Nova Heights glittered below him, a city made of glass and ambition.
Christopher King who flew in few hours ago, stood at the edge of his penthouse office, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. From this height, he could see everything — the skyline, the streets, the world he built. Everything… except peace.
It had been two weeks since he'd last seen her — that hospital room, the raw ache in her eyes, the trembling hand she held over her aunt's.
He'd never forgotten it.
The look that tore through his carefully built detachment.
He had spent his entire career controlling chaos.
But Amelia Jones… she wasn't chaos.
She was calm — the kind that unsettled him, because it forced him to feel again.
---
"Sir," Mark said quietly, stepping into the office with a file. "The disciplinary report on Miss Bennett is finalized."
Christopher turned, his expression neutral. "And?"
"Clara Bennett has been suspended for six months pending ethics review. The board agreed to issue a formal apology to Miss Jones through corporate PR, under your supervision."
"Good," Christopher said flatly, though his pulse betrayed the calm. "Make sure the apology is public."
"Yes, sir. Should I also—"
"Tell PR I'll handle the press briefing myself."
Mark blinked. "You'll— personally?"
Christopher's eyes were cold steel. "I'm correcting a mistake I made. I prefer to do it properly."
Mark hesitated, then nodded. "Understood, sir."
As the door closed behind him, Christopher leaned against the glass wall and exhaled.
He could almost hear his father's voice — Kings don't apologize. They win.
He'd lived by that mantra his whole life.
But now, victory felt hollow.
Because the only person who should've heard his apology wasn't sitting in this room.
She was probably somewhere in Nova Heights, trying to start over — again — because of him.
---
Later that day, the news hit every major outlet in the city:
> "KINGTECH CLEARS AMELIA JONES OF ALL WRONGDOING — INTERNAL LEAK CONFIRMED."
CEO Christopher King issues a formal apology, citing 'ethical misconduct within the communications division.'
Amelia saw it on Lydia's television that evening.
Her breath caught as the man she once feared stood before a dozen microphones, his expression unreadable, his tone low and deliberate.
> "Miss Jones was unfairly accused and wrongfully suspended. KingTech regrets the harm caused. The company has since reviewed and corrected internal errors. Our values remain rooted in accountability."
He didn't mention names.
He didn't shift blame.
He just took it — like a man should.
Lydia whistled softly. "Well, damn. The King just kneeled."
Amelia sat frozen, her fingers gripping the armrest.
He didn't have to do that.
He could've easily buried it like most CEOs did — with silence and selective amnesia.
So why didn't he?
She turned away, her heart betraying her with a strange, reluctant warmth.
Maybe guilt. Maybe something more. But she wasn't ready to name it. Not yet.
---
The next morning, she stood by the balcony of Lydia's apartment, sipping her coffee as the city yawned awake.
Her kids were still asleep — Lily curled up against Emily, Ethan's toy car scattered across the floor.
Aunt Chloe was on the couch, gently scolding Maya for sneaking extra sugar into her tea.
Home — not perfect, but enough.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Again.
She hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
"Miss Jones," the voice said — deep, controlled, unmistakably him.
She went still. "Mr. King."
"I assume you've seen the news."
"I have. I didn't expect—"
"I owed you that much," he interrupted softly. "And… more than I care to admit."
The silence stretched, fragile and heavy.
Then she asked the question that had been gnawing at her since the gala. "Why? Why clear my name now, after everything?"
Christopher's pause was long. "Because truth isn't a favor. It's a debt."
She didn't reply. Couldn't.
He exhaled, as though forcing the next words out. "I need to speak with you. In person. Tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. The conference suite at KingTech Tower."
Her brows furrowed. "Mr. King—"
"Please." The word came out quieter than expected — almost human. "Just hear me out."
And before she could respond, he ended the call.
---
The next morning, Amelia arrived at the KingTech Tower.
It felt strange being back — the marble floors, the hushed voices, the faint scent of expensive coffee and nerves.
Mark greeted her at the elevator. Welcome back Miss Jones. He's expecting you."
Her stomach twisted. She wasn't sure if it was anxiety or curiosity anymore.
When the doors opened to the executive suite, she found Christopher standing by the window, hands clasped behind him — just like the last time.
He turned as she entered. "Amelia."
Her breath caught. Hearing her name from him — without the usual edge — threw her off balance.
"Mr. King," she managed, her tone firm. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes." He motioned for her to sit. "You've been reinstated. Officially. With back pay. But that's not why I called you here."
"Then why?"
He studied her, searching for something in her eyes. "Because you've become a liability I can't afford to lose."
Her brows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"Not in that sense," he clarified. "The board sees your case as… volatile. I want to keep you close, to monitor the situation. For your safety — and the company's."
She crossed her arms. "So, what? You want me under your thumb again?"
He met her gaze steadily. "Under my protection."
Silence.
Then she laughed softly, shaking her head. "You have an odd way of showing concern, Mr. King."
He almost smiled — almost. "It's not concern. It's strategy."
"Right," she said dryly. "A strategy with coffee breaks and guilt."
That earned her a faint, reluctant smirk. "You haven't changed."
"Neither have you," she replied, standing. "But thank you — for clearing my name. Whatever your reason."
He rose too, his voice dropping slightly. "This isn't charity, Amelia. Think of it as… a pact."
"A pact?"
"Yes." He extended his hand. "You rebuild your reputation. I rebuild mine. Together, we undo the mess our names are tied to."
Her eyes flicked to his hand, then to his face. "And when that's done?"
His gaze softened — barely. "Then you walk away clean."
After a beat, she took his hand — firm, deliberate.
The contact lingered.
Too long for business.
Too short for confession.
---
As she walked out of his office, Amelia exhaled, heart pounding.
A pact. That's what he called it.
But deep down, she knew — whatever this was, it wasn't just business anymore.
And for Christopher King, neither was she.
---