The night after the elevator silence, the city exhaled under a low, restless sky.
Rain streaked the glass towers, blurring the skyline into shades of gray. Somewhere, between the sound of thunder and the hum of traffic below, Ethan Blackwell drove through the storm not to the penthouse, but to the one place he avoided unless duty demanded it.
The Blackwell estate loomed like a ghost of his past white stone, tall gates, and an air of inherited arrogance. The kind of place that made him feel both powerful and trapped.
Inside, the lights were warm, but the atmosphere wasn't. Servants moved quietly, eyes averted. Everything smelled faintly of old cigars and expectations.
His father waited in the study backlit by the glow of the fireplace, posture sharp, presence heavier than the silence itself.
"Ethan," Richard Blackwell said without looking up. "You're late."
"I came as soon as I could."
"Not soon enough."
The clink of crystal interrupted them as the older man poured two glasses of bourbon. One for himself. One for tradition. Ethan didn't touch his.
Ethan's POV
He didn't need to explain why I was here. I already knew.
Every meeting with my father came down to one thing control. He built empires out of obedience, and I was the legacy meant to uphold it.
He spoke of numbers first, then the board's concerns, the need for stability, the growing scrutiny from the media.
Then, like a practiced lawyer presenting evidence, he slid a photograph across the desk.
Celeste Ward.
Her image caught the firelight poised, flawless, smiling the kind of smile that never reached the eyes.
"She's back from London," my father said. "And her father has expressed interest in reviving the merger discussions. I think it's time we formalized things."
"Formalized?"
He looked up. "You're thirty-two, Ethan. The company needs a future. You need a wife. And Celeste Ward is a choice that honors both."
I didn't answer. The air thickened.
His words weren't new, but this time, something inside me recoiled harder than before.
Maybe it was the memory of Ava her quiet laughter in the late hours, her voice when she spoke ideas that disarmed me.
Maybe it was the way she looked at me in that elevator like she saw past the title, past the armor.
My father mistook my silence for hesitation. "You've had your time for independence," he said. "Now, it's time to think of the family. Of what matters."
What matters.
He meant power. Position. Reputation.
I forced my jaw to unclench. "I'll consider it," I said finally.
He nodded once, satisfied unaware that what I was really considering was how much longer I could keep living in the cage he built.
Outside, lightning flashed over the Blackwell crest engraved on the front gate two lions facing each other, locked in eternal defiance.
Inside, father and son mirrored that same still war.
The storm didn't end when Ethan left. It followed him in the streaks of rain on his windshield, in the rhythmic tap of the wipers, in the hollow ache in his chest that no amount of success could fill.
Ava's POV
The next morning, the office felt different.
Not louder quieter. As if the air itself had absorbed something heavy.
Ethan arrived late, which was rare. His hair was damp, his eyes shadowed, his tie slightly off a small imperfection that unsettled me more than it should have.
He didn't greet anyone. Not even me.
During the meeting, he spoke sharply, his tone clipped, precise. The board hung on his words, but I watched the pauses the moments between them where his mask slipped, if only for a second.
When it ended, I gathered the reports, waiting for him to look up. He didn't.
"Sir," I said, the word catching like a thorn.
He froze, then looked at me eyes cold, careful, almost distant.
"Good work, Ava," he said, voice measured. "You can leave the files on my desk."
I hesitated. "Is everything alright?"
He blinked, a beat too long before answering. "Everything's fine."
It wasn't.
It never is, when someone says it like that.
But I didn't press. Because I'd learned that sometimes silence tells you more than confession ever could.
As I left his office, I caught a reflection in the glass wall him, still seated, hands clasped, staring at something that wasn't there.
Whatever storm he was in, I had the feeling it wasn't over.
And somehow, I knew it would reach me too.
Ethan's POV
Every time she walked past my door, I felt the tension coil tighter.
I told myself it was nothing that the silence would fade like every other distraction.
But it didn't.
That night, I sat in my office long after everyone had left, the city lights bleeding into the glass. On my desk lay a business card Celeste Ward's name embossed in gold. My father's message beneath it: Dinner at eight.
