The Girl Who Hated Fire

Rain touched the windows like restless fingers.

The old cottage stood at the edge of the Scottish countryside, surrounded by endless hills drowned in fog and silence. It was small, worn with time, and smelled faintly of old books, coffee, and lavender.

Ava Sinclair liked it that way.

Quiet.

Safe.

Predictable.

The fireplace crackled softly in the corner of the living room, and even after seven years, the sound still made her chest tighten.

Fire.

Always fire.

Ava looked away immediately, wrapping her fingers tighter around the warm ceramic mug in her hands. Coffee helped. Books helped. Rain helped most of all.

Rain could never burn anything.

“You’re thinking again,” her grandmother said gently from the kitchen doorway.

Ava blinked and forced a small smile. “I always think.”

“A dangerous habit.”

“Not as dangerous as hope.”

Her grandmother sighed at that.

The girl had become too old too early.

At twenty-three, Ava carried herself with quiet elegance that made strangers stare twice. Long dark hair fell over her oversized cream sweater, her grey-blue eyes distant and unreadable. She looked delicate at first glance.

But delicate things did not survive tragedy.

Strong things did.

And Ava had survived.

Barely.

She lowered her gaze toward the open book resting beside her. The pages were untouched for the past twenty minutes.

Her mind had wandered again.

It always wandered at night.

Toward memories.

Toward screams.

Toward smoke.

The sharp ringing of her phone suddenly interrupted the silence.

Ava frowned.

Very few people called her.

She reached for the device beside the couch.

Unknown Number.

For a second, hesitation crossed her face before she answered quietly.

“Hello?”

“Miss Ava Sinclair?”

The voice was polished. Professional.

“Yes.”

“This is regarding your application for the archival research position at Ashford Estate in England.”

Ava straightened slightly.

Her scholarship professor had recommended her for the temporary position weeks ago, but she never truly expected a response.

The Ashfords were practically royalty in business circles.

Obscenely wealthy. Untouchable.

Dangerous.

“We reviewed your academic profile,” the woman continued. “Your credentials are exceptional.”

Ava closed her eyes briefly.

Years of sleepless nights. Part-time jobs. Studying until dawn. Surviving on caffeine and determination.

Exceptional came with a cost.

“We’d like to offer you the position.”

Silence.

Her grandmother looked toward her curiously from across the room.

Ava swallowed slowly. “In England?”

“Yes. The estate library and private archives require cataloguing and restoration assistance for three months. Accommodation will be provided.”

Three months.

Three months inside the world of billionaires and aristocrats.

Three months away from everything familiar.

Something uneasy curled inside her stomach.

“What’s the catch?” she asked quietly.

The woman paused slightly, almost surprised.

“No catch, Miss Sinclair.”

People with that much money always came with a catch.

Always.

Still…

The salary mentioned next nearly made her freeze.

It was enough to clear most of her grandmother’s medical debt.

Enough to breathe for once.

Ava stared at the rain beyond the glass windows.

Fear and necessity were strange companions.

“When would I start?”

—

Hundreds of miles away in London, another fire burned.

This one was made of anger.

“You rejected the merger proposal?”

The deep voice echoed through the massive dining hall of Ashford Manor.

Evan Ashford did not look up from his whiskey.

“They were incompetent.”

Across the table, his father’s expression darkened. “They’re one of the largest firms in Europe.”

“And now they’re bankrupt.”

Cold.

Simple.

Final.

Evan leaned back in his chair, expensive black suit perfectly tailored against his broad frame. At twenty-eight, he carried power the way kings carried crowns — naturally and without mercy.

People feared silence from men like him more than shouting.

Because silence meant calculation.

His younger brother scoffed from the other side of the table. “You enjoy terrifying people.”

Evan finally lifted his eyes.

Steel grey.

Emotionless.

“They should be terrified.”

His mother entered the room before tension could rise further.

“Enough business talk during dinner.”

Unlike the men in the family, Lady Ashford carried warmth naturally. Elegant and observant, she saw things others missed.

Especially loneliness.

Her gaze landed on Evan briefly.

Still working himself to death.

Still emotionally unreachable.

Still pretending he needed nobody.

“You’re attending Selene’s charity gala next week,” she informed calmly.

Evan’s jaw tightened almost invisibly.

His fiancée.

If one could even call her that.

Their engagement was a transaction wrapped in diamonds and media headlines.

No love.

No affection.

Just legacy and strategic advantage.

“She enjoys public attention,” Evan said flatly.

“And you enjoy avoiding humanity.”

“I prefer efficiency.”

His mother rolled her eyes softly. “One day a woman will humble you.”

A dark amusement crossed Evan’s face.

Impossible.

Women liked wealth. Status. Influence.

He had seen enough manipulation his entire life to stop believing in sincerity years ago.

Love was useful for weak people who enjoyed disappointment.

Nothing more.

A servant approached quietly.

“Sir, the new archive researcher has confirmed arrival for Monday.”

Evan barely reacted.

“Handle it.”

The servant hesitated. “Lady Ashford specifically requested she stay in the east wing.”

His mother smiled lightly. “A young scholar from Scotland. Brilliant academic background.”

Evan took another slow sip of whiskey.

He had already lost interest.

Another employee.

Another outsider fascinated by Ashford wealth.

Another person pretending not to care about money.

“They never last long here,” he said coldly.

Outside the mansion windows, thunder rolled across the dark English sky.

And somewhere far away in Scotland, Ava Sinclair unknowingly stepped toward the man who would eventually ruin and remake her entire life.

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