Chapter 114 City Lights
The soft hum of the city filtered through the wide glass panes of Ava's penthouse, a quiet contrast to the pace of her thoughts. Morning light spilled across her table, glinting off open magazines and a half-finished cup of espresso. Her manager's voice droned faintly through her earbuds, listing upcoming brand renewals and pending photo shoots.
Ava listened, though her mind had already drifted elsewhere.
"Clara," she interrupted lightly, turning a page on the file before her. "What do you think of Sinclair Group?"
There was a brief silence on the other end. "Sinclair Group? The multinational?"
"Mhm." She reclined in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Their recent line of projects has been gathering attention. They're expanding aggressively, but their image still feels... rigid. Old money. A bit too safe for the international market."
Clara caught on instantly, the way she always did when Ava's tone carried that particular blend of boredom and interest. "You're suggesting a partnership?"
Ava smiled faintly. "A collaboration, perhaps. Their products have reach. My name has a presence. It could be mutually beneficial."
"Interesting," Clara mused, her voice shifting into professional mode. "Sinclair Group hasn't worked with any faces from the modeling world. They keep things corporate and quite predictable."
"Exactly why it could work," Ava replied smoothly, standing to pour herself another cup of coffee. "You know how their PR team thinks, serious, traditional, image-driven. I can make them look... modern and Accessible."
What she didn't add was that she had read about the elusive CEO behind that empire weeks ago, the man whose presence seemed to unsettle entire boardrooms. Ethan Sinclair. The name alone had stuck with her, not for the usual reasons men's names did, but because of the peculiar silence surrounding it. He wasn't seen often. He didn't mingle, didn't indulge in publicity, and didn't need to.
"Alright," Clara said after a moment. "I'll reach out to their PR. Pitch it as a global rebranding collaboration. If they're interested, it could push both sides into new markets. I'll make it sound mutually beneficial."
."It will be," Ava murmured, placing her cup down with deliberate grace. "Make sure they know this came from us, not the other way around."
"Of course."
When the call ended, Ava walked toward her balcony, the city stretching endlessly beneath her. She wasn't chasing anything she was creating opportunity, as she always had. Every major step in her career had begun with her own initiative, not a handout. This would be no different.
That afternoon, in the polished glass offices of Sinclair Group, Olivia Trent, the company's PR manager, nearly dropped her pen when she opened the email from Clara Daniels Management.
Ava Laurent, international model, face of multiple global campaigns, wanted to collaborate with them?
"Is this real?" one of her assistants asked, peering over her shoulder.
Olivia blinked. "It's real. And if we pull this off, it could be massive."
Within minutes, she forwarded the message up the ladder with the subject line:
"Proposal: Potential Partnership with Ava Meniate, URGENT."
Olivia had forwarded it to her superior with a note that could barely contain her excitement. The collaboration could elevate the company's image globally. Having an international face like Ava tied to the Sinclair name would mean prestige, publicity, and an entirely new audience.
By the time Ethan's assistant received the forwarded message, it was already being discussed as if it were a done deal.
That evening, Ava's apartment was quiet again, the sky tinted with deepening gold as she leaned against her kitchen counter, phone in hand. Clara had messaged an hour ago, saying the proposal had been "well received."
Ava didn't smile right away. She rarely did when things went her way, it was too expected to celebrate. But there was something about this particular move that pleased her in a quiet, private way.
Her mind wandered briefly, not to Ethan's face, but to the idea of him. Men like that were rarely impressed, rarely moved. She'd met hundreds who'd pretended to be untouchable. None had lasted long against her composure.
That evening, Ava sat in her studio, surrounded by dress racks and swatches from her next campaign. Her phone buzzed against the tabletop. It was Clara again.
"They responded quicker than I expected," the message read.
'Sinclair Group is thrilled about the idea. Olivia Trent said she'll be in touch personally. They have an upcoming fundraiser, a private one in two days. She'd like you to attend.'
Ava's lips curved as she reread the message.
Two days. Short notice, but she'd worked under tighter schedules.
She typed back a simple response:
Tell her I'll be there. Black-tie, I assume?
Clara's reply came almost instantly.
Naturally. It's their annual philanthropic event, invitation-only. But Olivia said she'll ensure your name's added to the guest list. Apparently, even the board doesn't know yet.
A Sinclair event was an unattainable invitation. For her, it was merely another room she intended to walk into, another opportunity to watch, to understand, to see for herself what kind of man built an empire so carefully he never needed to show his face.
Ava leaned back, her expression unreadable. She didn't feel the excitement most people would have. These things always began the same, a whisper of opportunity, a meeting, a contract and a new set of headlines.
But this time, it wasn't about a brand deal. It was about the man behind the company, the one whose silence commanded more attention than most people's fame.
She glanced at her reflection in the window, the skyline shimmering faintly behind her. Confidence had been her armor for years, and charm her weapon. She'd mastered both.
The trick, she'd learned, wasn't in being desired. It was in being remembered.
She smiled softly, picking up her phone again.
Confirm the arrangements, Clara. And send Olivia my gratitude.
Her voice in the audio note was smooth, effortless, the kind of tone that made people agree without realizing they had.
When she set the phone down, she walked toward her wardrobe, eyes scanning the endless row of designer gowns. Black, ivory, silver. Power came in many shades, she'd decide later which one would suit the Sinclair gala best.
Ava had always chased new highs. It wasn't money, or fame, or the flash of cameras. It was the thrill of bending the untouchable, of watching men accustomed to control hesitate under her gaze. She had met billionaires, CEOs, and scions of empires bigger than countries, and each had, in one way or another, given in to her demands. They were all the same once she knew the buttons to press.
Ethan Sinclair, she thought, would be no different. By the time she walked into that gala, she'd have him acknowledging her presence, admiring her, maybe even bending subtly to her world. It was what always happened. Confidence, poise, calculated charm, that was her language. She didn't chase, she commanded. And she always won.
The invitation in her inbox felt like a starting gun. Two days. Enough time to prepare, to strategize, to ensure that when she arrived, all eyes, his included, would be on her.