Liam's POV
Richard spotted me the second we walked in. He was waiting near the center of the room, wine glass in hand, his wife at his side. Same cocky smile, like he owned the place.
"Liam Cross," he called out, loud enough for half the room to hear. "Glad you made it."
I shook his hand. "Richard."
His wife stepped forward then. Celeste Maddox. Polished, beautiful in that practiced way women in this circle always were. She leaned in and kissed my cheek lightly before turning to Ayla.
"And this must be Ayla." Her voice was warm, almost too warm. She reached out and took Ayla's hands. "Darling, you look lovely. I hope you'll sit near me tonight, I'd love to get to know you."
Ayla blushed, nodded softly. "Thank you."
Richard clapped my shoulder. "Come on, let's get you a drink. Everyone's waiting to talk to you."
He wasn't lying. Within seconds, we were surrounded.
"Cross, good to see you again."
"Liam, you've been busy, I hear."
"Tell me, is it true about the expansion into Europe?"
Hands reached for mine, smiles everywhere, voices overlapping. I gave them short answers. They weren't here for friendship. They wanted deals.
She stood just behind my shoulder, straight-backed, her chin up like Mrs. Graves had drilled into her that morning. I caught the faintest tremor in her fingers as she held her clutch, but she didn't shrink. She stayed put, smiled when someone glanced her way.
One of the men clapped me on the arm, chuckling. "You've got sharp eyes tonight, Cross. Can't seem to stop looking at your fiancée."
Laughter rippled around the table. My jaw flexed, but I kept it easy. "I like to keep an eye on what's mine," I said evenly.
Ayla's cheeks went pink. She pretended to study the crystal glass in front of her.
Celeste swept in smoothly, saving her. "Why don't you join us, dear? The ladies are just over there." She slipped her arm through Ayla's before Ayla could protest. "You'll like them."
I watched them walk away, Ayla's dress trailing like a shadow of midnight.
I turned back to the business talk. Numbers, strategies, potential partnerships. My mouth moved, I said the right things, but half of me was elsewhere. My eyes kept finding Ayla across the room.
There, Ayla, She was standing in a circle of wives, their gowns glittering under the chandeliers. She looked small between them, but she was listening carefully, trying.
One of the wives, a tall brunette with sharp eyes, leaned toward her. I couldn't hear the words, but I saw Ayla's polite smile falter. My jaw tightened.
Richard noticed my stare. He chuckled low. "Relax, Cross, women's games, she'll survive."
I didn't answer.
I managed to move closer under the pretense of greeting someone. That's when I caught it.
"So, Ayla," the sharp-eyed wife was saying, her smile sweet but her tone anything but. "Tell us what do you do?"
Ayla didn't fidget this time. She lifted her chin slightly. "I work as Liam's secretary." Her voice was soft, but steady.
The woman's brows arched higher, her smile turning smug. "His secretary? Oh, how convenient. And now here you are, dressed in pearls at his side. Quite the promotion, isn't it?"
I felt the urge to step in and shut her down, but before I could, Ayla spoke again.
"Yes," she said simply, her lips curved in a small, polite smile. "It is a step up, I'm still learning, but I take my work seriously, and I'm grateful to be here tonight."
The wife blinked, just a little thrown. Another woman chuckled softly and touched Ayla's arm. "Well said, dear. You're holding your own beautifully."
The tension broke. The sharp one forced a laugh, sipping her wine too quickly. Ayla's cheeks flushed, but she didn't drop her gaze.
I leaned back, letting out a breath. She'd handled it herself. Better than I could've.
The dinner stretched on. Plates of food came and went, silver clinking, laughter filling the room. I played the part, sharp in conversation, firm in negotiations. But my focus kept drifting.
Whenever Ayla laughed softly at something one of the women said, my chest tightened. When her eyes found mine across the table, even for a second, it felt like the noise dulled. Like the room shrank, leaving just us.
Richard caught me once, smirk tugging at his mouth. He leaned in, voice low.
"Easy there, Cross. That gaze of yours, someone might think business isn't the only thing on your mind tonight."
I shot him a look, flat and unamused. He just chuckled and raised his glass.
And me? I just sat there, half furious with myself because I couldn't stop watching her.
More laughter. Jokes flying.
I didn't smile. My voice was clipped. "Focus on your plates. Or the deal on the table."
They laughed harder, but I didn't care. Richard's eyes lingered on me, calculating. He was enjoying this too much.
Toward the end, when dessert was served, one of the older wives leaned toward Ayla. Her smile was genuine this time.
"You have a good spirit, my dear," she said softly. "Don't let this world dim it. It's easy to lose yourself here."
Ayla blinked, clearly surprised. "Thank you," she whispered.
Then, almost without thinking, her eyes found mine across the table. Just for a second. Like she was checking if she'd done okay.
And I knew she had more than okay to say.
When the evening finally wound down and people started leaving, Richard clapped me on the shoulder. "Good night, Cross. You've got yourself more than a secretary there."
I didn't answer. I just offered a tight smile and went to find Ayla.
She looked up when I reached her, relief flickering in her eyes. "Are we going?"
"Yes," I said. My voice came out rougher than I meant.
As we walked out, cameras waited again. I placed my hand on her back, steadying her through the flashing lights. She leaned in, just slightly, like she trusted the contact.
For some reason, that single gesture, the trust stayed with me longer than any deal made that night.