Chapter 10 The Cellar

The cellar wasn't on any guest tour. It wasn't on any floor plan either. To get there, Ava had to go through the chef's corridor, past two locked doors, and down a narrow stone staircase that reeked of age and secrets. The air was colder here. Wetter. The kind of chill that didn't come from wine or stone, but from memory. Victor was already waiting when she arrived. No guards. No glass of wine. Just him. Alone. Seated beside a vintage bottle older than she was, tapping his thumb on the wooden table like he had time to burn. "Ava," he said, smiling faintly.

"Glad you came." "I didn't think I had a choice." "There's always a choice," he replied. "Just not always a good one." --- She sat. Across from him. Unblinking. Calm. Or as calm as one could be when sitting three feet from a man who could end her life with a whisper. Victor poured two glasses of wine. Blood red. Rich. He pushed one toward her. She didn't touch it. He laughed softly. "Smart girl." Then leaned forward, voice lowering. "I want to know what he's told you." Ava cocked her head. "Who?" Victor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Let's not insult each other." She held his stare. "You mean Kai." "I mean the man using that name. He's had six in the last decade." She didn't respond. He went on. "He's dangerous, Ava. Calculated. And he's not in love with you." "I never said he was." "Then why wear the ring?" Ava looked down at the band on her finger. Not because she needed to. But because she knew he was watching for weakness. And she wanted to give him just enough. "I like the way people treat me when they think I belong to him," she said quietly. Victor's brow lifted. "Interesting answer." "Was that the point?" she added. "To see how far I'd go?" He leaned back, satisfied. "There's a version of this where you walk away from this island with a new contract, a mansion in the south of France, and more money than you can count." "And what do I have to do?" "Choose," he said. "Before Kai does." --- He reached into a drawer and pulled out another folder. Just like the one Kai had shown her. Only thicker. Worse. He slid it across the table. Ava opened it. Inside: a picture of her mother. Her younger brother. Her old address in D.C. she hadn't used since grad school. Photos. Notes. Timelines. Victor had traced her whole life. "This is intimidation," she said, throat tight. "This is insurance," Victor said softly. "You're valuable, Ava. But value can depreciate." Her hands curled into fists. "Is this what you do to all your contractors?" "No," he said. "Just the ones who think they're more than they are." --- Ava stood. She didn't raise her voice. Didn't panic. She just gathered the folder and looked him in the eye. "Thank you for the wine," she said. "And the warning." Then she walked out. Not fast. Not scared. Deliberate. --- By the time she got back to her room, her hands were shaking. But not from fear. From fury. She dialed a number she wasn't supposed to have. Kai answered on the first ring. "He made his move," she said. "And you?" She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Saw the tired eyes. The perfectly neutral expression. The woman she used to be was long gone. "I made mine," she said. --- That night, Ava didn't sleep. She sat on the balcony with her laptop open, typing. Altering. Rewriting schedules. Reassigning staff locations for the next night's gala. Moving cameras. Redirecting power to the north wing instead of the main hall. Victor had forgotten the most important rule: Never let the help get smart. But Ava Monroe? She wasn't help anymore.