlas, who didn't just want to sabotage my runway, they wanted more.

I shoved the photo and note into my bag, my hands trembling as I started the engine. The Porsche roared to life, and I peeled out of the lot. My mind raced faster than the car. Vanessa's name had been circling my thoughts for weeks, ever since my last two modeling contracts went up in smoke. She was a shadow in my world, a rival with a knack for exploiting weaknesses. If she was behind this, she wasn't just targeting me but was gunning for Atlas, and all of us.

By the time I pulled into the garage of my penthouse, the sun had dipped lower. I sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel. I needed help.

I needed Damian.

The thought twisted in my gut. Calling him meant opening a door I had sworn to keep locked, but he was the only one I trusted to fix this mess without dragging Zane into it. Zane would turn this into a war, lock me away like some fragile princess. I wasn't that girl anymore. I could handle this. I had to.

I dialed Damian's number when I got to the foyer, my thumb hovering over the call button for a heartbeat too long before I pressed it. He answered on the second ring, his voice rough, like he'd been running or fighting or both. "Ava? Are you okay?"

"I need you to come to my place," I said, keeping my tone steady, even as my heart pounded. "Now."

"What's going on?" Worry crept into his voice, sharp and real. "You sound..."

"Just come, Damian. And don't tell Zane. I mean it."

He hesitated, then said, "I'm on my way."

I paced the foyer them made my way to the study, the city skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The photograph and note lay on the coffee table, glaring up at me. I poured a glass of wine, and took a sip, but it did nothing to steady my nerves.

Don't let him in again, I told myself. Damian had betrayed me once, chosen loyalty to Zane over me. I couldn't afford to let him close, no matter how much my body remembered the way his touch felt.

The doorbell chimed twenty minutes later, and I straightened, smoothing my blouse, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I walked over to open the door, and there he was in his black suit tailored to perfection, his cologne hitting me at once. He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on me, intense, searching.

"You going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?" he said. There was an edge to his voice, like he already knew this was bad.

I gestured to the coffee table where the photograph and note sat. He crossed the room in three strides, his shoulders tensing as he picked up the photo, his eyes narrowing at the red scrawl. He read the note next, his jaw clenching so hard I could see the muscles twitch.

"Where did you get this?" he asked,

"My car," I said, crossing my arms. "It was unlocked. Someone left it in the passenger seat."

"Unlocked?" He turned to me, "Ava, you don't leave your car unlocked. Ever."

"I know that," I snapped in my defense, "I locked it. Someone got in any way."

He ran a hand through dark hair, pacing a tight circle. "This is definitely Nessa. Has to be. She's the only one hot-headed enough not to be subtle about it."

I nodded, "It's not just about me, Damian. This is about Atlas. They're coming for all of us."

He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto mine. "You should've called Zane. He needs to know."

"No." The word came out sharper than I meant, but I didn't back down. "Zane would turn this into a cage. He'll have me under guard 24/7, like I'm some damsel who can't handle her own problems. I'm not that kid anymore, Damian. I can deal with this."

His lips pressed into a thin line, frustration flickering across his face. "You're not a kid, Ava, but you're still his sister. And this?" He held up the note. "This is a threat. A real one. You can't just..."

"Don't lecture me," I cut in, stepping closer. "I called you, not Zane. I trust you to help me fix this without turning my life into a prison."

He stared at me, his chest rising. "You trust me," he said, "After everything?"

The words hung between us, heavy with the weight of our past. I wanted to scream in his face, remembering the nights I'd cried myself to sleep because of the sting of his betrayal. But standing there, inches from him, I felt the pull of him.

"Don't," I said. "Don't make this about us."

"There's always been us, Ava," he said, stepping closer. "You know that."

My breath hitched. He was too close now, his body a wall of heat, his gaze pinning me in place. I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scar above his eyebrow from the fight with Zane. My fingers twitched, wanting to trace it,. No.

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to lean into him. "You made your choice, Damian. You walked away."

"I had to," he said. "Zane's my brother. Not by blood, but by everything else. I couldn't..."

"You could've fought for me," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My eyes burned, but I refused to let the tears fall. "You didn't."

He reached for me, his hand hovering near my cheek, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin. "Ava, I..."

I stepped back, "Don't," I said again, but it sounded weak, like a plea. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, the space between us shrank. I could feel the pull, the ache of the memory of his lips on mine. I wanted to kiss him and drown in him.

I turned away, breaking the spell, my hands shaking as I grabbed my wine glass, needing something to hold onto. "We focus on Nessa," I said. "We find out why she's doing this, and we stopped her. That's it."

He didn't move, didn't speak, but I could feel his eyes on me. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. We do it your way. For now."

He went to sit on the couch and I watched him. He was still the Damian I'd fallen for. I wanted to hate him for it, for choosing that life over me, but I couldn't. Not when he was here, fighting for me now.

"We start with Rico," he said, glancing at me. "He's got ears everywhere. If Nessa's making moves, Rico'll know."

I nodded, sipping my wine, trying to focus on the plan and not the way his voice sent shivers down my spine. "And my contacts in the industry," I added. "Someone's feeding her dirt on me. I'll find out who."

He smiled, just a flicker, but it warmed me more than it should have. "You were always good at getting answers."

I laughed. "And you were always good at getting in trouble."

His grin widened, boyish and disarming, and for a moment, we weren't a model and a cartel enforcer plotting against an enemy. We were just Ava and Damian, two kids who'd once thought they could take on the world.

"Still am," he said, his eyes holding mine. "But I'm here, Ava. I'm not going anywhere this time."

My heart stuttered, the words hitting deeper than I wanted them to. I set my glass down, leaning closer, letting myself have this moment, just for a second. "You better not," I said. "I don't forgive twice."

He reached out, his hand brushing mine. "I don't expect you to."

I sat next to him, our bodies touching, the threat of the cartel's exposure looming. But for that moment, it was not just me in it, and it was enough.