Amber stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of her office long after the last staff member had left. The city below pulsed with life—lights blinking, cars moving, people rushing toward destinations she didn't envy. From up here, everything looked smaller, simpler. And yet, her world had never felt more complicated.
Alex Wilson.
The name alone stirred something sharp and unsettling in her chest.
She turned back to her desk, fingers brushing the edge as if grounding herself. The day had been productive—successful, even. The prototype demonstration had gone flawlessly, Damien Cortez had proven himself observant and ambitious, and Gareth Accessories had once again asserted its dominance in the market.
And still… Alex had been there.
Watching. Challenging. Existing too comfortably in her space.
The memory of his voice—low, controlled, edged with something dangerously intimate—refused to fade.
"I find it infuriatingly attractive."
Amber exhaled slowly, her jaw tightening. Attraction was not a strategy. Desire was not a plan. And Alex Wilson was not someone she could afford to miscalculate.
At Wilson Headquarters, Alex was having similar trouble focusing.
The office lights were dimmed, most of the floor long emptied, yet Alex remained seated behind his desk, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. His laptop glowed with unread reports, but he hadn't processed a single word in the last ten minutes.
Amber Gareth had a way of doing that to him.
She unsettled his precision. Disrupted his discipline. Made him want things he'd trained himself not to want.
He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched.
"She doesn't flinch," he muttered to himself. "Not under pressure. Not under scrutiny. Not even when she knows she's being watched."
And that, more than anything, fascinated him.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened to reveal Beverly, her expression cautious. "You're still here."
"So are you," Alex replied evenly.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Mom's asking questions. Again."
Alex didn't need clarification. Elsa Wilson never asked questions without intent.
"She thinks I should invite Amber Gareth to dinner," Beverly added carefully. "Officially. Not business. Family."
Alex's eyes flickered. "And you?"
"I think…" Beverly hesitated, "…that whatever is happening between you two isn't just corporate."
Alex stood, moving toward the window now, mirroring Amber's earlier stance without knowing it. "It isn't that simple."
"It never is," Beverly said softly. "But lines like the ones you're drawing? They don't hold forever."
She left him with that and quietly exited.
Alex remained still long after the door closed.
The following evening arrived with deliberate cruelty.
The charity auction was one of the most exclusive events of the season—invitation-only, media-restricted, and heavy with unspoken power dynamics. Amber had debated attending. Strategically, it made sense. Personally, it was a risk.
She attended anyway.
Camila watched her from across the room, already sensing the shift in energy. "You're wearing that dress on purpose," she said calmly.
Amber adjusted the cuff of her sleeve. "It's appropriate."
"It's lethal," Camila corrected. "And Alex Wilson is here."
Amber didn't turn. She didn't need to.
She felt him.
The room seemed to contract when Alex entered—his presence subtle yet commanding. Conversations dipped, eyes followed, and somewhere between the clink of glasses and polite laughter, his gaze locked onto hers.
Neither smiled.
Neither looked away.
They moved toward each other without discussing it, without signaling, drawn by something that had outgrown strategy.
"Miss Gareth," Alex said when they stood face to face, voice low.
"Mr. Wilson," Amber replied coolly.
The air between them was thick—charged, restrained, dangerous.
"You seem determined to cross paths with me lately," he said.
Amber lifted a brow. "Funny. I was thinking the same about you."
A pause.
Not awkward.
Intentional.
"Walk with me," Alex said quietly.
"That wasn't a question," Amber observed.
"No," he agreed. "It wasn't."
She should have refused.
She didn't.
They stepped onto a quiet balcony overlooking the city, the noise of the auction fading behind them. Night air brushed against Amber's skin, cool and grounding.
"For someone who values control," she said, folding her arms, "you're pushing boundaries."
Alex turned to her fully now. "For someone who prides herself on clarity, you keep pretending this is just business."
Amber's eyes flashed. "Careful."
"Or what?" he challenged softly. "You'll walk away? Pretend you don't feel this?"
"This," she echoed. "Is tension. Competition. Nothing more."
Alex stepped closer—not invading, but close enough that she felt the heat of him. "You don't lie well, Amber."
Her breath hitched despite herself.
"And you," she said quietly, "are far too confident."
"Confidence is earned," he replied. "And I've earned the right to acknowledge what's between us."
Silence stretched.
The city hummed below.
"You don't know me," Amber said.
"I want to," Alex answered simply.
The honesty in his voice unsettled her more than any calculated move ever could.
She took a step back. "Wanting isn't neutral. And I don't blur lines."
Alex nodded slowly. "Neither do I. But lines shift. Especially when two people refuse to stop circling each other."
They stood there, neither yielding, neither advancing.
Finally, Amber turned away. "This ends here."
Alex watched her go, his expression unreadable. "We both know that's not true."
She didn't respond.
But she didn't deny it either.
Later that night, Amber lay awake, staring into darkness.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Contact.
She hesitated… then opened the message.
You walked away. That took strength.
But don't confuse restraint with denial.
She closed the phone, heart pounding.
Across the city, Alex stared at his own screen long after the message sent.
This was no longer a game of power.
It was a test of restraint.
And neither of them was winning.