A test. Or a trap. Maybe both.
I told myself I'd go for appearances, for peace, for the company.
But as I stared at that card, my mind went somewhere else entirely back to the elevator, to the inches between us, to the truth I'd buried.
When I finally rose, the silence followed me home.
That night, two windows glowed against the sleeping city one in the Blackwell penthouse, one in a modest apartment across town.
Both watched the same sky.
Both waited for answers they'd never admit they wanted.
And in the quiet between them, the first tremor of something inevitable began
The kind of storm no business deal or bloodline could contain.
The rain hadn't stopped since evening. It came in waves soft at times, furious at others washing the city in reflections that looked more like confessions than water.
The Blackwell Tower loomed against it all, lights dimming one by one until the building became a quiet monolith of ambition. Everyone had gone home hours ago. Everyone except him.
Inside the top-floor office, the air was still. The clock ticked with the kind of precision only Ethan Blackwell appreciated exact, relentless, merciless.
He stood before the glass wall, the skyline spread before him like a battlefield he'd already won yet no longer celebrated. The jacket was off, the tie undone, the shirt's top buttons loosened rare signs of imperfection from a man who despised it.
For years, he'd built his life on control every gesture measured, every word calculated.
But tonight, the reflection staring back at him wasn't control.
It was fatigue.
And beneath that fatigue, something he didn't want to name.
Power didn't look like victory that night.
It looked like isolation the kind that lingered in empty rooms and glass walls.
Outside, the city pulsed with life he no longer felt connected to. Inside, the air vibrated with what had been left unsaid in the elevator days ago that quiet, fragile thing between him and the one woman he wasn't supposed to want.
And then, the elevator chimed.
Ava's POV
I wasn't supposed to be there.
I'd already left hours earlier, but halfway down the parking ramp, I realized I'd left the merger projections on his desk.
He'd need them in the morning. I told myself it was responsibility, not concern, that brought me back.
But as I reached the top floor, that reason began to feel thinner.
The office was dark, save for a single strip of light spilling from under his door. I hesitated then knocked lightly. No answer.
When I pushed the door open, the sound of rain filled the space.
He was standing by the window, his back to me, city lights framing him like something out of a memory. His hands were in his pockets, head slightly bowed, as if the weight of the skyline had settled on his shoulders.
"Sir?" My voice barely carried.
He didn't turn immediately. For a moment, I wondered if he'd heard me. Then, slowly, he exhaled.
"Couldn't stay away from work either?" His tone was low rougher than usual.
I swallowed. "I left something on your desk."
"Of course you did," he said quietly, almost to himself.
When he turned, something in me faltered. The Ethan Blackwell I knew never looked uncertain. But tonight, his eyes weren't sharp with authority they were tired, distant, almost… lost.
It unsettled me more than any display of power ever could.
Ethan's POV
She shouldn't have seen me like this.
Not her. Not Ava.
I'd spent years perfecting the armor the tailored composure, the crisp control that made people think I was unbreakable.
But she had a way of looking at me that stripped all of that away, like her eyes reached for something deeper without permission.
She placed the file on my desk, careful not to meet my gaze. "You left before I could give you the updated numbers."
"Thank you," I said, but my voice betrayed me softer than I intended.
When she turned to leave, something in me tightened. I didn't want her to go. Not yet.
"Ava," I said before I could stop myself.
She paused. "Yes?"
The words came out before I could tame them.
"Do you ever feel like success costs more than it should?"
Her brow furrowed slightly. "Every single day."
That answer landed with the weight of truth. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I looked back at the city at the empire below that was supposed to mean everything and realized it felt smaller with her standing there.
The rain deepened, tracing lines down the window like threads of thought neither could follow aloud.
In that fragile pause, something shifted the air grew heavier, charged not with words, but with awareness.
A line was being redrawn, silently, dangerously.
Ava stepped closer, drawn by instinct more than reason.
Ethan didn't move away.
Two people, both too cautious to name what was happening, stood inches apart while the city burned quietly behind the glass.
Ava's POV
He wasn't just tired he was haunted.
