Ava woke with a start. At first, she couldn't tell what had woken her. The room was dimly lit, grey light filtering through the curtains. For a few seconds, she thought she was back at her apartment, where she used to live with her sister.
But then she was harshly brought back to reality when she heard the soft rustle of fabric and the faint click of a drawer.
Her heart jumped as her eyes immediately fluttered open. She sat up quickly, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.
Clara stood at the far end of the room, her back turned to Ava, and she was carefully placing something on the vanity. Her reflection in the mirror was as calm and collected as ever, her posture perfect, her blonde hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. She didn't even look surprised that Ava was awake.
"You're early," Ava said sharply, her voice still hoarse from sleep but it was hard to hide the irritation in her voice because of how she was woken up.
Clara turned slightly, her expression polite but cold. "Good morning, Miss Sinclair. Or should I say.." she paused, her eyes flicking to the ring on Ava's finger, "Mrs Cross-to-be."
Ava frowned not too glad to be called that. "What are you doing in my room?"
"Preparing you," Clara replied. "The stylist will be here in thirty minutes, and the tailor shortly after that. Mr Cross requested that everything begin on schedule."
Ava blinked, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "It's not even seven in the morning."
Clara's faint smile didn't waver. "Perfection doesn't wait for comfort."
Ava bit back a scoff, rubbing a hand over her face. "You could have at least knocked."
"I did," Clara said, her tone unbothered. "Twice. You didn't answer."
Ava's jaw tightened. "That doesn't mean you walk in."
Clara's eyes flickered, just briefly, to the side but not in guilt, but impatience. "You should be grateful, Miss Sinclair. Not many women in your position would have the privilege of being styled by one of the most sought-after designers in the country."
Ava's stomach turned at that. Women in your position. She hated how Clara said it, as if she were some bought ornament being polished for display.
She swung her legs over the bed and stood. "I can manage on my own."
Clara tilted her head slightly, and Ava wasn't sure if she scoffed or not, but it sounded like that. "I'm afraid that's not how this works."
The door opened again before Ava could respond and two women entered, both were dressed in neat black uniforms. One carried a rack of dresses, the other wheeled in a silver case filled with makeup brushes, palettes, and hair tools. They moved like ghosts, silent and efficient, setting up without saying a single word.
Ava stepped back looking uneasy. "What is all this?"
"Pre-wedding preparation," Clara said smoothly. "You have a fitting this morning, then a brief meeting with the planner to finalise the ceremony details. Mr Cross has already arranged everything."
Ava let out a quiet, humourless laugh. "Of course he has."
Her chest tightened as she glanced at the dresses being unpacked. They were all white, ivory, and champagne tones. They looked too perfect and elegant. She didn't belong in any of them.
The stylist, a petite woman with dark eyes and a polite smile, approached her. "We'll start with a light fitting, Miss Sinclair. Nothing invasive."
Ava hesitated but nodded reluctantly. "Fine." She signed up for all of this when she agreed to marry him.
Clara stayed by the window, watching silently as the stylist and her assistant began taking measurements. The whole process felt impersonal and mechanical. Ava barely moved, letting them adjust fabric around her waist and shoulders while her thoughts drifted elsewhere, to Lily, to the ring, to the locked doors in the West Wing, to Damian.
When the stylist finally stepped back, she gave an approving nod. "You have a beautiful frame," she said softly. "The gown will suit you perfectly."
Ava forced a small smile, though her throat felt tight. "I'll take your word for it."
Clara glanced at her watch. "That will be all for now. Mr Cross will want to see you downstairs at nine."
Ava's stomach twisted. "Why?"
Clara's lips curved in a faint, unreadable smile. "He requested your presence."
Her voice lingered in the air like smoke as she turned to leave, her heels clicking against the floor. "Don't keep him waiting," she added before stepping out.
The door closed behind her, leaving Ava in the echo of her own silence.
____________________
By the time she was dressed and ready, her reflection barely looked like her. The stylist had left her hair in soft waves, her face lightly touched with makeup that made her look polished and controlled, almost like someone else entirely.
She stared at herself for a long moment before whispering, "Who are you?"
The knock came again it was soft but firm this time. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
The butler stood there, his expression as neutral as always. "Mr Cross is waiting in the main hall."
She nodded mutely and followed him downstairs.
The main hall was bathed in warm morning light, the chandeliers glittering above. Damian stood near the base of the staircase, his back to her, his hand in his pocket as he spoke quietly to someone over the phone. His tone was low and sharp, business-like and detached.
But when he turned and saw her, the conversation ended mid-sentence. He slipped his phone into his jacket pocket, his eyes settling on her.
Ava straightened unconsciously. Her mind trailed back to the previous night in that room.
His gaze had that same effect of pulling her in and pushing her away at the same time.
"You're awake," he said simply like he wasn't the one who had signed Clara up for her job.
"Hard not to be," Ava replied, crossing her arms and trying her best not to seem affected by everything that was happening. "Your assistant made sure of that."
He almost smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Clara is efficient. I like that about her, and she is your assistant now, not mine."
"Of course you do."
He ignored the bite in her tone. "You have a full day ahead. The press will be informed of the ceremony schedule tomorrow. Clara will handle your schedule, but I expect you to attend everything without argument."
Ava's lips parted, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "Without argument? I'm not one of your employees, Damian."
His jaw tensed slightly, it was the first time she called his name. "No. You're something much more complicated."
The air between them thickened, and Ava subconsciously took a step back, her pulse spiking. "You can't keep controlling every second of my life."
He took a slow step toward her, his expression unreadable. "You entered an agreement, Ava. Control was part of the deal."
"I didn't agree to be treated like a prisoner."
"You're not a prisoner," he said quietly. "You're my fiancée."
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "You really think that makes it better?"
For a moment, his eyes softened, just slightly. "It makes it necessary."
Ava's voice faltered. "Necessary for what?"
He didn't answer, Instead, he turned away, his shoulders tense. "You'll understand soon enough."
Her frustration flared, but she forced herself to stay calm. "I'm not your enemy, Damian." All she wanted was Lily and nothing else.
He glanced at her then, and for the briefest moment, something unguarded flickered in his expression. "No," he said softly. "But you could be."
Before she could respond, he walked past her, leaving her standing in the middle of the hall.
Ava watched him go, her fists tightening at her sides. The urge to scream, to demand the truth, rose inside her, but she held it in. Not yet.
Clara appeared again from the corridor, holding a thin folder. "Your next appointment is in the drawing room," she said smoothly. "The planner is waiting."
Ava nodded, her throat dry. As she followed Clara down the corridor, she glanced once more at the locked doors of the West Wing.
The plaque still gleamed faintly under the morning light.
' West Wing Private.'
Her heartbeat quickened. Whatever secrets this house held, she was going to uncover them no matter what Damian Cross tried to hide.
Because every cage, no matter how beautiful, had a key.
And she was going to find it.