The champagne felt ice-cold through the thin fabric of Ava Knox’s off-the-rack black gown. By the time the expensive liquid reached her shoes, nearly forty people were laughing.

The silence in the Astor Grand ballroom was absolute. You could have dropped a pin on the velvet carpet and heard it reverberate like a thunderclap.

Damian’s jaw was literally hanging open. His eyes darted frantically between Ava and Alexander Vance, his brain utterly failing to process the sight in front of him. Victoria’s manicured hand gripped Damian’s arm so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"F-Fiancée?" Damian stammered out, his voice cracking. "Mr. Vance... there must be a mistake. She’s... she’s Ava Knox. She’s an assistant event coordinator! She lived in a basement in Brooklyn six months ago!"

Alexander turned his head slowly. The look in his dark eyes was cold enough to freeze hell over.

"Did I ask for your input, Mr. Cross?" Alexander asked calmly.

"No, sir, but—"

"Then close your mouth before I make sure you never work in financial services again," Alexander said. The threat was delivered so casually, so evenly, that it carried the terrifying weight of absolute truth.

Damian snapped his mouth shut, turning a sickly shade of gray.

Alexander turned back to Ava. His large, warm hand rested comfortably on the small of her back, guiding her away from the gaping crowd. "Let's get you out of these clothes, darling. The air conditioning in here is far too cold for you."

Ava was so stunned her brain had gone completely numb. She allowed herself to be walked out of the ballroom, her feet moving on autopilot. As they passed Damian and Victoria, she caught the look of absolute, unadulterated shock and fury on her ex-boyfriend's face.

For six months, Damian had made her feel like dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Tonight, in front of the most powerful people in New York, he looked small. Terrified. Pathetic.

They exited the ballroom, walked through the grand marble foyer, and stepped out onto the private VIP driveway where a sleek, black Maybach was idling. A driver opened the door instantly.

Alexander ushered her inside, slid in beside her, and pulled the door shut, cutting off the crisp Manhattan night air.

The moment the privacy glass rolled up, Ava whipped off the expensive jacket and looked at the billionaire sitting beside her.

"What was that?!" Ava demanded, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Fiancée?! Mr. Vance, I don't even know you!"

Alexander relaxed into the supple leather seat, unbuttoning his cuffs with calm, methodical precision. "You know me, Ava. You just don't remember."

Ava blinked, thrown off balance. "What are you talking about?"

"Six months ago. The rainstorm on 4th Street," Alexander said, turning his head to look at her. "My car broke down in front of a small 24-hour diner. I went inside to wait for my security detail. You were working the late shift. I was having a severe hypoglycemic episode, but I couldn't speak. Everyone else ignored me, thinking I was just another drunk in a suit."

Ava’s eyes widened as a memory flashed through her mind. "The guy in the corner booth... the one who was shaking..."

"You recognized the signs," Alexander said quietly. "You brought me orange juice with sugar. You stayed with me, held my hand, and kept me conscious until my medical team arrived. You refused to take my money when I offered to pay you for saving my life."

Ava stared at him. "That was... that was you?"

"That was me," Alexander confirmed. "I asked my security team to find out who you were. I discovered you were working seventy hours a week to put your boyfriend through business school. I watched from afar as he used you, drained your savings, and then threw you away like trash the moment he got his degree."

Ava felt a lump form in her throat. Hearing her pain summarized so clearly by a total stranger brought back the raw sting of Damian’s betrayal.

"I don't need your pity, Mr. Vance," Ava said defensively, pulling her arms around herself.

"It isn't pity," Alexander said, his voice dropping an octave. "It's an offer."

"An offer?"

"Damian Cross is currently angling for a major promotion at Sterling North Capital. His entire future relies on securing an investment deal with Vance Global. He thinks he can walk on people, destroy lives, and suffer zero consequences." Alexander leaned forward, his dark eyes intense. "I want to teach him a lesson. And I think you deserve front-row seats."

Ava held her breath. "What are you suggesting?"

"A fake engagement," Alexander stated simply. "Six months. You live in my penthouse. You attend high-society events at my side. We make Damian Cross and Victoria Langford eat their hearts out every single day. In exchange, I will fund any business venture you want, clear all your debts, and give you ten million dollars when the six months are over."