I could see it in his eyes, the kind of exhaustion that didn't come from work but from carrying too much alone. The same loneliness I'd glimpsed once before, in the elevator's reflection only clearer now, sharper.
"Everyone thinks you have everything," I said quietly. "But I think you're still searching for something you can't buy."
His gaze snapped to mine. "And what makes you think that?"
"Because you look at the city," I said, "the way people look at something that used to belong to them."
For a moment, he didn't breathe. Neither did I.
He stepped closer, the faint scent of rain and cologne surrounding me.
"You see too much," he said finally.
"Maybe," I whispered. "Or maybe you just hide too well."
Something flickered in his eyes not desire, but recognition. The dangerous kind.
He looked away first. "You should go home, Ava."
"I know," I said. But I didn't move. Not right away.
Ethan's POV
She saw through me too easily.
And for a terrifying second, I wanted her to.
There was something disarming about her quiet not demanding, not intrusive, just present. It made me want to say things I hadn't said to anyone.
But I couldn't.
Not her.
Not when every line between us was drawn in ink that couldn't be erased.
Still, when she finally left, the silence she left behind was unbearable.
I turned back to the window, her reflection fading in the glass.
And I realized something that chilled me,
Her absence felt louder than my father's expectations ever had.
Down in the lobby, the elevator doors closed with a soft chime. Ava pressed her back against the wall, eyes shut, pulse unsteady.
Above her, Ethan still stood by the window motionless, staring into the rain-soaked night like a man seeing the edge of something he'd spent his whole life avoiding.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them slept.
But in the quiet hours that followed, both knew the truth they'd never dare admit,
Something had shifted between them, something irreversible, fragile, and far too dangerous to name.
The storm outside finally began to break.
But inside the tower, a different kind of storm was just beginning.
The morning sunlight crept into the Blackwell offices with the kind of clarity that revealed everything people tried to hide.
Phones buzzed, deals unfolded, and assistants rushed through glass corridors carrying folders that seemed heavier than they were.
But behind Ethan Blackwell's office door, the air was different still, tense, filled with decisions that had nothing to do with business.
On his desk lay a sleek, ivory envelope stamped with the crest of the Ward Foundation Gala the one event his father never let him skip.
Every year, it was a theater of wealth, crystal chandeliers, polite laughter, strategic alliances disguised as charity.
And this year, it came with another layer Celeste Ward's official return from London.
The invitation wasn't a request.
It was an expectation.
Ethan's POV
I stared at the invitation longer than necessary. The gold lettering caught the light, glinting like a warning.
I'd been to enough of these events to know what they meant appearances, photographs, whispered deals under chandeliers.
But this one felt heavier.
Because Celeste would be there. And my father would be watching.
I could already hear his voice: Appearances, Ethan. The Wards are the future. Act accordingly.
The thought made my jaw tighten. I needed control distance something to anchor me.
And before I could think better of it, my hand reached for the intercom.
"Ava," I said, voice steady. "Come to my office."
There was a pause. Then her quiet "Yes, sir."
When the door opened, the air changed. It always did.
She carried that same calm efficiency that made every chaotic thing around her seem manageable even me.
I held up the envelope. "The Ward Foundation Gala. Friday night. I'll need you there."
Her brow lifted slightly. "As your assistant, or"
"As my strategist," I cut in, a little too fast. "It's a corporate event. Ward Industries will be present. I want you to observe potential partners, track the social alignments. We'll discuss it after."
She nodded, but her eyes lingered searching, cautious.
I knew she heard the hesitation I couldn't hide.
The silence stretched the kind that said more than words ever could.
The CEO and his strategist, standing inches apart, pretending the air between them wasn't alive.
Ethan's tone was clipped, controlled. But the faint tremor beneath it didn't go unnoticed.
Ava Carter had learned to read the smallest cracks in composure and Ethan's voice carried one, thin and fragile, hidden beneath professionalism.
He cleared his throat. "The dress code is formal. Black tie. You'll receive the itinerary by noon."
"Yes, Mr. Blackwell."
And yet, even as she turned to leave, she could feel his eyes on her a glance too long, too restrained, too full of something unspoken.
