The city had not yet decided whether to sleep or stay awake.
From the glass walls of Wilson Group's executive floor, the lights of Lagos shimmered like a restless ocean—cars streaming, billboards glowing, ambition breathing in every direction. Alexander Wilson stood alone by the window, jacket discarded, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up as if the weight of the day had demanded skin instead of silk.
He hadn't planned to stay this late.
He also hadn't planned to think about Amber Gareth this much.
Yet here she was again—in his head, in the silence, in the sharp pull beneath his ribs that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with a woman who had looked at him once and refused to bow.
His phone vibrated on the desk behind him.
A message.
Unknown Number: You don't strike me as a man who enjoys losing control.
Alex frowned, turned, and stared at the screen. He didn't need to ask who it was.
Amber Gareth never wasted words.
Alex: Control is overrated.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Unknown Number: Interesting. Because you looked very controlled today. Cold. Distant.
He remembered the meeting that afternoon—the way she had walked in late, unapologetic, dressed in tailored white like she owned the room. The way her eyes had met his without flinching. The way his name had sounded in her mouth when she addressed him formally, as though it were a challenge.
Alex: Appearances deceive.
This time the reply came immediately.
Unknown Number: Then stop appearing.
His jaw tightened.
The elevator chimed softly behind him.
Alex turned just as the doors slid open.
Amber stepped out.
She hadn't announced herself. Of course she hadn't.
Her hair was loose now, falling in dark waves over her shoulders. The sharp corporate armor from earlier had softened into something deceptively simple—black trousers, silk blouse, heels that clicked against the marble floor like punctuation marks.
Alex didn't ask how she got past security.
Amber never explained herself.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice calm, measured.
"And yet I am." She walked closer, unhurried, her gaze roaming the office before returning to him. "Relax. Your assistant let me in. She looked terrified, but she complied."
Alex exhaled slowly. "You enjoy disruption."
"I enjoy honesty," Amber replied. "And you've been lying all day."
He raised an eyebrow. "About?"
"About not wanting me here."
The distance between them narrowed without either of them consciously deciding to move. The air shifted, thickened, charged with something that neither contracts nor family alliances could contain.
"This isn't wise," Alex said.
Amber smiled faintly. "I didn't come for wisdom."
Silence stretched.
Then she reached out—slowly, deliberately—and loosened his already loosened tie the rest of the way, her fingers brushing his collarbone. The contact was light. Dangerous.
Alex caught her wrist instantly.
"Amber," he warned.
Her eyes darkened. "Alexander."
No one had called him that in years without consequence.
"You think this is a game," he said quietly.
"I think you're afraid of how much you want this," she replied just as softly.
He should have let go.
Instead, he pulled her closer.
Their mouths collided—not tentative, not questioning, but hungry, restrained only by pride and the knowledge that crossing this line would change everything. Amber's fingers slid into his hair as though she had always known how it felt. Alex backed her against the desk, the edge pressing into her hips, grounding him just enough to stop himself from going further.
He rested his forehead against hers, breath uneven. "This can't happen."
Her lips curved against his skin. "You say that like it hasn't already started."
A knock shattered the moment.
They froze.
"Sir?" His assistant's voice, hesitant. "Your parents are on their way up."
Amber laughed under her breath. "Perfect timing."
Alex straightened instantly, stepping back, the president of Wilson Group sliding back into place like armor snapping shut. Amber adjusted her blouse, her expression unreadable once more.
"Go," he said.
She tilted her head. "Order or request?"
"Request."
Amber walked past him toward the elevator, then paused. "You should know something, Alex."
He looked at her.
"I don't chase men who don't meet me halfway," she said. "Decide what you want—before someone else does."
The doors closed.
Alex stood alone again, heart pounding, desire coiled tight and dangerous in his chest.
Across town, the Gareth mansion buzzed with a different kind of tension.
Camila Gareth paced the sitting room, phone pressed to her ear. "No, Mom, she didn't say where she was going. Yes, I know it's late. No, she won't listen to me."
She hung up and sighed, rubbing her temples.
"You worry too much," Sophie Gareth said calmly, sipping tea. "Your sister is grown."
"That's exactly why I worry," Camila muttered.
Meanwhile, upstairs, a different storm brewed.
Carie lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, her fever gone but her thoughts restless. Beverly sat beside her, scrolling through her phone.
"He left in a hurry," Beverly said casually. "Didn't even notice when Mom started asking questions."
Carie turned her head slowly. "Left where?"
Beverly shrugged. "Didn't say. But he looked… unsettled."
Carie's fingers clenched the bedsheet.
Alex never looked unsettled.
Not unless something—or someone—had shaken him.
The next morning arrived with headlines.
WILSON GROUP AND GARETH ENTERTAINMENT IN SECRET TALKS?
POWER ALLIANCE OR SCANDAL BREWING?
Amber read them over breakfast, unfazed, though her mind replayed last night with treacherous clarity. The way Alex had kissed her like restraint was a choice, not a lack of desire. The way his hands had trembled—just slightly.
She stood, grabbing her bag.
"Elena," she called, "clear my schedule for the afternoon."
Elena blinked. "Everything?"
"Yes." Amber smiled faintly. "I have unfinished business."
At Wilson Group, Alex stared at the same headlines, jaw tight.
This was spiraling.
And the most dangerous truth of all was this:
He no longer wanted it to stop.