Amber woke before dawn, the quiet of the Gareth mansion pressing heavily against her senses. Sleep had come in fragments—short, restless intervals filled with half-formed dreams and the echo of Alex Wilson's voice. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, forcing her breathing to steady.
Control, she reminded herself.
Everything was about control.
She rose from bed and moved toward the floor-length windows, pulling the curtains aside. The city stretched below, vast and awake even at this hour. Somewhere out there, Alex was probably already working, already calculating his next move. The thought stirred something dangerous inside her—part irritation, part anticipation.
By the time she dressed, her expression was composed again. Impeccable. Untouchable.
Gareth Accessories buzzed with activity the moment Amber stepped in. Designers hurried past with garment bags, assistants whispered into phones, and executives clustered near the conference rooms. The scandal had not died; it had evolved. What had once been whispers was now expectation.
Camila intercepted her near the elevator. "The board is restless," she said quietly. "And Wilson Corporation has requested another joint review—today."
Amber arched a brow. "Another?"
"Yes. And Alex insisted on being present."
Of course he did.
Amber nodded once. "Schedule it. And make sure legal is seated beside us."
Camila studied her sister's face. "Amber… you're calm."
"I am focused," Amber replied. "There's a difference."
But even as she spoke, she felt the subtle crack beneath her composure. Alex had a way of pressing against her defenses without ever touching them. And today, she sensed, he would push harder.
The conference room felt smaller than usual. Glass walls reflected the city skyline, but Amber's attention fixed on the empty seat across from her. She didn't look away when Alex finally entered.
He didn't rush. He never did.
"Good morning, Miss Gareth," he said smoothly, taking his seat.
"Mr. Wilson," she replied coolly.
The meeting began with numbers and projections, but the real conversation lived between glances and pauses. Alex listened intently whenever Amber spoke, his gaze steady, unreadable. When he disagreed, he did so calmly, strategically, forcing her to sharpen every argument.
"You're assuming public confidence will stabilize in six weeks," Alex said at one point. "That's optimistic."
"It's calculated," Amber countered. "Our brand loyalty is strong."
"And fragile," he replied. "Scandals expose fractures."
Amber leaned forward slightly. "Or they prove resilience."
Their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them—acknowledgment, challenge, heat.
Camila cleared her throat, breaking the moment.
After the meeting adjourned, the room emptied quickly. Amber gathered her documents, fully intending to leave.
"Stay," Alex said quietly.
She paused, then turned. "This meeting is over."
"I know," he replied. "This conversation isn't."
The door clicked shut behind the last executive. Silence filled the space, thick and expectant.
"You're enjoying this," Amber said.
Alex leaned back in his chair. "Enjoying what?"
"Pushing me. Watching me respond."
He didn't deny it. "You don't back down easily."
"I don't back down at all."
Alex stood, slowly, deliberately. "That's what makes this dangerous."
Amber's pulse quickened, though her face remained composed. "Careful, Mr. Wilson. You're crossing into personal territory."
He stopped a step away from her. "You crossed that line days ago. You just refuse to admit it."
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them felt charged, fragile, ready to snap. Amber could feel her control thinning—not shattering, but bending.
"This ends when I say it does," she said softly.
Alex's gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then returned to her eyes. "Then say it."
She didn't.
The evening brought no relief. Invitations flooded in—galas, charity events, exclusive dinners. Every elite circle wanted the Gareth sisters present. Appearances mattered now more than ever.
That night's event was unavoidable. Amber stood before the mirror as Elena adjusted her gown, the silk hugging her form with calculated elegance.
"You look… dangerous," Elena said.
Amber gave a faint smile. "Good."
The ballroom shimmered with wealth and influence. Conversations hushed as Amber entered, eyes following her every step. Camila remained at her side, graceful and observant.
And then Amber felt it.
Alex stood across the room, dressed impeccably, watching her with an intensity that made her chest tighten. When their gazes met, the world seemed to narrow.
He crossed the distance slowly. "You knew I'd be here."
"Yes," Amber replied. "I also knew you'd follow."
He extended a hand. "Dance."
It wasn't a request.
After a heartbeat's hesitation, she placed her hand in his. The contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and undeniable. As they moved across the floor, their bodies aligned with practiced ease.
"You're tense," Alex murmured.
"You're persistent," she replied.
"Because you're worth the effort."
Her grip tightened slightly on his shoulder. "Don't mistake proximity for permission."
He leaned closer. "And don't mistake restraint for indifference."
The music slowed, and with it, something inside Amber shifted. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel—not surrender, but awareness. Awareness of his presence, his strength, his pull.
When the dance ended, she stepped back quickly. "This doesn't change anything."
Alex's eyes darkened. "It changes everything. You just don't see it yet."
Later that night, alone again, Amber stood by her window, the city lights blurring into abstraction. Her reflection stared back at her—strong, controlled, unyielding.
Yet beneath it all, something had begun to unravel.
She wasn't losing control.
But she was no longer certain she wanted to keep it intact.
And that realization frightened her more than any scandal ever could.
