The scandal refused to die quietly. By morning, every major business channel had picked it up again, dissecting the Gareth–Wilson tension as though it were a public sport. Amber stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office, arms folded, watching the city move beneath her. Power had always steadied her. Today, it felt heavier than usual.
Camila entered without knocking, her expression tight. "The board wants reassurance. Again."
Amber didn't turn. "They'll get it. Draft a statement. Calm, confident, controlled."
"And Alex?" Camila asked carefully.
That made Amber turn. Her eyes were sharp, guarded. "Alex is not part of the statement."
Camila studied her sister for a long moment. "He's already part of the narrative whether you like it or not."
Amber exhaled slowly. She hated that Camila was right.
At Wilson Corporation, Alex watched the same headlines with a different expression—one of quiet calculation mixed with something far less controlled. Amber Gareth had become more than a rival. She was a presence that lingered even when she wasn't there, a voice in his head that challenged him in ways no one else ever had.
Harrison leaned against the desk. "You're letting this get personal."
Alex didn't deny it. "It already is."
"She's not a woman who bends easily."
Alex's lips curved faintly. "Neither am I."
The charity gala that evening had been unavoidable. High society, investors, politicians—everyone who mattered would be there. Amber arrived with Camila at her side, elegance wrapped around her like a second skin. Heads turned. Whispers followed. Power recognized power.
Then Alex arrived.
The shift was immediate. It wasn't dramatic, but it was undeniable. When his eyes found hers across the room, the noise faded into insignificance. They didn't smile. They didn't wave. They simply looked—two forces acknowledging each other.
Later, during a lull near the balcony, Alex approached her.
"You look unbothered," he said quietly.
"I am," Amber replied. "Or at least, I appear to be. That's usually enough."
His gaze lingered, dark and intent. "Appearances don't fool me anymore."
She tilted her head slightly. "Careful, Alex. That sounds like an invitation to misread me."
"Or finally understand you."
The space between them felt too small, too charged. Amber was acutely aware of every breath, every subtle shift in his stance. This wasn't business. It hadn't been for a while.
"You're playing a dangerous game," she said.
"So are you," he replied. "The difference is—I'm willing to admit it."
For a heartbeat, she almost let herself step closer. Almost.
Then she turned away.
Across the room, younger faces laughed and moved freely—interns, assistants, children of donors. Teenagers on the edge of adulthood, unaware of the wars being fought quietly above them. Amber watched them briefly, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Innocence still existed somewhere. Just not here.
When the gala ended, Amber left alone.
But Alex followed.
Outside, under the muted glow of streetlights, the restraint finally cracked—not into recklessness, but into truth.
"You don't trust me," he said.
"I don't trust what you awaken," she replied.
Silence stretched between them, thick and loaded.
"I won't chase you," Alex said finally. "But I won't step back either."
Amber met his gaze, steady and unflinching. "Then we're at a standstill."
"No," he said softly. "We're at the edge."
She walked away without looking back, but every step felt like resistance against gravity.
That night, alone in her room, Amber lay awake, staring at the ceiling, fully aware of one undeniable truth:
Power had always been her shield.
But desire was learning how to slip beneath it.