Rosaline had planned to slip away before midnight. One polite round of champagne, a few gracious smiles, and she'd be gone before anyone could tell that the wrong twin had shown up.
But Conrad Reid didn't let her leave.
He had a way of commanding a room, the kind of presence that made people look twice, even when he wasn't speaking. Rosaline remembered that about him from three years ago, when he'd stood across a boardroom table and shredded her campaign pitch without blinking. Ruthless, brilliant, and cold, the kind of man who built empires on other people's nerves.
Now, that same man was standing in front of her, close enough for his cologne to blur her thoughts, something dark and clean, threaded with cedar and restraint.
"I was beginning to think you'd avoid me all evening," Conrad said, his voice low, threaded with something dangerously close to amusement. "You always did have a flair for disappearing when things got serious."
Rosaline blinked, caught off guard by the way he said you. It still felt wrong, surreal, to hear him speaking to her as though she were Nora.
She forced a smile, the kind her twin would wear like armor. "You know me. Never one for long goodbyes."
He smiled faintly, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "And yet you came tonight. I wasn't expecting that."
Neither was I, she wanted to say. But she tilted her head instead, mimicking Nora's confident poise, the way she used to pose for cameras as if the world belonged to her. "Let's just say I was curious. You don't usually show up at these things either."
"I make exceptions."
"For me?"
He met her gaze, and the silence that followed was so heavy it made her pulse skip. "You know exactly why."
Rosaline didn't. Not in the slightest. But she couldn't ask, not without unraveling the act. So she did what she always did best: she improvised.
"Well," she said softly, taking a sip of her drink to buy time, "I suppose I should be flattered."
The corner of his mouth twitched, like he could see straight through her. "Flattered isn't the word I'd use."
A flicker of heat ran down her spine, uninvited and alarming. She wasn't supposed to react, not like this. Not to him.
She needed air.
"I should," she started, stepping back, but his hand came up lightly, brushing against her arm. It wasn't possessive, just steady, but it rooted her in place.
"Don't run off, Nora." His voice softened, gentler than she remembered it ever being in the office. "Not tonight."
Rosaline's breath caught.
She wasn't Nora. But the way he said it, the warmth beneath the ice made her almost wish she were.
The gala's string quartet swelled into something low and romantic, the kind of music that filled the room like smoke. Couples glided across the polished floor, sequins catching the light, laughter echoing through champagne bubbles. Conrad extended his hand, palm open. "Dance with me."
Her pulse hammered. She hadn't danced in years, and Nora would have never hesitated, so neither could she.
Rosaline placed her hand in his.
The contact was electric. His palm was warm, his grip firm, guiding her effortlessly into rhythm. The world narrowed to the two of them, his steady movements, the faint pressure of his fingers, the weight of his gaze holding her still.
"You've changed," he murmured, eyes tracing her face as they moved. "You used to keep your guard higher."
Her throat tightened. Maybe because the real Nora never needed one.
"People change," she said, carefully vague.
He smiled again, a slow, assessing smile. "Not you. Not really."
If he only knew.
The song ended, but Conrad didn't release her hand. His thumb brushed against her knuckles, a deliberate stroke that sent her thoughts scattering. "Come with me," he said quietly. "There's something I'd like to discuss. Privately."
Her stomach dipped. "Now?"
"Unless you have somewhere better to be."
Every instinct screamed to leave, to end the charade before it spiraled out of control. She had done what Nora asked, showed up, smiled, survived, and she'd nearly made it through the night. But curiosity and something darker, something that felt dangerously like attraction, overrode reason.
She followed him.
They slipped through a side hallway lined with portraits of men in suits, the hum of laughter and clinking glasses fading behind them. Her heels clicked softly against marble, echoing her heart's uneven rhythm. Conrad led her out to a quiet terrace overlooking the city, the night air cool against her flushed skin, the skyline shimmering like a secret only they shared.
He leaned against the railing, loosening his tie with one hand. The city lights painted his face in silver and shadow, and for the first time, he looked almost human, tired, thoughtful, maybe even lonely.
"I didn't come here for business, Conrad," she said, forcing a light tone that didn't quite reach her voice.
He turned to face her, eyes shadowed. "Neither did I."
The words hung between them, heavy and loaded.
Then, slowly, he stepped closer. The distance between them dissolved, and Rosaline could feel the faint stir of his breath against her cheek. "I should warn you, Nora. I don't usually do this, second chances. But seeing you tonight…" His gaze dropped to her lips. "It feels like unfinished business."
Rosaline's breath hitched. Her mind screamed at her to stop this, that it wasn't her life, her story, her name he was whispering. But her body wasn't listening.
He smelled like power and restraint, like the man who had once dismantled her work without ever raising his voice, and yet here he wasn't that man at all.
She swallowed hard. "Maybe some things are better left unfinished."
Conrad's smile was faint, dangerous. "Maybe some things aren't meant to stay that way."
He was too close, too certain. The way he looked at her, as if she were something familiar and forbidden at once, made her dizzy.
She should tell him the truth. Right now. Before it went any further.
But when his hand brushed her cheek, the gentlest touch, deliberate, reverent, when his voice dropped to a whisper, "Tell me to stop," the words never came.
The city shimmered below them. Music spilled faintly through the doors behind her. And for one reckless, impossible moment, Rosaline didn't tell him to stop.