Ava's POV
I'd attended dozens of corporate events before always behind the scenes, invisible, efficient.
But this one felt different.
The way he'd said it, I'll need you there wasn't just instruction. It was something else, something buried beneath the formality.
He never invited me to these things. He didn't have to. Yet here I was, clutching a note from his secretary confirming my attendance and seating arrangement beside him.
It shouldn't have mattered. But it did.
I told myself it was about opportunity strategy, visibility, networking. But somewhere between that call and the end of the day, the rational explanations started to feel thinner.
Every time I looked through his office glass wall, he was watching the city again expression unreadable, but his hand unconsciously resting on that same ivory invitation.
Something was coming. I could feel it.
Ethan's POV
When she left my office, the silence stayed behind thick, almost alive.
Why had I asked her?
I could have taken anyone. My PR team. A department head. Even Celeste.
But none of them would have steadied me the way she did.
I tried to justify it told myself it was business, that I needed her insight.
But part of me knew better.
I wanted her there because when she was near, I didn't feel like my father's son.
I felt like my own man.
That terrified me more than anything.
The rest of the day unfolded in fragments numbers, meetings, signatures all blurred beneath the growing hum of Friday night's expectation.
By evening, the invitation was gone from his desk.
But the thought of her, standing beside him under chandeliers and flashbulbs, refused to leave his mind.
Somewhere deep down, he knew once he crossed that line, even for appearance's sake, there would be no going back.
Ava's POV
That night, I stood before the mirror, brushing through my hair absentmindedly. The city lights outside painted faint silver lines across the glass, shimmering against the skyline.
I didn't know what to wear, but he said formal, I wanted something classy but just then, I felt like I'm daydreaming.
I didn't know what to expect... I don't fit in his world.
But one thing I did know this wasn't just another event.
This was the beginning of something the world would see, but neither of us could define.
And behind all the quiet anticipation, a question lingered
Why did it feel like walking into a story I already knew would end in fire?
In his penthouse, Ethan straightened his cuffs, the weight of legacy pressing against his chest like armor.
His father's words echoed in his mind. Celeste's name sat on his tongue like something bitter.
But when he looked at his reflection, what he saw wasn't duty.
It was Ava.
And that made everything far more dangerous.
Outside, the city waited unaware of the quiet storm brewing between two people who were never meant to stand on the same side of a photograph.
The gala would be elegant, calculated, and ruthless.
The perfect place for secrets to look like strategy.
And as Friday drew closer, neither of them realized that the night ahead would change everything.
not because of what was said, but because of everything they still refused to say.
Ava's POV
The night felt heavier than it should have. The city shimmered beneath a restless sky, and I stood before the mirror trying to steady the thoughts that refused to quiet down. Ethan had asked me to attend the gala formally, as his assistant but there was something in his voice that wasn't business. Something careful. Something unsure.
I told myself I wouldn't overthink it. That it was just another event, another night where I had to stand in the background and make everything look effortless. But deep down, I already knew this night was different.
The moment I entered the ballroom, the air changed. Crystal lights poured down like frozen rain, and the room smelled of wealth and pretense. I walked carefully, keeping my expression neutral, my hands steady. But when I saw him across the crowd, everything in me paused.
Ethan Blackwell
He stood tall, composed, surrounded by people who spoke in tones of strategy and power. Yet when his eyes met mine, something shifted. Just a flicker small, sharp, undeniable. I looked away before he could read it. Before I could read myself.
I tried to focus on work greeting guests, checking details, staying invisible. But his presence pulled at me like gravity. Every time I caught the faint sound of his voice, something inside me turned.
Then I saw her Celeste.
Draped in gold, every inch of her deliberate. The kind of beauty that belonged to his world. She moved toward him with the ease of someone who had once owned that space, and when she slipped her hand into his arm, I felt the room react cameras turning, whispers blooming.
I didn't let it show, but I felt it. That quiet ache that came from being reminded of where I stood a distance built not by walls, but by names.