Amber woke before dawn, the quiet of the Gareth mansion pressing heavily against her senses. Sleep had come in fragments—short, restless intervals filled with half-formed dreams and the echo of Alex Wilson's voice. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, forcing her breathing to steady.
Control, she reminded herself.
Everything was about control.
She rose from bed and moved toward the floor-length windows, pulling the curtains aside. The city stretched below, vast and awake even at this hour. Somewhere out there, Alex was probably already working, already calculating his next move. The thought stirred something dangerous inside her—part irritation, part anticipation.
By the time she dressed, her expression was composed again. Impeccable. Untouchable.
Gareth Accessories buzzed with activity the moment Amber stepped in. Designers hurried past with garment bags, assistants whispered into phones, and executives clustered near the conference rooms. The scandal had not died; it had evolved. What had once been whispers was now expectation.
Camila intercepted her near the elevator. "The board is restless," she said quietly. "And Wilson Corporation has requested another joint review—today."
Amber arched a brow. "Another?"
"Yes. And Alex insisted on being present."
Of course he did.
Amber nodded once. "Schedule it. And make sure legal is seated beside us."
Camila studied her sister's face. "Amber… you're calm."
"I am focused," Amber replied. "There's a difference."
But even as she spoke, she felt the subtle crack beneath her composure. Alex had a way of pressing against her defenses without ever touching them. And today, she sensed, he would push harder.
The conference room felt smaller than usual. Glass walls reflected the city skyline, but Amber's attention fixed on the empty seat across from her. She didn't look away when Alex finally entered.
He didn't rush. He never did.
"Good morning, Miss Gareth," he said smoothly, taking his seat.
"Mr. Wilson," she replied coolly.
The meeting began with numbers and projections, but the real conversation lived between glances and pauses. Alex listened intently whenever Amber spoke, his gaze steady, unreadable. When he disagreed, he did so calmly, strategically, forcing her to sharpen every argument.
"You're assuming public confidence will stabilize in six weeks," Alex said at one point. "That's optimistic."
"It's calculated," Amber countered. "Our brand loyalty is strong."
"And fragile," he replied. "Scandals expose fractures."
Amber leaned forward slightly. "Or they prove resilience."
Their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them—acknowledgment, challenge, heat.
Camila cleared her throat, breaking the moment.
After the meeting adjourned, the room emptied quickly. Amber gathered her documents, fully intending to leave.
"Stay," Alex said quietly.
She paused, then turned. "This meeting is over."
"I know," he replied. "This conversation isn't."
The door clicked shut behind the last executive. Silence filled the space, thick and expectant.
"You're enjoying this," Amber said.
Alex leaned back in his chair. "Enjoying what?"
"Pushing me. Watching me respond."
He didn't deny it. "You don't back down easily."
"I don't back down at all."
Alex stood, slowly, deliberately. "That's what makes this dangerous."
Amber's pulse quickened, though her face remained composed. "Careful, Mr. Wilson. You're crossing into personal territory."
He stopped a step away from her. "You crossed that line days ago. You just refuse to admit it."
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them felt charged, fragile, ready to snap. Amber could feel her control thinning—not shattering, but bending.
"This ends when I say it does," she said softly.
Alex's gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then returned to her eyes. "Then say it."
She didn't.
The evening brought no relief. Invitations flooded in—galas, charity events, exclusive dinners. Every elite circle wanted the Gareth sisters present. Appearances mattered now more than ever.
That night's event was unavoidable. Amber stood before the mirror as Elena adjusted her gown, the silk hugging her form with calculated elegance.
"You look… dangerous," Elena said.
Amber gave a faint smile. "Good."
The ballroom shimmered with wealth and influence. Conversations hushed as Amber entered, eyes following her every step. Camila remained at her side, graceful and observant.
And then Amber felt it.
Alex stood across the room, dressed impeccably, watching her with an intensity that made her chest tighten. When their gazes met, the world seemed to narrow.
He crossed the distance slowly. "You knew I'd be here."
"Yes," Amber replied. "I also knew you'd follow."
He extended a hand. "Dance."
It wasn't a request.
After a heartbeat's hesitation, she placed her hand in his. The contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and undeniable. As they moved across the floor, their bodies aligned with practiced ease.
"You're tense," Alex murmured.
"You're persistent," she replied.
"Because you're worth the effort."
Her grip tightened slightly on his shoulder. "Don't mistake proximity for permission."
He leaned closer. "And don't mistake restraint for indifference."
The music slowed, and with it, something inside Amber shifted. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel—not surrender, but awareness. Awareness of his presence, his strength, his pull.
When the dance ended, she stepped back quickly. "This doesn't change anything."
Alex's eyes darkened. "It changes everything. You just don't see it yet."
Later that night, alone again, Amber stood by her window, the city lights blurring into abstraction. Her reflection stared back at her—strong, controlled, unyielding.
Yet beneath it all, something had begun to unravel.
She wasn't losing control.
But she was no longer certain she wanted to keep it intact.
And that realization frightened her more than any scandal ever could.