Ava Sinclair had spent years chasing the truth. She never imagined the truth would chase her back—and try to ruin her.
The headline flashing across every news station, every social feed, made her stomach twist into knots.
"Investigative Journalist Ava Sinclair Accused of Fraud – Millions Missing in Offshore Accounts"
She gripped her phone, pulse hammering. The allegations were absurd. She had exposed corruption, not committed it. Yet here she was, branded a criminal, her career crumbling by the second.
Her inbox was flooded with messages. Calls from her editor. Her lawyer. Even her landlord, who suddenly had "concerns" about her lease. The weight of it all threatened to crush her—until a name she hadn't seen in months lit up her screen.
Damien Roth.
Ava's breath caught in her throat. She should ignore him. Block his number. Forget he existed. But deep down, she knew why he was calling.
Because Damien never missed an opportunity to gloat.
She let it ring, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But the billionaire wasn't the type to give up easily. Not a minute later, her phone buzzed again—this time with a text.
"Come to my office. We need to talk."
No explanation. No pleasantries. Just an order, like he expected her to obey.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. She should delete the message. Pretend she never saw it. But then her eyes flickered back to the news report playing on her TV. A panel of experts dissected the allegations, nodding as if they'd already decided she was guilty.
Her stomach churned.
She needed a way out.
And that was the only reason she found herself standing in front of Roth Tower an hour later, glaring up at the gleaming glass structure.
A part of her expected Damien to deny her entry, to make her suffer for what she had done to him. But the receptionist waved her through the moment she said her name, as if he'd been waiting for her.
The elevator ride to the top floor felt like a death march. By the time the doors slid open, she had mentally prepared for war.
Then she stepped inside Damien's office—and her breath hitched.
He was sitting behind a sleek black desk, looking exactly as she remembered. Sharp suit. Cold, unreadable eyes. A presence so powerful it could choke a room. But this time, his lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement.
"Ava," he drawled, leaning back in his chair. "I was wondering how long you'd make me wait."
Her jaw tightened. "You think this is funny?"
He gestured to the TV mounted on the wall, where her face was plastered across the news. "I think it's ironic."
Her pulse spiked. "I didn't do this."
"I know."
That stopped her cold.
"You—" She blinked. "What?"
Damien stood, walking around the desk. "I know you're innocent. And I know exactly who's behind it."
Ava's heart pounded. "Then why the hell am I here?"
His smirk deepened. "Because, sweetheart… we're about to make a deal."