I turned away from the crowd and walked toward the terrace, where the city lights breathed differently. The air was colder there, cleaner. I leaned against the railing, letting the noise fade behind me. I told myself it didn't matter. That I had no right to feel what I felt. But my heart didn't believe me.
Ethan's POV
I knew I'd made a mistake the moment she stepped into the ballroom.
Inviting her had been logical a professional decision, that's what I told myself. But as soon as I saw her, calm and composed in that silver gown that caught the light in ways, highlighting her curves that been hidden behind cooperate wears. I couldn't look away from, logic became meaningless.
I guess she didn't want to follow the dress code.
The only thought I had was to hold her and press a soft kiss on her beautiful lips.
Ava had that effect. She didn't demand attention she drew it. Quietly. Effortlessly. Like the world leaned in when she moved. And that was what scared me most.
When Celeste arrived, I didn't resist her presence. I couldn't not with my father's eyes watching, not with every investor measuring my every move. Celeste represented what was expected of me a partnership that would strengthen the Blackwell's name. So I let her take my arm. I smiled when I was supposed to. I played my part.
But the entire time, my eyes betrayed me. They kept searching for Ava.
Even when I couldn't see her, I could feel her like the air itself had changed because she was near.
After a while, I couldn't stay inside any longer. I slipped away, following an instinct I didn't dare name. When I stepped onto the terrace, she was there standing against the railing, the wind tugging at her hair, her shoulders drawn with quiet strength.
"You disappeared," I said, keeping my voice steady.
She didn't turn immediately. "You seemed occupied."
"Appearances," I said, coming closer. "They come with the name."
She finally looked at me. Her eyes were calm, but I saw the storm beneath them. "Then you wear it well," she said quietly. "This world fits you, Sir. People like me only exist in the background of it."
"That's not true."
"It is," she said, cutting gently. "And maybe that's why I don't belong in it."
Her words hit deeper than I wanted to admit. I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That I needed her there, that her presence grounded me in a way nothing else did. But I didn't. I couldn't.
"You think you understand my world," I said instead, "but you don't know what it takes to survive in it."
She met my eyes without hesitation. "Then tell me. What has it cost you?"
I almost said you. But the truth stayed where it always did unspoken. I looked away before the silence could say it for me.
Then the door opened behind us.
"Ethan," Celeste's voice slipped through, perfectly timed, perfectly polished. "Your father's looking for you."
Ava stepped back, her expression unreadable. "You should go."
I wanted to stay. God, I wanted to. But wanting and being allowed to were two very different things in my world. I gave her one last look before I left the kind that held everything I couldn't say aloud.
The music continued. The laughter returned. The world resumed its perfect performance.
But in the corners of that perfection, something invisible had shifted something that wouldn't go back to silence.
Among the guests, a man watched the exchange from a distance — eyes calm, smile faint, interest sharpened. His name was Daniel Cole. And though no one noticed him tonight, he noticed everything.
The music softened, the violin weaving through murmurs and clinking glasses. Waiters moved quietly, serving champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The crowd shimmered under the crystal light, each smile rehearsed, each glance purposeful. Nothing in that room was accidental.
Ava's POV
I felt her before I saw her againCeleste. Her presence carried that distinct chill that comes from someone used to being admired, not questioned. She stood beside Ethan now, fingers lightly brushing his sleeve, a gesture that screamed ownership without saying a word.
I turned away, focusing on the guests, on the speeches, on the hollow sound of applause that followed every performance. But no matter where I looked, I could feel his gaze returning, breaking through every barrier I built to survive this night.
When our eyes met across the ballroom, it wasn't a look it was a collision. Brief, fierce, and impossible to disguise. I saw hesitation flicker in his eyes, then something darker longing, maybe, or regret.
I looked away first this time. I had to.
"Enjoying the evening, Miss Carter?" a voice asked.
Celeste.
She stood beside me, her smile perfect, her tone dipped in silk and warning.
"It's been lovely so far," I answered, my voice even. "You've done a wonderful job organizing everything."
Her brows lifted slightly. "Oh, I didn't. Ethan's assistant did." She tilted her head just enough for the diamonds at her neck to catch the light. "That would be you, wouldn't it?"
