ADRIAN'S POV
I hated galas.
Too many fake smiles. Too many calculated conversations masked as charity. Too many people pretending power was something you borrowed for the night instead of something you bled for.
When the invitation arrived, embossed in black and gold, I didn't even open it.
"Charity Gala hosted by Blackwood Consortium," Oscar read aloud anyway, standing in my office. "You, your family, and a plus-one are formally invited."
I looked up sharply.
Blackwood.
Of course.
"Decline it," I said flatly.
Oscar hesitated. "Your grandmother already confirmed attendance."
That stopped me.
"What?"
"She called this morning," he added carefully. "She said she hasn't attended a public event with you in years and this one… interested her."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Ten minutes later, I found myself in the family residence, standing in front of the only woman on earth who didn't fear Adrian Goodwill.
My grandmother sat elegantly on the sofa, tea cup in hand, eyes sharp despite her age.
"You're going," she said calmly.
"I don't attend Blackwood events," I replied.
She raised a brow. "You don't avoid them either. You simply don't like not being in control."
I said nothing.
She smiled knowingly. "You're going. And you're bringing a proper date."
"I don't have one."
Her gaze lingered on me, measuring, perceptive.
"Then take the girl you were with the last event."
Ashley.
My jaw tightened.
"She's not—"
"Your fiancée?" she finished smoothly. "Then this is the perfect time to remind the world."
I hated how logical it sounded.
By the time I left, the decision had already been made.
I called Ashley.
She answered on the first ring.
"Adrian," she breathed happily.
"Be ready by seven," I said. "Blackwood gala."
Her gasp was audible. "Finally."
I ended the call without another word.
---
KISS'S POV
The mirror barely reflected the woman staring back at me.
She was… unfamiliar.
Elegant. Poised. Dangerous in a way that whispered instead of screamed.
The gown hugged every curve like it had been designed with intention—deep emerald silk that flowed smoothly over my hips, cinching at the waist before falling gracefully to the floor. The slit revealed just enough leg to be scandalous without being vulgar.
My makeup was soft but deliberate. Lashes long. Lips glossy. Skin glowing.
My hair cascaded down my back in polished waves.
I didn't look like Adrian Goodwill's secretary.
Or the girl in the scandal.
I looked like a woman who belonged on red carpets.
My phone buzzed.
📩 CHRIS: I'm downstairs.
I took one last breath and stepped out.
The moment I reached the lobby, Chris froze.
Actually froze.
His confident smile faltered. His breath caught visibly.
For a second, he forgot how to speak.
"Wow," he finally managed. "Kiss…"
I smiled nervously. "Is it too much?"
He shook his head slowly, eyes darkening with something new.
"No," he said quietly. "It's… dangerous."
The way he looked at me made my stomach flutter unexpectedly.
"You look extraordinary," he added. "I don't think I was prepared."
Neither was I—for the way his gaze lingered. For the way his jaw tightened as if he were realizing something he hadn't planned to.
As we stepped outside, the driver opened the door, and Chris offered his arm.
I took it.
And just like that, we stepped into the night together.
---
THE GALA
The moment we arrived, the air shifted.
Cameras flashed instantly.
"Chris Blackwood!" "Who's that woman?" "Is that his date?"
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
Chris leaned slightly toward me. "Ignore them."
I lifted my chin. "I'm not afraid."
He smiled. "I know."
As we walked in, flash after flash exploded around us. People stared openly now—curiosity, admiration, speculation burning in their eyes.
Inside, crystal chandeliers lit the grand hall. The elite of the city mingled, champagne flowing, power humming beneath silk and diamonds.
And then—
I felt it.
That pull.
That unmistakable presence.
I looked up.
Adrian Goodwill stood across the room.
Impeccably dressed in a black tuxedo, his posture rigid, controlled—until his eyes met mine.
The world seemed to stall.
His gaze flicked over me slowly.
Not professionally.
Not indifferently.
But hungrily.
Ashley stood beside him, clinging to his arm, smiling proudly—until she noticed where he was looking.
Her smile cracked.
Adrian didn't hear the conversation around him anymore.
Didn't see the donors approaching.
All he saw—
Was me.
On Chris Blackwood's arm.
---
ADRIAN'S POV
It wasn't just shock.
It was realization.
Chris wasn't teasing. He wasn't probing.
He had already stepped into the game.
And Kiss—
She wasn't following.
She had chosen.
My chest tightened violently.
She looked… breathtaking.
Not the restrained elegance of an employee.
But the effortless confidence and pride of a woman who knew her worth.
Chris leaned closer to her, murmured something.
She laughed softly.
Something inside me snapped.
"This is what he meant," Isaac muttered beside me.
I didn't respond.
Because for the first time—
I wasn't the one controlling the board.
If I wanted Kiss safe… If I wanted her near… If I wanted any chance of pulling her back from Chris Blackwood's orbit—
I would have to play.
And I hated that Chris had forced my hand.
But one thing was clear as I watched her walk deeper into the crowd, radiant and unaware—
The game had changed.
And I was no longer the only one holding power.