Chapter 75 – The Contract Betrayed
For a few seconds after the kiss, the world didn't exist.
No board.
No cameras.
No contract.
Just breath.
Just heat.
Just the dangerous, dizzying reality of Alex's forehead resting against hers like it belonged there.
Amber could still feel his hand in her hair.
Still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers.
Still feel her pulse hammering like she'd just run a marathon barefoot through fire.
This was a mistake.
A massive, catastrophic, irreversible mistake.
So why did it feel like relief?
Her fingers were still gripping his shirt.
She hadn't let go.
Neither had he.
And that terrified her more than the kiss itself.
They stayed like that—too close, too tangled—breathing the same air.
If either of them spoke too loudly, the spell would break.
If either of them thought too hard, reality would come crashing back.
Alex spoke first.
Quiet.
Controlled.
But rougher than usual.
"Are you okay?"
Amber almost laughed.
Are you okay?
Like they hadn't just detonated a bomb between them.
"No," she admitted.
"Regret?"
She opened her mouth.
Paused.
Closed it again.
Because regret wasn't the right word.
Fear?
Yes.
Panic?
Absolutely.
But regret?
"No," she said softly.
And that was the most dangerous answer of all.
His grip tightened slightly at her waist.
Not possessive.
Not demanding.
Just… grounding.
Like he needed to confirm she was still there.
Still real.
Still choosing to stay.
"We crossed a line," she whispered.
"Yes."
"We weren't supposed to."
"I know."
"This complicates everything."
"Yes."
"You're being very calm about this."
"I'm not calm," he said.
She looked up.
Oh.
He wasn't.
His composure—the polished CEO mask—was gone.
His eyes were darker. Warmer. Unsteady in a way she'd never seen before.
He looked wrecked.
Like she'd shaken something loose inside him.
And God help her—
She liked that she could.
"That kiss," he said quietly, "wasn't strategy."
"I figured."
"It wasn't impulse either."
Her breath caught.
"It wasn't?" she asked.
"No."
"Then what was it?"
His gaze held hers steadily.
"Choice."
Her heart stuttered.
Choice.
Not accident.
Not heat of the moment.
Not weakness.
He had chosen her.
Deliberately.
That realization hit harder than any physical touch.
"Alex…" she started, but her voice failed.
He brushed his thumb lightly against her jaw, grounding her again.
"If this scares you, we stop," he said. "Now. No pressure. No expectations."
She searched his face for manipulation.
For control.
For strategy.
Found none.
Just honesty.
Raw and unguarded.
And that was exactly why it was terrifying.
Because if he were playing games, she could defend herself.
But this?
This sincerity?
This was lethal.
"I don't want to stop," she whispered.
The admission tasted like surrender.
Something in him softened completely.
Then reality crashed back in.
Amber pulled away first this time.
Just a step.
But it felt like miles.
Her hand came up to her lips unconsciously, like she could still feel him there.
"We broke the contract," she said, pacing now. "There's literally a clause about emotional involvement."
"I remember drafting it," he said dryly.
"This is exactly what we said wouldn't happen."
"Yes."
"And now it's happening."
"Yes."
"Stop agreeing with me!"
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "Would you prefer denial?"
"I'd prefer time travel."
She dragged a hand through her hair, pacing faster.
"This is bad. This is really bad. Feelings ruin negotiations. They ruin power balance. They ruin clarity—"
"They make things honest," he said.
She stopped walking.
"No," she said quietly. "They make things fragile."
Their eyes met.
"Amber," he said, "this was never just business for me."
Her stomach dropped.
"What?"
"I tried to make it that," he continued. "It was safer. Cleaner. Controlled."
"And now?"
"I stopped lying to myself."
The room felt too small suddenly.
Too full.
Too intimate.
"Don't say things like that," she murmured.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know how to fight them."
"I'm not your opponent."
"That's the problem," she said.
Silence stretched between them again.
Thicker this time.
Not awkward.
Just heavy with everything unsaid.
Finally, Amber exhaled slowly.
"So what now?"
"Now," Alex said calmly, "we decide whether the contract still matters."
Her chest tightened.
Because that piece of paper had been their shield.
Their excuse.
Their safe distance.
Without it—
There was nothing protecting them from each other.
"If we pretend this didn't happen," she said, "we'll just end up back here again."
"Yes."
"And if we don't pretend?"
"Then we deal with what this actually is."
Her heart pounded.
"And what is it?"
He didn't hesitate.
"You."
Two syllables.
Soft.
Certain.
Deadly.
She looked away first, because if she kept staring at him like that, she might do something reckless again.
Like kiss him.
Or worse—
Trust him.
"We're idiots," she muttered.
"Probably."
"Professionally disastrous idiots."
"Most likely."
She huffed a breath that almost sounded like laughter.
Then quieter—
"Don't treat me differently tomorrow."
"I won't."
"Don't get weird."
"I don't get weird."
"You absolutely get weird."
"I'll try not to."
There it was again.
I'll try.
Why did those two words wreck her every time?
She grabbed a glass of water just to have something to hold.
"So," she said, avoiding his eyes, "we just… continue?"
"Yes."
"As if nothing changed?"
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
But close enough to make her pulse spike again.
"Everything changed," he said softly. "We're just not running from it."
Her throat tightened.
She nodded once.
Because running suddenly felt harder than staying.
And that scared her more than anything.
Later that night, when she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sleep nowhere near her—
Her lips still tingled.
Her chest still felt too full.
And one terrifying thought kept repeating itself.
Not we shouldn't have kissed.
Not this was a mistake.
But—
I want to do it again.
And that?
That was the real betrayal.
Not of the contract.
But of every wall she'd built for years.
Because Alexander Wilson hadn't forced his way in.
She had opened the door herself.
