Chapter 74 – Crossing Lines
Amber didn't go straight home.
She told herself she had errands.
Told herself she needed to clear her head.
Told herself a lot of lies that sounded reasonable until she realized she'd been parked outside the penthouse garage for ten full minutes without moving.
Her phone screen was still open.
Alex:
I'll try.
Two words.
Ridiculously small.
But they sat heavy in her chest like a promise he hadn't meant to make.
She hated that.
Hated that he tried.
Hated that he noticed.
Hated that somewhere along the way, Alexander Wilson had stopped feeling like a contract and started feeling like—
She cut the thought off violently.
"Nope," she muttered, stepping out of the car.
The elevator ride up felt longer than usual.
Too quiet.
Too much time to think.
By the time the doors opened, she had her mask back on.
Cool. Detached. Unbothered.
The penthouse lights were dim when she entered.
She kicked off her heels and walked inside—
—and stopped.
Alex wasn't in his study.
Wasn't on the balcony.
Wasn't working.
He was in the living room.
Waiting.
Jacket off. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled again like this morning.
Like he'd been there for a while.
"You're back late," he said.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Amber dropped her bag onto the chair. "So are you."
"I finished early."
"Congratulations."
She moved toward the kitchen, opening cabinets she didn't need to open, pretending to look for something that didn't exist.
He watched her.
She felt it.
That steady, unreadable gaze.
"What?" she snapped finally.
"You're avoiding me."
"I'm hungry."
"You didn't eat at the event?"
She grabbed a glass. "I wasn't in the mood to socialize."
"That's never stopped you before."
She turned sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you usually thrive in rooms like that."
"Well maybe I'm tired."
"Of what?"
"Of everything," she said, too fast.
Silence.
Then—
"Did something happen?" he asked.
There was no accusation in his voice.
Just concern.
And that irritated her more than anger would have.
"Why do you keep doing that?" she demanded.
"Doing what?"
"Acting like you have a right to worry."
His brows drew together. "I do."
"No, you don't," she shot back. "This is an arrangement. Remember? Terms. Boundaries. Structure."
"And?"
"And you don't get to look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I matter."
The words slipped out raw and unfiltered.
The room went still.
Alex's voice dropped. "You do matter."
"That's not part of the deal!"
Her chest rose and fell too fast now.
"This was supposed to be clean," she continued. "Simple. Public smiles. Private distance. Not—" she gestured between them wildly "—whatever this is becoming."
"You think I don't see it?" he said quietly.
"Then stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Caring!"
The word echoed louder than she intended.
Alex stared at her like she'd said something absurd.
"That's not something you turn off," he said.
"It should be," she replied. "It has to be."
"Why?"
"Because caring ruins everything!" she snapped. "Because the moment you need someone, you lose. And I don't lose."
His jaw tightened. "This isn't a competition."
"It always is."
"With me?"
She hesitated.
And that hesitation was answer enough.
Something in him shifted.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Something deeper.
"Amber," he said softly, stepping closer, "I'm not your enemy."
She laughed shakily. "That's what makes you dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because you make me forget that."
The honesty hung between them, fragile and terrifying.
He was close now.
Too close.
Close enough that she could feel his warmth again.
Her pulse raced.
"Today," she said, voice trembling despite her best efforts, "Camila told me to run."
Alex didn't flinch. "Do you want to?"
"No," she whispered.
The confession slipped out before pride could stop it.
His eyes darkened.
"Then stop fighting something that hasn't hurt you," he said.
"It will."
"You don't know that."
"I always know."
"You're wrong."
"I'm protecting myself."
"You're isolating yourself."
"At least isolation doesn't betray you!"
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Silence.
Heavy.
Breathing tangled.
"You think I'd betray you?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer.
Because fear was louder than logic.
His hand came up slowly—giving her time to move away.
She didn't.
His fingers brushed her cheek.
Light.
Careful.
Like she might shatter.
"Look at me," he murmured.
She did.
Big mistake.
His composure was gone.
No CEO.
No strategist.
Just a man looking at her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
"You're not convenient," he said. "You're not replaceable. And you're not temporary."
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
"Alex—"
"If you walk away, I won't stop you," he continued. "But don't pretend this is nothing. Don't lie to yourself just because you're scared."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I am scared."
"I know."
That broke her.
Because he didn't mock it.
Didn't dismiss it.
He just accepted it.
Her fingers curled into his shirt without permission.
"I hate that you're not awful," she breathed.
A faint, almost-smile. "I get that a lot."
She should step back.
Should create distance.
Should protect herself.
Instead—
She leaned in.
Just slightly.
And he met her halfway.
The kiss wasn't planned.
Wasn't gentle.
Wasn't careful.
It was messy.
Hungry.
Weeks of tension snapping all at once.
His hand slid into her hair. Hers fisted tighter into his shirt. Their mouths crashed together like they were trying to prove something neither could say out loud.
It wasn't strategic.
It wasn't contractual.
It wasn't fake.
It was real.
Painfully real.
By the time they broke apart, both of them were breathing too hard.
Foreheads pressed together.
He didn't let go.
Neither did she.
"We just broke every rule," she whispered.
"Yes."
"Completely destroyed the contract."
"Yes."
"Say something responsible."
"No."
A shaky laugh escaped her.
Then silence.
But this time—
It wasn't empty.
It was full.
Full of everything they'd been pretending not to feel.
And there was no going back now.
Because lines once crossed didn't uncross.
And whatever this was—
It wasn't fake anymore.