Chapter 3

The black Maybach glided smoothly into the underground garage of the penthouse building.

Ava pushed the heavy car door open. She swung her long legs out, relishing the freedom of the tailored suit trousers. She stood up, feeling the solid, grounded weight of the male body.

From the other side of the car, Eldridge struggled. He pushed the door open, but his tight pencil skirt restricted his movement. He tried to step out, but the thin heel of the stiletto caught on the edge of the floorboard.

"Damn it," Eldridge muttered, his voice a frustrated squeak. His ankle wobbled dangerously.

Ava stopped and looked over the roof of the car. Her eyes were cold.

"Watch your posture," Ava commanded. "You are Ava Downs now. Do not walk like a dockworker."

Eldridge glared at her, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the car door for balance.

They rode the private elevator up to the penthouse in silence. The doors slid open. Ava walked straight past the living room and headed directly for the master suite's massive walk-in closet.

Eldridge followed, his calves burning from the unnatural angle of the heels.

Ava stood in the men's section. She ran her fingers over the row of bespoke suits. She pulled out a deep navy Brioni suit and held it up against her chest in the full-length mirror. The fit was impeccable.

On the other side of the closet, Eldridge stood frozen in front of the women's section. The racks were filled with silk, lace, and complex designer dresses. He felt a wave of suffocation.

He grabbed a simple black dress and pulled it over his head. He reached around his back, his fingers fumbling blindly for the tiny, invisible zipper. His shoulders ached. He started to sweat, the frustration mounting until he wanted to scream.

Ava watched him through the reflection in the mirror. She let out a short, mocking laugh.

She walked over to him. Without a word, she grabbed the zipper tab and yanked it down violently.

The fabric parted. The cool air hit Eldridge's bare back.

Eldridge gasped. He spun around, his arms crossing instinctively over his chest to cover himself. His face flushed a deep, humiliating crimson.

"What are you doing? !" he yelled.

Ava rolled her eyes. She grabbed a conservative silk robe off a hook and threw it at his face.

"Stop acting like a virgin," Ava sneered. "I have seen every inch of that body."

Eldridge clutched the robe tightly around himself, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"What is your plan?" Eldridge demanded, his voice shaking.

Ava pulled the smartphone from her pocket. She tapped the screen and dialed a number.

"Miles," Ava said, forcing her vocal cords to mimic Eldridge's flat, authoritative tone perfectly.

Eldridge lunged forward to grab the phone.

Ava didn't even look at him. She took a step forward, pressing her knee firmly into his stomach, pinning him against the edge of the velvet ottoman.

Eldridge pushed against her leg, but it was like pushing against a concrete pillar. He couldn't move an inch.

"Push my reservation at Le Bernardin back by thirty minutes," Ava said into the phone. "And have a bouquet of red roses waiting at the table."

Miles agreed instantly. Ava hung up and dropped the phone back into her pocket. She lowered her leg.

Eldridge stumbled forward, gasping for breath.

"Don't do this," Eldridge pleaded, looking up at her. "Bird is fragile. She doesn't understand what is happening. Do not hurt her."

The air in the closet turned to ice.

Ava reached out and grabbed the lapels of the silk robe, pulling Eldridge up onto his tiptoes.

"She is fragile?" Ava hissed, her face inches from his. The raw hatred in her eyes made Eldridge's blood run cold. "Then what am I, Eldridge? What am I? !"

Eldridge swallowed hard. The words died in his throat. He had never seen this kind of violent emotion from her before.

Ava shoved him backward. She dusted off her hands as if she had touched something filthy. She turned and walked into the master bathroom to get ready.

Eldridge stood alone in the closet. He looked at his reflection. The soft, terrified eyes of his wife stared back at him. A deep, gnawing panic settled in his stomach.

He had to stop her. He had to get to the restaurant.

He frantically searched the closet for something, anything, he could run in. He looked for flat shoes. There were none. Only rows and rows of stilettos and high-heeled boots.

He grabbed a trench coat, shoved his feet into a pair of low-heeled pumps, and ran out of the closet.

Ava walked out of the bathroom. She was dressed in the navy suit. She had sprayed Eldridge's signature Tom Ford Oud Wood cologne on her neck. The heavy, masculine scent filled the room, a clear declaration of her dominance.

She looked at Eldridge, who was struggling to tie the belt of the trench coat.

"Going somewhere?" Ava asked, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Coming to spy on me?"

"I am going to protect her from you," Eldridge said through gritted teeth.

Ava shrugged. She picked up the keys to the Aston Martin from the console table.

"Suit yourself," Ava said. "If you can keep up."

Ava walked out the door, her strides long and effortless. Eldridge tried to run after her, but his ankle gave out on the thick carpet, sending him stumbling against the wall.

By the time Eldridge reached the underground garage, Ava was already sitting in the driver's seat of the Aston Martin. The engine roared to life, a deep, guttural growl that echoed off the concrete walls.

Eldridge limped toward the passenger side, reaching for the door handle.

The car jerked forward, pulling out of his reach.

Ava rolled down the window. She looked at him standing there in the dim light, wearing a trench coat and women's shoes.

"Take a cab, honey," Ava said.

She slammed her foot on the gas. The tires screeched. The car shot up the ramp and disappeared into the New York night, leaving Eldridge choking on the exhaust fumes, screaming her name into the empty garage.