Chapter 75 – The Contract Betrayed
For a few seconds after the kiss, the world didn't exist.
No board.
No cameras.
No contract.
Just breath.
Just heat.
Just the dangerous, dizzying reality of Alex's forehead resting against hers like it belonged there.
Amber could still feel his hand in her hair.
Still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers.
Still feel her pulse hammering like she'd just run a marathon barefoot through fire.
This was a mistake.
A massive, catastrophic, irreversible mistake.
So why did it feel like relief?
Her fingers were still gripping his shirt.
She hadn't let go.
Neither had he.
And that terrified her more than the kiss itself.
They stayed like that—too close, too tangled—breathing the same air.
If either of them spoke too loudly, the spell would break.
If either of them thought too hard, reality would come crashing back.
Alex spoke first.
Quiet.
Controlled.
But rougher than usual.
"Are you okay?"
Amber almost laughed.
Are you okay?
Like they hadn't just detonated a bomb between them.
"No," she admitted.
"Regret?"
She opened her mouth.
Paused.
Closed it again.
Because regret wasn't the right word.
Fear?
Yes.
Panic?
Absolutely.
But regret?
"No," she said softly.
And that was the most dangerous answer of all.
His grip tightened slightly at her waist.
Not possessive.
Not demanding.
Just… grounding.
Like he needed to confirm she was still there.
Still real.
Still choosing to stay.
"We crossed a line," she whispered.
"Yes."
"We weren't supposed to."
"I know."
"This complicates everything."
"Yes."
"You're being very calm about this."
"I'm not calm," he said.
She looked up.
Oh.
He wasn't.
His composure—the polished CEO mask—was gone.
His eyes were darker. Warmer. Unsteady in a way she'd never seen before.
He looked wrecked.
Like she'd shaken something loose inside him.
And God help her—
She liked that she could.
"That kiss," he said quietly, "wasn't strategy."
"I figured."
"It wasn't impulse either."
Her breath caught.
"It wasn't?" she asked.
"No."
"Then what was it?"
His gaze held hers steadily.
"Choice."
Her heart stuttered.
Choice.
Not accident.
Not heat of the moment.
Not weakness.
He had chosen her.
Deliberately.
That realization hit harder than any physical touch.
"Alex…" she started, but her voice failed.
He brushed his thumb lightly against her jaw, grounding her again.
"If this scares you, we stop," he said. "Now. No pressure. No expectations."
She searched his face for manipulation.
For control.
For strategy.
Found none.
Just honesty.
Raw and unguarded.
And that was exactly why it was terrifying.
Because if he were playing games, she could defend herself.
But this?
This sincerity?
This was lethal.
"I don't want to stop," she whispered.
The admission tasted like surrender.
Something in him softened completely.
Then reality crashed back in.
Amber pulled away first this time.
Just a step.
But it felt like miles.
Her hand came up to her lips unconsciously, like she could still feel him there.
"We broke the contract," she said, pacing now. "There's literally a clause about emotional involvement."
"I remember drafting it," he said dryly.
"This is exactly what we said wouldn't happen."
"Yes."
"And now it's happening."
"Yes."
"Stop agreeing with me!"
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "Would you prefer denial?"
"I'd prefer time travel."
She dragged a hand through her hair, pacing faster.
"This is bad. This is really bad. Feelings ruin negotiations. They ruin power balance. They ruin clarity—"
"They make things honest," he said.
She stopped walking.
"No," she said quietly. "They make things fragile."
Their eyes met.
"Amber," he said, "this was never just business for me."
Her stomach dropped.
"What?"
"I tried to make it that," he continued. "It was safer. Cleaner. Controlled."
"And now?"
"I stopped lying to myself."
The room felt too small suddenly.
Too full.
Too intimate.
"Don't say things like that," she murmured.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know how to fight them."
"I'm not your opponent."
"That's the problem," she said.
Silence stretched between them again.
Thicker this time.
Not awkward.
Just heavy with everything unsaid.
Finally, Amber exhaled slowly.
"So what now?"
"Now," Alex said calmly, "we decide whether the contract still matters."
Her chest tightened.
Because that piece of paper had been their shield.
Their excuse.
Their safe distance.
Without it—
There was nothing protecting them from each other.
"If we pretend this didn't happen," she said, "we'll just end up back here again."
"Yes."
"And if we don't pretend?"
"Then we deal with what this actually is."
Her heart pounded.
"And what is it?"
He didn't hesitate.
"You."
Two syllables.
Soft.
Certain.
Deadly.
She looked away first, because if she kept staring at him like that, she might do something reckless again.
Like kiss him.
Or worse—
Trust him.
"We're idiots," she muttered.
"Probably."
"Professionally disastrous idiots."
"Most likely."
She huffed a breath that almost sounded like laughter.
Then quieter—
"Don't treat me differently tomorrow."
"I won't."
"Don't get weird."
"I don't get weird."
"You absolutely get weird."
"I'll try not to."
There it was again.
I'll try.
Why did those two words wreck her every time?
She grabbed a glass of water just to have something to hold.
"So," she said, avoiding his eyes, "we just… continue?"
"Yes."
"As if nothing changed?"
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
But close enough to make her pulse spike again.
"Everything changed," he said softly. "We're just not running from it."
Her throat tightened.
She nodded once.
Because running suddenly felt harder than staying.
And that scared her more than anything.
Later that night, when she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sleep nowhere near her—
Her lips still tingled.
Her chest still felt too full.
And one terrifying thought kept repeating itself.
Not we shouldn't have kissed.
Not this was a mistake.
But—
I want to do it again.
And that?
That was the real betrayal.
Not of the contract.
But of every wall she'd built for years.
Because Alexander Wilson hadn't forced his way in.
She had opened the door herself.