The rain began without warning, soft at first, then heavier, drumming against the tall windows of Gareth Accessories like a restless confession. Amber stood alone in the executive lounge, jacket discarded over a chair, heels abandoned near the door. The city below blurred into streaks of silver and shadow, and for the first time in days, she let the quiet settle.
It didn't last.
Her phone vibrated once. She didn't need to look to know who it was. She waited anyway—five slow breaths—before lifting the device.
Alex: I'm outside.
A flicker of irritation mixed with something far more dangerous—anticipation.
Amber: You weren't invited.
The reply came almost instantly.
Alex: You never invite me.
She closed her eyes. That was the problem.
The security desk called moments later, polite and uncertain. "Ms. Gareth, Mr. Wilson insists it's urgent. He says it concerns the offshore accounts flagged this morning."
Amber exhaled sharply. Business. Always the perfect excuse. "Send him up."
When the doors opened, Alex stepped in like he owned the air. Dark coat damp with rain, hair slightly disheveled, eyes sharp and unreadable. He looked… human tonight. Less armor. More edges.
"You look tired," he said, not bothering with greetings.
"You look persistent," Amber replied, folding her arms. "What's so urgent it couldn't wait till morning?"
Alex didn't move closer. That alone unsettled her. "Someone leaked internal cash flow projections to a media analyst. Not the same one as before. This is new."
Amber's posture stiffened. "From your side or mine?"
"Both," he said quietly. "That's the problem."
Silence stretched. Rain pressed harder against the glass.
"Sit," Amber said finally.
They went over files, figures, timelines. Names circled, erased, circled again. The tension wasn't just professional—it was personal. Every time Alex leaned over the table, Amber felt it. Every time their eyes met, something unsaid passed between them.
"This isn't random," Amber said at last. "Someone wants us unstable. Divided."
Alex looked at her then—not like a rival, not like a seducer—but like a man choosing honesty. "Then they don't understand what pressure does to us."
She met his gaze. "Pressure doesn't unite. It exposes."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "Exactly."
Another silence. Thicker now. He stood, walked to the window beside her. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of rain and something unmistakably male.
"Why are you really here, Alex?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was low. "Because every time something threatens you, I feel it. And I don't like that."
Amber turned to face him. "You don't get to feel responsible for me."
"I know," he said. "That's what scares me."
The honesty hit harder than any flirtation. Her defenses wavered—not fell, but shifted.
"You push," she said quietly. "You provoke. You cross lines."
"And you build walls so high you forget what it feels like when someone climbs them willingly," he replied.
Their eyes locked. The world outside ceased to exist.
Alex reached out—slowly, deliberately—and stopped just short of touching her cheek. "Tell me to stop."
Amber's breath caught. Her entire body was aware of that inch of space between them. The power of choice. The danger of it.
"Not tonight," she said.
His hand dropped—not in defeat, but restraint. A different kind of strength.
The moment shattered when Amber's phone rang. Camila.
She answered, voice steady. "Camy?"
"Amber," Camila said, tense. "We have a situation. The board wants an emergency session tomorrow morning. And… the Wilson name is on the agenda."
Amber's gaze flicked to Alex. "Understood. I'll be there."
She ended the call.
"Well," Alex said softly, "looks like the game just escalated."
Amber straightened, composure snapping back into place like a blade sliding into its sheath. "This was never a game."
He nodded. "That's what makes it dangerous."
He moved toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth… I meant what I said. About feeling it when you're threatened."
She didn't reply. She didn't need to.
When he left, the room felt colder—but clearer.
Amber returned to the window, watching the rain wash the city clean. She understood it now. Wanting someone didn't weaken her. Pretending she didn't—that was the real risk.
And somewhere deep inside, a truth settled with quiet certainty:
Whatever was coming next would test not just empires—but hearts.