KISS'S POV
The café became my refuge without me realizing it.
It wasn't fancy—just warm lighting, the smell of roasted beans, soft jazz playing low enough not to intrude. I stopped by every morning before work, ordering the same thing: black coffee with a dash of milk and a croissant I barely ever finished.
And that was where Chris Blackwood kept appearing.
At first, it felt coincidental.
A nod here.
A teasing comment there.
Then it became routine.
"You're late today," Chris said one morning, glancing at his watch as I approached the counter.
I frowned. "Do I look like I report to you now?"
He laughed, pushing a cup toward me. "Relax. I ordered ahead."
I hesitated. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to."
That was Chris—effortless, charming, dangerous in a way that smiled instead of threatened.
We sat at the corner table, sunlight filtering through the window. He never asked intrusive questions. Never pushed. Never tried to own space the way powerful men usually did.
Instead, he listened.
"So," he said casually, stirring his drink, "how's working under the ice king?"
I snorted before I could stop myself. "You mean Adrian Goodwill?"
"The very one."
"He's… professional," I said carefully. "Demanding. Controlled."
"And fucking attractive too",I thought.
Chris smirked. "That's one word for him."
"What's the truth then?" I asked.
He tilted his head, studying me. "Adrian doesn't lose control. Ever. When he does—it's catastrophic."
That sent a shiver down my spine.
We talked about books, travel, music. About nothing—and everything. With Chris, conversation flowed easily. I smiled more than I had in weeks.
That should have scared me.
It didn't.
One Friday evening, as I gathered my things to leave, Chris cleared his throat.
"I have something to ask you."
I paused. "That sounds ominous."
He chuckled. "There's a charity gala next 2 weekends ahead. Big event. Too many cameras. Too many egos."
"And?" I prompted.
"And I need a partner," he said simply. "Someone real. Would you come with me?"
I stared at him, stunned.
"To a gala?"
"Yes."
"As… your date?"
"As my partner," he corrected gently. "No expectations. No pressure."
My instinct screamed caution.
But something else whispered curiosity.
I thought of my father's voice, Adrian's intensity, Ashley's venomous gaze.
For once, I wanted to choose something for myself.
"…Okay," I said finally. "I'll go."
Chris's smile widened—not predatory, not smug.
Just pleased.
"I'll send you the details."
As I left the café, I didn't see the way his gaze followed me—sharp, calculating, intrigued.
---
ADRIAN'S POV
Control was my religion.
I controlled markets. I controlled men. I controlled outcomes.
And yet—
I couldn't control the way my eyes tracked Kiss every time she entered my office.
She had been working for me for two weeks now. Efficient. Organized. Silent in the way people learned to be when they were hiding too much.
She avoided me.
Not blatantly. Not rudely.
Just… carefully.
She kept conversations brief. Never lingered. Never met my gaze longer than necessary.
And that bothered me more than if she had tried to seduce me.
"She's doing well," Oscar said during a briefing. "Better than expected."
"I know," I replied shortly.
Isaac watched me from the corner, arms crossed. "You're tense."
"I'm busy."
"You're distracted."
I shot him a warning look. "Careful."
"You haven't slept," he continued. "You haven't snapped at anyone this week. And you've stared at your secretary's door like it might disappear."
I stood abruptly. "Enough."
Isaac sighed. "You're falling for her."
"I don't fall," I said coldly. "I calculate."
"And yet," he said quietly, "you don't know where she goes after work. Who she talks to. Who she trusts."
Something dark twisted in my chest.
"She's under my protection," I said.
Isaac raised a brow. "Is she?"
The question followed me long after he left.
That evening, as Kiss handed me a finalized report, our fingers brushed accidentally.
The air snapped.
She inhaled sharply, eyes flickering up.
For a fraction of a second, I forgot everything—rules, power, restraint.
I saw her lips part slightly.
Saw the pulse at her throat.
I stepped back instantly.
"Good work," I said, voice tight.
"Thank you, sir," she replied softly.
As she turned to leave, a thought hit me with sudden clarity.
I didn't want her gratitude.
I wanted her choice.
And that realization terrified me.
---
CHRIS'S POV
She said yes too easily.
That intrigued me.
Kiss Hilson wasn't naive. She watched people. Calculated distance. Measured intent.
Yet she trusted me.
Or perhaps—
She trusted herself.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled, eyes on the city skyline.
Adrian Goodwill didn't know.
Didn't know she met me every morning. Didn't know we laughed. Didn't know she smiled differently when she wasn't under his shadow.
And that was delicious.
"Be careful," my assistant warned. "Goodwill won't like this."
I smiled slowly. "That's the point."
---
KISS'S POV
The weeks passed by in a blur and it was for the gala.
The gala invitation arrived that night—elegant, embossed, intimidating.
I stared at it for a long time.
Was I walking into trouble?
Yes.
Did I care?
Less than I should.
At work the next day, Adrian barely spoke to me. When he did, his voice was controlled—but his eyes were stormy.
I felt it.
The tension. The pull. The unspoken question.
And for the first time, I wondered—
If he ever looked at me the way I caught him looking.
I didn't know that Adrian was fighting himself.
Didn't know Chris was playing a deeper game.
Didn't know that agreeing to that gala had already shifted the balance.
But one thing was certain—
I wasn't invisible anymore.
And soon, everyone would see me.