CHAPTER 2: Who Is Ava?

　　The door creaked open, revealing a scene ripped straight from a glossy business magazine. Sunlight streamed through broad windows, illuminating a spacious office dominated by a massive mahogany desk. Plush leather chairs flanked the desk like thrones, and a collection of framed awards on the wall gleamed with quiet pride. Nicola Westcott-Grey, CEO Alexander Westcott's infamous sister, sat perched behind the desk, a phone pressed to her ear.

　　Everything about Nicola screamed power. Her ebony hair was pulled back in a tight chignon, not a single strand daring to rebel. Her tailored black suit clung to a figure that wouldn't be out of place on a runway, and her sharp features, dominated by piercing blue eyes and a permanently arched brow, radiated an aura of controlled chaos.

　　My stomach lurched. This wasn't what I'd signed up for. The interview listing had not prepared me to face her. Doubt gnawed at the carefully constructed confidence I'd built on the subway ride downtown. Was I about to be grilled by a woman who could probably intimidate a seasoned Wall Street broker with a single raised eyebrow?

　　The assistant, who now seemed to shrink into the background compared to Nicola's commanding presence, gestured towards a chair in front of the desk. I sank into it, acutely aware of my worn leather purse lying awkwardly on my lap. My meticulously planned interview suddenly felt like a child's crayon drawing next to a masterpiece.

　　As the assistant closed the door with a soft click, Nicola abruptly ended her phone call, her sharp eyes locking onto mine. A jolt ran through me – those eyes held an intensity that was both unsettling and captivating. Then, to my utter puzzlement, a flicker of something akin to recognition crossed her features.

　　"Evelyn Moore," she said, her voice surprisingly low and husky, a stark contrast to the steely edge I expected. "You look just like..." she trailed off, her gaze lingering on me for a beat too long.

　　"Just like…?" I prompted cautiously, a knot of unease forming in my stomach. Had I unintentionally messed up something during the application process?

　　Nicola blinked, her expression momentarily unguarded before a mask of controlled calm settled back in place. "Never mind," she said curtly, her voice regaining its icy edge. "Let's get on with it. Pitch yourself."

　　Easier said than done. With each passing second, the magnificent office and Nicola's imposing presence chipped away at my carefully rehearsed script. My carefully formulated sentences tangled in my throat, replaced by a jumbled mess of qualifications and aspirations. As I spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't being heard. Sure, Nicola listened politely, but her gaze kept flitting around the room, her body language radiating boredom.

　　However, it wasn't her lack of interest that sent a shiver down my spine. It was the way she kept staring at me. Not at my eyes – at my face, my body. As if she was scanning for something specific, something hidden beneath my worn clothes and nervous conduct. The feeling was unnerving, like a predator sizing up its prey.

　　Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I stumbled to a conclusion, my voice barely above a whisper. The silence that followed was deafening. Nicola didn't even bother to feign interest.

　　"Thank you, Ms. Moore," she finally said, her voice devoid of emotion. "We'll be in touch."

　　Disappointment washed over me. I hadn't landed the job, that much was clear. The only positive takeaway was the swift termination of this utterly bizarre interview. As I stood up, ready to make a swift exit, Nicola surprised me again.

　　"Wait," she said suddenly, her voice sharp.

　　I froze mid-step, my heart leaping into my throat. Had I forgotten something crucial?

　　"Do you perhaps know any Ava?" she asked, her brow arched in a question mark.

　　Flustered, I shook my head. "No, ma'am. Thank you for your time."

　　Nicola nodded once, a hint of something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "Then you're dismissed, Ms. Moore."

　　Turning on my heel, I practically ran for the door, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the office. My mind was a jumble of confusion. What had just happened? Why did Nicola stare at me like that? And what did her cryptic remark about looking "just like her" mean? Who was Ava?

　　Distracted by my racing thoughts, I didn't see the figure approaching from the opposite direction until it was too late. With a sickening thud, I slammed into a wall of solid muscle, sending papers flying and earning a surprised yelp from my mouth.

　　"Oh my god, are you alright?" a deep, concerned voice rumbled over my head.

　　Rubbing my throbbing head, I looked up to find myself face-to-face with the most breathtaking man I'd ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, he towered over me with a dark, perfectly sculpted face. His sharp jawline could have cut glass, and his dark hair, slightly ruffled as if he'd just run a hand through it, framed mesmerizing blue eyes that held a flicker of concern. He was dressed in a charcoal-gray suit that seemed to mold perfectly to his athletic frame, radiating an aura of power and charisma.

　　For a moment, I was speechless, caught off guard by the impact – both physical and emotional. Then, mortification flooded me because I knew who he was. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!" I stammered, picking up the scattered papers that had fallen from his grasp.

　　"No worries," he said with a disarming smile, reaching down to help me gather the documents. Suddenly, his smile faltered, and his gaze locked on my face for a beat too long. A flicker of something akin to surprise – or maybe even recognition - crossed his features before he quickly schooled his expression.

　　"Ava, is that really you?" he asked again, his voice shaking in a way that sent shivers down my spine.

　　"Ava?" I mumbled, shoving the papers haphazardly into his arms.

　　Who was this Ava?

　　"I've been trying to reach you for months. Are you okay?"

　　Before I could stammer out a response, a voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with what sounded like panic. "Alexander, what's going on here?"

　　Yes. This man, this breathtakingly handsome man who'd just collided with me, was Alexander Westcott, CEO of Westcott Enterprises.

　　"Nicola, why didn't you tell me about Ava returning from Europe?" Alexander asked his sister, his eyes confused and suspicious.

　　A knot of tension formed in my stomach. The interview with Nicola had been strange, but this sudden shift in the atmosphere was downright ominous.

　　"Alex, sweetheart, Ava was on her way to see you." Nicola said, her voice softening in an almost childlike way and as I looked confused, Nicola took my hand and I moved to the side with her.

　　"I wanted it to be a surprise but now that you've seen her, I suggest that you let her rest and perhaps we can have dinner together, later?"

　　As the tension crackled in the air, a million questions swirled in my head.