om a movie, the kind of romantic fantasy Ava Reed usually only got to create on screen. But this was real. She clutched

emed to rise out of the mountain itself. The lights were on, casting a warm, invitin

r him, too. Inside was a drone, the 'Aura One' , a piece of technology she had poured her heart and soul into

ed up the heated stone pathway, the cold air biting at her cheeks but failing to cool the warmth

t, her voice echoing sli

le

le played on her lips as she set the drone case down and crept further

k, ready to announce her arrival, bu

ice she recognized as one of Ethan' s friends, Mark, was saying. "

on, Mark. She' s been fun. A good-looking accessory, you know? But s

her throat. Her hand t

ed. "You can' t just string her along fore

' ll give her a little project, some low-budget film to direct. A parting gift. She' l

d. The sound w

s voice laced with a mockery that cut deeper than any

that had nothing to do with the Aspen snow. The three years, the whispered promises, th

ol of her own naivety. She had poured her love and talent into that machine, believing it was for t

by a surge of pure, cold anger. She would

traightened her back, and

rs of eyes-Mark, the other friend, and Ethan-stare

g smile spreading across his face. "Ava. Y

lked into the room, her steps measured and deliberate. She didn' t s

verything,"

He stood up, taking a step toward her

"For the first time in three years

e drone case. She brought it back into the study and pla

she said, the words tasting

rned t

ining an edge of irritation. He didn't like losing cont

ept w

after her, his arrogance breathtaking. "A c

esture, it was a power move. A cheap payoff to soothe his conscience and keep

g from you," she said,

er. Inside, she was already frozen. A few hours later, an email landed in her inbox. It was a formal contract

ndout he' d promised his friends. A dismissal notice disgui