Bound to the calloway's heir

FINALLY, I AM ONE OF THEM.

AVA

"Fabulous"

I smiled at the producer, a wiry Frenchman named Lucien with a clipboard perpetually tucked under his arm and a cigarette dangling from his lips even when unlit, who watched from behind the camera setup.

"Positions, everyone!" the producer, Lucien, called out, his voice cutting through the wind with that clipped French accent.

The Eiffel Tower loomed above me like a steel sentinel against the Parisian sky, its iron latticework catching the hues of the late afternoon sun. I stood at its base, the wind whipping my hair wildly, the luxury brand's silk gown clinging to my curves like a second skin.

The fabric shimmered in deep emerald, catching the light in ways that made me feel invincible, a part of the city's eternal romance. My heart raced with pure joy. That elation feeling that bubbled up from deep within, making my steps lighter and my poses sharper. This was my element, and that day, I was owning it.

Lucien's eyes narrowed in concentration, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as I struck another pose, my arm extended gracefully toward the tower with my chin up.

The photographer's shutter clicked in rapid succession, the sound blending with the distant hum of tourists and the occasional honk from the Seine traffic below. "Magnifique, Ava!" Lucien called out, his voice carrying over the wind. "Your aura is so electric today. Like the tower itself is bowing to you."

"You can say that again," I laughed, the sound light and genuine, feeling the compliment settle warm in my chest. I pivoted on my heel, the gown swirling around my legs, and shot him a playful glance over my shoulder.

"Love it" He called out

"You think so? Maybe it's the Paris air. Or the fact that I'm finally feeling like I'm on top of the world."

He stepped closer as the photographer paused to adjust lighting, his clipboard forgotten for a moment. Lucien was in his fifties but his vibrant energy matched mine.

"No, chérie, it's you. I've worked with models who pose, but you embody it. That glow didn't just come from the makeup or the dress. What's your secret today?"

I arched an eyebrow, holding the pose even as we talked, the wind tugging at the gown's hem. My mind flickered to my recent initiation with the cartel. The thrill of being "added" to the gang, as Zane had put it with that protective big-brother grin. Newly minted in their world, I was eager to prove myself, and show them I could handle the dirty work alongside the glamour.

But I kept that detail locked away, offering Lucien a coy smile instead. "Let's say it's a combination of new opportunities and power. Makes a girl shine, doesn't it?"

He chuckled, waving the photographer back into action. "Indeed. Keep that fire, it's selling the brand. One more set near the base, then we're golden."

I nodded, diving back into the shoot with everything I had. My A-game was amplified. Each click of the camera felt like a challenge I met with grace. The team scooped around me, my stylists adjusting my hair between shots, assistants holding reflectors, all murmuring their approvals,

"You're killing it, Ava," one stylist whispered as she touched up my lipstick, her brush feather-light on my lips.

By the time Lucien called wrap, I was starting to feel exhaustion tug at my muscles, but it was the good kind, the ache of accomplishment. The team gathered around, clapping lightly, Lucien leading with a dramatic bow.

"That was a triumph, mademoiselle. The campaign will be legendary because of you."

I curtsied in return, the gown pooling elegantly around me. "Couldn't have done it without this team. Paris magic, right?"

He kissed my cheeks in the French fashion, his stubble scratching me lightly. "Rest well special one, we'll review the shots tomorrow."

The walk back to the 5-star suite felt like a victory parade as the team flanked me. Lucien on one side, stylists chattering on the other as we walked the bustling streets, the Eiffel Tower receding behind us. Some of the tourists around the area whispered my name, and I waved with a practiced smile.

I had gone from Zane's protected little sister and international billionaire model to being one of them. I couldn't wait to get back to LA, to show Zane how capable I was. I would handle the cartel orders with the same A-game I had brought to that shoot to prove I was invaluable.

My suite at the Ritz was a haven of opulence, the scent of fresh lilies filling the air from a vase on the marble table welcomed me into the room. The team waited outside the door while Lucien escorted me in, lingering for final notes.

"Get some rest, Ava," Lucien said at the door, his clipboard finally stowed. "You earned it. Please keep that aura for tomorrow's edits."

I smiled, hugging the stylist's goodbye, their perfumes mingling in a floral cloud. "Thanks, everyone. Paris wouldn't be the same without you."

Once the door clicked shut, and silence enveloped me, I kicked off my heels, the cool tile soothing my aching feet, and padded to the balcony. I pulled out my phone, sinking into the velvet armchair, and FaceTime Damian.

The ringtone echoed softly, my heart quickening at the thought of his voice. He answered on the third ring, his face filling the screen. His dark hair tousled as if he had been running his hands through it. But something was off about the worry etched lines around his mouth, his brows furrowed in a way that made me realize he was up to something.

"Damian?" I leaned closer to the screen, the balcony breeze ruffling my hair. "You look like merde. What's wrong?"

He exhaled, rubbing his jaw, the stubble rasping against his palm. "Hey, beautiful. Good shoot?"

I smiled, trying to lighten the mood, twirling a strand of hair. "Amazing. The Eiffel Tower and it's magic. Lucien said my aura was electric. I felt on top of the world." I paused, tilting my head. "But you... talk to me. What's got you worried?"

He hesitated, glancing off-screen as if checking for listeners, then leaned in. "It's Noah. He quit Atlas. For good. Said he's done, and Zane's got us tailing him. He's at that journalist's hideout...Harper West. The one who tried to expose us. Zane thinks he's spilling everything. The crimes, the façade...all of it."

My elation faltered instantly, and a cold trickle seeped in. Noah quitting? As I am just joining? The team falling apart before I could even prove my value? I shifted in the chair, the velvet suddenly itching against my skin.

"Spilling? Like what? The investments as covers? The hits?"

What secrets was Noah sharing? I needed to know. "Tell me more. Is it bad?"

Damian nodded, his expression darkening. "Bad enough. Noah's been Zane's right hand for hacks. If he's talking, it's the whole operation. Zane's furious. Sent me to follow him. He's at her place now, probably confessing it all."

I leaned forward, "If Noah's spilling, does it tie in?"

He sighed, glancing away again. "Ava, Noah's off. He's gone rogue. For her."

The Brotherhood was crumbling as I stepped in. I couldn't let that happen. I had mapped out a way to keep the brothers from tearing each other apart. "We can't let this split us. I'm just joining; I want to help. Tell me about your day. Maybe it'll distract you."

He smiled faintly, the worry easing a fraction. "Rough. Tailing Noah, dealing with Zane's rage. But you, tell me about Paris. That aura Lucien mentioned? I can see it even through the screen."

I laughed softly, the sound lighter than I felt, leaning back to show the view. "The shoot was incredible. Can't wait to get back,"

His eyes softened, warmth creeping in. "I know you will. Can't wait to see you. Miss that fire up close."

"Me too."

We talked longer, our conversation flowing despite the undercurrent of tension. I listened to his talks, flirting with him, but in my mind, I was planning to talk to Zane and mediate with Noah. I had to save the Brotherhood...for Atlas's sake.