The morning after the board confrontation arrived with an uneasy stillness. The city moved as it always did—traffic humming, phones ringing, deals being made—but inside Gareth Accessories, the air felt brittle, as though one sharp breath could shatter everything.
Amber stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Below her, the city stretched endlessly, indifferent to the storm raging inside her. The scandal had not died. It had evolved. What began as whispers had become carefully worded headlines, speculation disguised as analysis, and interest masked as concern.
Camila entered without knocking, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She held a tablet, her expression controlled but strained.
"They're circling," Camila said. "Not just the press. Investors. Silent partners. Even old allies are suddenly asking questions they never cared about before."
Amber didn't turn. "Of course they are. Blood in the water always brings sharks."
Camila walked closer. "Alex's board is divided. Some want to pull back. Others want to push forward aggressively and force our hand."
Amber exhaled slowly. "And Alex?"
Camila hesitated, just long enough for Amber to notice.
"He hasn't made a move," Camila said carefully. "Which means he's planning something."
Amber finally turned, her eyes sharp. "He never stays silent unless he's calculating the impact."
Camila nodded. "Exactly."
The silence that followed was heavy. Amber returned to the window, her reflection staring back at her—polished, composed, untouchable. Or so the world believed.
Inside, she felt the cracks.
Across the city, Alex sat alone in his office, the skyline casting long shadows across the room. His jacket lay discarded over a chair, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. The documents spread across his desk were familiar—merger analyses, risk assessments, media reports—but his attention drifted again and again to a single name.
Amber Gareth.
He hadn't expected her to become this… embedded. In his thoughts. In his decisions. In the spaces where strategy should have lived alone.
A knock sounded.
"Come in," he said without looking up.
Beverly stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "You've been ignoring calls. Including mine."
Alex leaned back. "I needed quiet."
She studied him for a moment. "You're walking a dangerous line."
He looked at her then. "So is she."
Beverly crossed her arms. "This started as business. Now the board thinks it's personal. And if they think you're compromised—"
"They already do," Alex cut in calmly. "The difference is whether I let that define the outcome."
"And will you?" she asked.
Alex's jaw tightened. "No."
Beverly softened slightly. "Just… don't underestimate how deeply this could cut. For both of you."
When she left, the room felt emptier than before.
That afternoon, Amber attended a private investors' luncheon. It was meant to reassure, to stabilize confidence, to present strength. She did all of that flawlessly—measured words, composed smiles, strategic deflections.
Yet she felt eyes on her constantly.
Not admiration.
Evaluation.
One investor leaned closer during a pause in conversation. "Miss Gareth, with all due respect… is your personal relationship with Mr. Wilson influencing this merger?"
The question was polite. Dangerous. Deliberate.
Amber met his gaze steadily. "I don't mix sentiment with strategy. Anyone who's worked with me knows that."
"And if sentiment appears anyway?" another asked.
Amber smiled, cool and unyielding. "Then it's dealt with like any other variable. Controlled."
The answers satisfied them enough—for now.
But the damage was done.
That evening, Amber didn't return home. Instead, she drove aimlessly through the city, the streets blurring past her windshield. She needed distance. Space to think without Camila's careful concern or the mansion's oppressive luxury.
She pulled into a quiet overlook, the city lights sprawling beneath her like a living organism.
She didn't hear Alex's car at first.
Only when the door closed behind her did she turn.
"You shouldn't be here," she said flatly.
Alex stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. "Neither should you."
Her pulse quickened, anger and something far more dangerous tightening her chest. "Following me now?"
"No," he replied calmly. "I followed the silence."
She scoffed. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're running," he countered.
She stepped closer, her eyes flashing. "I am regrouping."
"Call it what you want," he said. "But the cracks are showing."
Amber laughed bitterly. "You think this is about weakness?"
"I think," Alex said quietly, "that you're carrying too much alone."
The words hit harder than she expected.
She turned away, staring at the city again. "You don't get to say that."
"Why?" he asked. "Because you've convinced the world you don't need anyone?"
She faced him again, her voice sharp. "Because needing someone is a liability."
Alex closed the distance between them, stopping just short of touching her. "Only if they're the wrong person."
Her breath caught.
For a moment, neither spoke. The city hummed below them, distant and unaware.
"You're playing a dangerous game," Amber said finally.
"So are you," Alex replied. "The difference is, I'm willing to admit the risk."
She searched his face, looking for manipulation, strategy, calculation.
She found honesty.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
"I won't let this destroy what I've built," she said softly.
Alex nodded. "Neither will I."
Their gazes held, heavy with unspoken emotion, unacted desire, and restraint stretched thin.
When he finally stepped back, the space between them felt colder than before.
"This isn't over," he said.
"No," Amber agreed. "It's just getting harder."
He left without another word.
Amber stayed long after his taillights disappeared, staring at the city, knowing that the glass walls she had built around her power were beginning to fracture.
And this time, she wasn't sure whether to reinforce them—or let them break.