Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
As we stood there, the night alive with the distant sounds of the settling circus, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of us—Ava and I, not just as allies but as something deeper, something real. This was our new beginning, forged in the fires of confrontation and shaped by the softness of reconciliation.
I kissed her slowly, one step closer to never letting her go.
Chapter Eight
Ava
The morning light filtered through the blinds of the circus’s main office, casting lines like bars across the room where Dante and I met to strategize our next steps. Despite the chill in the air, the tension between us was palpable, warming the space with a mix of unresolved emotions and the remnants of betrayal. As Dante laid out a map of the circus grounds on his desk, our fingers brushed—a fleeting contact that sent a jolt through me, reigniting a spark that I both dreaded and desired.
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, Ava,” Dante said, his voice low, meeting my eyes with a sincerity that made my heart skip. “But we need to work together closely to root this out. Are you with me?”
The hesitation in my voice was imperceptible as I answered, “Yes.” I was committed, despite the whirlwind of feelings. As we poured over the map, our heads bowed together, the proximity brought back a rush of memories—his scent, the sound of his voice. It was disarming, and for a moment, I lost myself in the closeness.
Stepping out into the brisk air of the circus grounds, we moved among the trailers and tents. Our presence was casual but our eyes sharp, watching the crew members whose subtle interactions didn’t quite fit the friendly chaos of circus life. Every so often, our shoulders would brush, a touch electric with unspoken words and lingering looks that questioned what we were to each other beneath the professional veneer.
In the bustling costume department, I rifled through a rack of glittering outfits when my fingers stumbled upon an anomaly—a thick seam that didn’t belong. With a careful tug, I found a hidden ledger, its pages filled with numbers that told stories of bribery and secrets. Dante came up behind me, his presence enveloping, his breath warm on my neck as he peered over my shoulder to look at the ledger.
“Nicely done,” he murmured, his voice a mix of admiration and caution, stirring a mix of professional pride and personal thrill within me. His proximity was a reminder of the complicated layers of our relationship—partners in a dangerous game, yet so much more in unguarded moments.
Later that afternoon, armed with my camera, we positioned ourselves behind the cover of a utility shed near the training area. When a trainer met with a shadowy figure, exchanging envelopes and hurried whispers, Dante and I captured every moment from a distance. The camera’s shutter clicked under my finger, a staccato beat to the racing of my heart, amplified by Dante's quiet presence at my side.
Each photo clicked into place not just evidence, but also pieces of a puzzle that was our relationship—complex, fraught with hidden dangers, yet irresistibly compelling. As we wrapped up and headed back, Dante’s hand brushed mine, a touch deliberate this time, sending a clear message through the contact.
“Thank you, Ava,” he said as we walked back, his voice soft, laden with more than just gratitude for the day’s work. “For everything.”
I looked up at him, caught in the gravity of his gaze. “We’re not done yet,” I replied, my words holding multiple meanings. Our steps slowed, and for a heartbeat, we stood there, the world of the circus spinning around us, our own axis tilting dangerously towards something neither of us could deny.
“Indeed, we’re not,” he agreed, his smile slow and devastatingly aware of the effect he had on me. The circus, with all its allure and mystery, had nothing on the enigma that was Dante, nor on the turbulent, passionate dance we seemed destined to perform.
Later, the fading evening light filtered through the dusty windows of the circus archives, casting long shadows over the piles of old contracts and forgotten ledgers. I sat cross-legged on the makeshift floor, rifling through stacks of papers, while Dante leaned against a desk, his eyes scanning the documents in his hands. The air was thick with the musty scent of aged paper, mingling with the underlying tension between us.
“Look at this,” I called out, my voice breaking the silence. I held up a contract, the ink faded but still legible. “These numbers don’t add up. It’s like someone’s been cooking the books.”
Dante moved closer, his presence a constant, warm reminder of the undeniable chemistry that buzzed between us. “Let me see.” His hand brushed mine as he took the document, the contact sending a familiar shiver down my spine. “This is bad,” he murmured, his brow furrowing. “We’re looking at major fraud.”