I forced a polite smile. "Yes."
She studied me, eyes tracing every detail with quiet calculation. "He speaks highly of you," she said finally. "It's… rare."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to.
She held my gaze for a moment longer before offering a faint, dismissive smile and walking away her perfume lingering, sweet and suffocating.
Ethan's POV
I watched the exchange from across the room, pretending not to. Celeste's posture was calm, poised, but her eyes her eyes betrayed her. She'd noticed. Of course she had. Celeste missed nothing, especially when it came to control.
Ava stood her ground, collected as always. But I saw the subtle tension in her shoulders, the quiet strength in her stillness. It made me want to step in, to protect her but from what? From Celeste? From the truth that I'd created this entire mess?
When the speeches began, I sat beside Celeste, hands folded, face expressionless. Yet my mind wasn't in the words echoing through the hall it was with the woman standing at the edge of the crowd, her emerald dress shimmering like envy itself.
Ava's POV
The speeches dragged on, but my thoughts were louder than the applause. I tried to focus on my duties, on the details seating, lighting, catering but my mind kept drifting toward him. Toward the unspoken things that lingered between us.
As the final toast ended, I stepped outside onto the terrace. The night air was cool, steady. The city glittered below, indifferent to our chaos. For a moment, I could breathe again.
Then I heard footsteps. His.
Ethan's POV
I found her outside, leaning on the marble railing, the city lights painting her in gold and shadow. For a second, I just watched. I shouldn't have followed her but I did.
"You disappeared," I said quietly.
"I needed air," she replied without turning.
Silence stretched, delicate and dangerous. The kind of silence that carried too much meaning.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," I said, though the words sounded hollow even to me.
She turned then, her eyes sharp. "I'm fine, Ethan. You don't have to check on me."
I stepped closer. "Maybe I want to."
Her breath caught, and for a heartbeat, the world felt still. Then she looked away, her voice soft but steady.
"You're engaged," she whispered.
The truth in her words hit harder than I expected. "It's complicated."
"It always is," she said, and walked past me back into the ballroom, leaving the night heavy with everything neither of us dared to say.
Inside, Celeste watched from the shadows of the glass doors, her expression unreadable. The sparkle of her diamond earrings flickered once as she turned away eyes cold, mind already moving.
The night wasn't over. It was only beginning.
The waltz began with a murmur of strings, soft but heavy, threading through the air like silk dipped in tension. Crystal chandeliers caught every shimmer, scattering fragments of light across faces that smiled too easily. The ballroom breathed in rhythm elegance choreographed to perfection but beneath that poise, every movement carried secrets.
On the surface, it was another society gala. The music was flawless, the laughter precise, and every guest wore the kind of charm that came from wealth and habit. But between the polished gestures, something restless stirred. Eyes lingered too long. Words were chosen too carefully. And the space between two people a CEO and his assistant carried the quiet electricity of something forbidden.
Ethan's POV
I rose from the table before I could talk myself out of it. Celeste was still speaking to the senator beside her, her laughter delicate, her posture immaculate. She looked every inch the fiancée I was supposed to adore. But my eyes weren't on her. They were searching the crowd for someone else.
And then I saw her.
Ava stood near the far end of the ballroom, talking to a few board members, pretending to listen. Her silver dress moved like liquid light each time she turned. The neckline was modest, but somehow it was worse or better. I wasn't sure anymore.
I told myself it was strategy, perception. A CEO dancing with his assistant was harmless, if anything a gesture of confidence, nothing more. But the truth was harder to swallow: I needed to touch her, even if it was for three minutes of music and a hundred eyes watching.
I walked across the ballroom, ignoring the shift in whispers that followed me. When I stopped before her, she looked up, startled but not entirely surprised.
"Dance with me," I said, my tone deliberately neutral.
Her lips parted slightly, a faint frown flickering between hesitation and defiance. "For appearances?" she asked, her voice low enough to hide behind the music.
I forced a half-smile. "Exactly."
But my hand was already betraying me steady on the outside, burning on the inside.
