Auctioned for a Dollar, Claimed by the Billionaire Chapter 12

Every head turned to Damien.

I couldn’t breathe. I looked at him, and for the first time since the shadows outside the ballroom doors, I didn’t know

what I would see.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away from me.

“He’s right,” Damien said quietly. “I was there.”

My heart stopped.

“Your father called me at nine that night,” he said. “He’d seen his cardiologist that morning. He knew he didn’t have long. Weeks, maybe days.” His jaw tightened. “He wanted to make sure you’d be safe if it happened before you were

ready to take over. He’d already started to doubt Hale. He asked me to be your trustee. He asked me to watch over you without pushing my way into your life.”

“Why you?” I whispered.

“Because I told him about the alley, years ago. He laughed until he cried.” Damien’s voice roughened. “He said, ‘Then

you already know she’s worth protecting.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. Old. Soft at the corners. My name on the front in handwriting I

would know anywhere.

My father’s.

“He wrote this that night. He told me to give it to you when you came home whole. Not before.” Damien held it out. “I

think you’re home.”

My fingers shook as I opened it.

Ava, my brave girl,

If you’re reading this, I’m gone, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I won’t walk you down the aisle. I’m sorry I won’t see you design

something that makes the whole world stop and stare. Because you will.

I’m leaving you the company not because you have to run it, but because no one else deserves it. Take your time. Grieve. Fall apart if you need to. Then stand back up. You always do. You’ve been doing it since you were ten years old with a split eyebrow and a hockey stick.

One more thing. The boy you saved in that alley grew up. He’s been asking about you for fifteen years. He’ll never say it first. He’s too proud and too careful. So I’m saying it for him.

Let him love you, sweetheart.

Dad

The words blurred. A sob broke out of me before I could stop it. Damien was there instantly. He didn’t say anything. He just put his arms around me and let me cry into his chest in front of the entire board of directors.

Nobody spoke.

When I finally looked up, two NYPD officers were standing in the doorway.

“Ryan Hale?” one said. “You’re under arrest for embezzlement, wire fraud, and theft of private medical records.”

“This is insane!” Ryan backed into the window. “Sloane signed those invoices! Talk to her! She’s the one who-”

“She already did,” the officer said flatly. “Two hours ago. Turned over eight months of your text messages in exchange

for a deal. Including the one where you asked her to find Ms. Sterling’s therapist’s office address.”

Ryan’s face crumpled.

The mistress who wore my mother’s necklace had sold him out the second the money dried up.

They cuffed him in front of the whole board. As they walked him past me, he twisted around, eyes wild.

“You’ll never be anything without me, Ava! You hear me? Nothing!”

I wiped my face and looked at him.

“I was everything before you,” I said. “I just forgot for a while.”

The doors closed behind him.

That night, Damien and I ate takeout on the floor of my father’s old office, my head on his shoulder, Dad’s letter in my

lap. For the first time in four years, I slept without nightmares.

It was the most peaceful three weeks of my life.

Then, on a Tuesday morning, a single line appeared on my phone. An alert from the district attorney’s office.

[NOTICE: Ryan Hale has been released on bail. Bail posted by an anonymous party.]