One Night With The Cold CEO

Ava took one, slow, deliberate breath. The roaring in her ears subsided, replaced by an unnerving calm. The trembling in her hands stopped. She pushed the heavy door open and walked in.

The laughter died instantly. Every head in the lavishly decorated living room turned towards her. Carter Knight's jaw went slack. Blair Sterling's perfectly painted smile froze. And Spencer... Spencer's face went white, the color draining from it as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Ava?" he stammered, scrambling to his feet. "What... what are you doing here?"

She didn't answer him. Her eyes, cold and flat, swept over the scene-the half-empty champagne bottles, the casual opulence, the smug faces now etched with shock. She walked directly to the low marble coffee table and placed the heavy paper bag on it with a solid thud.

"Your order," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion."DoorDash. You always said to make an impression, didn't you?"

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, a desperate plea forming on his lips, but he was too slow. In one fluid motion, Ava pulled out the container of spaghetti bolognese and the bottle of red wine. She ripped the lid off the pasta.

Before anyone could react, she upended the entire container onto the front of Spencer's crisp, white button-down shirt. Hot, red sauce and chunks of meat slid down his chest, a grotesque stain on his pristine world.

Blair let out a horrified gasp, which was cut short as Ava twisted the cap off the wine bottle. She poured the dark red liquid directly over Blair's head. It streamed through her salon-perfect blonde hair, tracing paths down her face, ruining her makeup and dripping onto her silk dress.

A piercing scream tore from Blair's throat. The room erupted into chaos.

Ava looked at the two of them, Spencer dripping with sauce, Blair with wine. "My kiss," she said, her voice cutting through the noise, "I'll just pretend a dog licked me. As for the bet, congratulations. You won."

She paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Now, we're even."

She turned her back on them, on the shouting and the curses, and walked out of the apartment. Her spine was straight, her head held high. It wasn't until she was outside, the cold night air hitting her face, that her legs began to shake. A bitter, triumphant energy coursed through her, but underneath it, a vast, empty space was already opening up.

The next few days were a blur of work. She picked up extra shifts, ran deliveries until her muscles ached, and spent every other waking hour at the hospital, reading to her grandmother. She didn't get any calls or texts from Spencer. She hadn't expected any. A man like him cared about one thing above all else: his image. And she had destroyed it in front of his friends.

She was leaving the hospital late one evening, the smell of antiseptic clinging to her clothes, when a black Bentley pulled up silently beside her. The passenger door opened, and a man in a tailored gray suit and white gloves stepped out. He was older, with neatly combed silver hair and a posture that spoke of a lifetime of formal service.

He inclined his head slightly. "Miss Kowalski?"

Ava stopped, her hand tightening on her bag strap.

"My employer, Mr. Arthur Carlisle, would like to have a word with you."

The name hit her like a punch to the gut. Carlisle. The same as Spencer. Her first thought was that this was some kind of retaliation, a more powerful, more humiliating version of what Blair had tried to do. But the man's demeanor wasn't threatening. It was unnervingly polite, and that was somehow more frightening. She knew, with a sinking certainty, that she had no choice but to go with him.