Ava glances over her shoulder and spots me, and I fight to soften my features. She looks away before I can. They chat for a bit, and the tension inside me builds and builds. My feet are shifting, my fists clenching. “I’m going to the bathroom.” I leave Sarah and take the stairs back to the main suite quickly, closing the door behind me. Removing myself from the situation was my only option. Jesus, he knows what The Manor is, what goes on there. His wife has been in my bed, something I hadn’t cared about given his out-of-marriage activities. Cluing Van Der Haus in on my relationship with Ava would be bad news. Shit, it’s one thing after another, a pile of problems adding to all the fucking issues I have already. I’ve never questioned my lifestyle. It was the only way for me to deal with my torrid past. The only way to temporarily eliminate the torment.

I look around the space I had Ava in not twenty minutes ago. But it feels like centuries. The rush has disappeared completely. I need it back.

I go to the mirror and splash my face with cold water, hoping it’ll cool me down in many ways. Then I head back downstairs, praying Van Der Haus has fucked off so I can get Ava and leave. The place is still bustling, people chatting, drinking, eating canapes, laughing. But no Ava.

“Looking for someone?” Sarah asks, joining me as I continue to scan the space.

“Don’t be a dick, Sarah. Have you seen her?” I pull my phone out, ready to dial Ava and track her down.

“She left.”

I swing my worried eyes onto Sarah. “What?” She left without even saying goodbye? And more to the point, she left without me?

“Five minutes ago.” She points her champagne flute toward the doors, and I’m off like a rocket, pushing my way through the crowds, wishing, once again, that they’d all fuck off out of my penthouse.

I nearly take an old chap off his feet. “Sorry,” I say, making sure he’s steady.

“You in a rush?” he asks, holding out his hand. “Patrick Peterson.”

Ah, Ava’s boss? “Nice to meet you.” I leave his hand hanging and hurry away, smacking the button for the elevator repeatedly when I get there, like it might arrive faster under pressure. “Come on, come on,” I chant. I rush in as soon as the doors are open wide enough and hit the button for the ground floor. Why did she leave? I start pacing the small space feeling a sweat coming on and reach up to my chest and apply a bit of pressure, trying to force my heart into slowing down. Don’t tell me what I just shared with Ava will be it. Don’t tell me I won’t ever experience lightness like that again.