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Three to Keep

6 chapters

~15 min read

Ava Reeves accepts a job working for billionaire Alexander Vance, only to find herself caught between him and his wife, Naomi. As their professional arrangement blurs into something intimate, public scrutiny and jealousy threaten to shatter their worlds. All three must decide if their connection is worth the risk.

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MEET THE CHARACTERS

Ava Reeves

A 23-year-old with honey-blonde hair she twists into a tight bun when nervous, sea-glass green eyes that widen at beautiful things she doesn't think she deserves, and the kind of quiet ambition that made her valedictorian at a state school no one's heard of. She's sharp in her tailored blazers but soft in the way she touches everything—fingertips grazing marble countertops, the spines of books, the rim of her wine glass. There's a small crescent-moon scar on her left palm from a childhood fall, and she still traces it when she's lying.

Alexander Vance

A 38-year-old billionaire who looks like he was carved from granite and tailored suits—broad shoulders, silver-threaded dark hair swept back from a sharp widow's peak, and pale gray eyes that calculate everything, including the exact distance between his hand and your throat. He moves like a man who's never been denied, all controlled power and expensive cologne, but there's a fine white scar splitting his left eyebrow from a deal that went violent in Macau. When he focuses on you, it's absolute—and absolutely terrifying.

Naomi Vance

Alexander's wife, 34, with ink-black hair that falls in a perfect sheet to her mid-back, high cheekbones that could cut glass, and almond-shaped amber eyes that see straight through every room she enters. She wears crimson like other women wear neutrals, her body a blade in silk—tall, narrow-hipped, with a dancer's posture and a voice like honey poured over gravel. A small lotus tattoo curls behind her right ear, the only thing she's ever done that her father didn't approve of.

EXPLORE CHAPTERS

The Interview

Ava twists a strand of honey-blonde hair into her bun, the motion precise and useless. Alexander Vance leans back in his leather chair, the fine white scar splitting his left eyebrow catching the afternoon light from the floor-to-ceiling windows. He asks one question—'Why should I hire you?'—and holds her gaze until her fingers find the crescent-moon scar on her palm, tracing it once before she answers. On his desk, a framed photograph faces away from her; she catches the edge of a dark sleeve, a woman's hand resting on a shoulder.

Before You Start

Ava's fingers rest on the edge of the offer letter, the salary still sinking in. Alexander rises from his chair, his silhouette blocking the rain-streaked window, and says, "There's one condition not in the contract. My wife, Naomi, lives and works from this floor. You'll see her. You'll hear things. You will not speak of her to anyone." He holds her gaze, and the photograph on his desk seems to turn toward her, the dark sleeve and the intimate hand now impossible to ignore.

The Door Ajar

Ava steps off the elevator at 7:55, the office dim except for a sliver of light bleeding from the paneled wall. The hidden door is open a hand's width, and through the gap she sees Naomi's silhouette at a desk, her head tilted as she speaks into a phone in a language Ava doesn't recognize. The laugh comes again, low and private, and Ava's fingers find her scar—the weapon, the memory of Naomi's thumb—as she stands in the silence, unseen and already implicated.

The Interruption

Ava's palm hovers above Naomi's, the heat between them a live wire, when the distant ping of the elevator cuts through the rain. Naomi's eyes snap to the hidden door, her hand still on the desk but no longer soft, the fingers curling into a fist she draws back into her lap. The footsteps are measured, unhurried—Alexander's gait, unmistakable. Ava slides off the desk and straightens her blazer, the scent of jasmine already fading, and the gap between their hands becomes a distance neither of them chose.

Unexpected Focus

Alexander's tablet lies dark on the desk. He is not looking at it. He is looking at Ava with the same absolute focus from the interview, the kind that makes the air between them heavy. Naomi's amber eyes track the silence, her fingers still resting on the small of his back, a claim she does not loosen. 'You said you signed the contract,' he says, his voice low, 'but you didn't say what you thought you were signing.' The question hangs, not expecting an answer—at least not yet.

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