Chapter 11 The First Strike

The gala began like all expensive betrayals do-dressed in gold, cloaked in laughter, hiding war behind wine.

Ava wore midnight blue.

Slit at the thigh.

Backless.

No necklace, no distractions.

Only a thin wire coiled around her earpiece, tucked beneath a perfect wave of dark hair.

The dress code read "opulence."

But her energy said "execution