Ava's POV
His hand extended, and for a heartbeat, I didn't move. The ballroom had shrunk I could feel the stares, the soft weight of gossip forming around us. Accepting his hand meant stepping into a spotlight I didn't want, into a story I wasn't supposed to be part of.
But refusing him would've said more than I wanted anyone to hear.
So I placed my hand in his.
The warmth that met me was immediate real, unsettling. His fingers tightened just slightly, not enough to draw attention, but enough to remind me of the unspoken truth between us.
We began to move. The first turn was smooth, practiced, but beneath the grace was something raw. His hand rested at the small of my back, guiding, anchoring, controlling the way he did in meetings, in words, in every part of my life that he quietly invaded without meaning to.
"You're tense," he said quietly.
"I'm being watched," I murmured.
He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing my ear. "Let them watch."
It wasn't a command it was something darker. A confession disguised as permission.
I looked up at him, searching for restraint, but all I saw was conflict. The kind that burned behind calm eyes. The kind that could ruin both of us.
"This is dangerous," I whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Only if we care."
But the way his thumb brushed against my palm told me he already did.
Ethan's POV
The music slowed, the steps narrowing. Her pulse echoed through the space between our hands, steady but trembling. Every part of me screamed to pull back, to remember where we were who we were but I couldn't.
The scent of her perfume, faint and familiar, smell like lavender, pressed against every rational thought I had left. It wasn't just attraction anymore. It was gravity.
Celeste's voice echoed faintly in my mind, the way she had spoken earlier about "boundaries" and "appearances." She always knew when I was distracted and who was behind it. I could feel her gaze on my back even now, sharp and assessing.
But for once, I didn't care.
Ava looked up at me then, her eyes full of something I'd spent months pretending not to see. Something that terrified me more than failure ever could.
"Sir," she whispered, barely audible. "You're making this harder."
"I'm not trying to," I said, though even as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a lie.
How about you stop calling me Sir when we are alone, Ethan will be better.
She nodded with a bit of confusion in her thought.
We turned once more her hand brushing against my chest, the contact small but enough to make my pulse stumble. I exhaled sharply, losing the rhythm for a beat.
People were watching. I could feel it the hum of attention shifting, the murmurs rippling like cracks through glass. Celeste was no fool. She'd seen everything.
Ava's POV
The dance ended too soon, though every second had stretched unbearably long. His hand didn't fall away immediately. It lingered hesitant, searching until I gently pulled mine free.
I took a step back, composing myself, forcing my breath to steady. I smiled, polite, distant, pretending I hadn't just felt the earth tilt beneath my feet.
"Thank you, Mr. Blackwell," I said softly, keeping my tone professional. Ignoring his words earlier.
He blinked, as if reminded of the world around us. "Ava"
But before he could finish, applause rippled through the hall brief, superficial, the kind reserved for performances everyone pretends to admire.
When I turned, Celeste was standing near the bar, her glass untouched. Her smile was calm, her posture elegant, but her eyes cold. Calculating. There was something in them that promised this wouldn't be forgotten.
She lifted her glass slightly, a silent toast in my direction, before taking a sip that looked too deliberate to be casual.
The meaning was clear: She knows.
Ethan's POV
Celeste was silent when I returned to the table. Too silent. She smiled as I sat, but the kind of smile that said more than words ever could.
"That was… unexpected," she said softly, still watching the dancers on the floor.
"It was just a dance," I replied.
"Of course." Her voice didn't waver. "Appearances matter."
She placed her hand over mine then the gesture elegant, restrained but her grip was steel. Her nails pressed just enough to make me look up.
"Be careful, Ethan," she murmured. "You wouldn't want anyone to misunderstand your intentions."
She turned away, releasing my hand as though it burned.
The orchestra shifted to a brighter melody, but the illusion of grace had already fractured. The glimmer of diamonds no longer seemed pure only sharp.
Ava stood by the terrace doors, her smile distant, her thoughts elsewhere. Ethan sat beside a woman who had already begun to weave her suspicions into strategy. And beneath the golden light of the gala, three lives had just stepped into the quiet beginnings of a storm.
The music played on but every note sounded like a warning.