Chapter 81 – Truth Unmasked
The corridor outside the ballroom felt like another world.
Too quiet.
Too still.
As if the noise, the cameras, the whispers had never existed.
Only them.
Only breathing.
Only the wreckage of everything they had just said.
Amber's back pressed lightly against the wall.
Alex stood too close.
Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through layers of silk and cotton.
Close enough that one step would erase every boundary they had ever drawn.
Her pulse wouldn't slow.
His words kept replaying.
Then break with me.
Not leave.
Not end this.
Break.
Together.
It was the most terrifying offer anyone had ever made her.
Because it meant falling.
And if she fell—
There would be no pretending this was just a contract anymore.
—
"Everyone saw that," she said softly.
Her voice didn't sound like hers.
Too fragile.
Too honest.
"I know," Alex replied.
"The media is going to tear us apart tomorrow."
"I know."
"You don't sound worried."
"I'm not."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Because for once," he said quietly, "we weren't lying."
Her heart skipped.
That scared her more than any scandal.
—
They stood there for a long moment.
Neither moving.
Neither running.
It would've been easier to go back inside.
Smile.
Fix it.
Return to the performance.
But something had shifted tonight.
Something irreversible.
And they both knew it.
"Amber," he said finally.
She looked up.
His composure was gone.
No CEO.
No president of Wilson Group.
No cold, untouchable man.
Just Alex.
Tired.
Guarded.
Human.
"I need to tell you something," he said.
Her throat tightened.
This was it.
The part she both wanted and dreaded.
"Okay," she whispered.
—
They didn't go back to the ballroom.
Didn't return to the event.
Alex simply took her hand—naturally this time, not for show—and led her outside.
Past the valet.
Past the noise.
Into the quiet night air.
The driver opened the car, but Alex shook his head.
"Walk," he said.
Amber blinked. "Walk?"
"I can't think in that building."
So they walked.
Down the empty street.
City lights stretching long shadows across the pavement.
Their shoulders brushed occasionally.
Neither of them pulled away.
It felt strangely intimate.
More intimate than any staged kiss or public embrace.
Because this wasn't performance.
This was just them.
—
"I was engaged once," he said.
No preamble.
No smooth transition.
Just truth.
She didn't interrupt.
Didn't joke.
Didn't deflect.
Just listened.
"Her name was Victoria," he continued. "You already know that part."
Amber nodded.
"She wasn't… a business decision. She wasn't arranged. I chose her."
Something sharp twisted in Amber's chest.
But she stayed quiet.
"She was loud. Stubborn. Annoying," he said faintly. "Nothing like me."
"That's hard to imagine," Amber murmured.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"Yeah. Everyone said she softened me."
He paused.
The smile disappeared.
"She got sick."
Amber stopped walking.
He didn't.
Not immediately.
Then he noticed and turned back.
His face had gone distant.
Like he was looking at a memory instead of her.
"Cancer," he said simply.
The word hit heavy.
Final.
"She didn't tell me at first. She said she didn't want me distracted from work."
His jaw tightened.
"I was in three countries that year. Expanding the company. Closing deals. Building an empire."
His laugh was bitter.
"And she was in a hospital."
Amber's chest hurt.
She stepped closer.
But didn't touch him.
Not yet.
"By the time I found out… it was already stage four."
Silence swallowed the street.
"She apologized to me," he said quietly. "For being a burden."
Amber's hands curled into fists.
"She thought she was ruining my life."
His voice cracked slightly.
First time she'd ever heard it.
"And I wasn't there enough to convince her otherwise."
The guilt in his eyes was unbearable.
"I kept thinking if I worked harder, faster, built more… I could fix it. Buy time. Buy treatment. Buy miracles."
"But you can't buy life," Amber whispered.
"No," he said. "You can't."
A long breath left him.
"She died two weeks before our wedding."
The words sliced through her.
Clean.
Merciless.
Now she understood.
Not jealousy.
Not unfinished love.
Grief.
Frozen grief.
"I was in a board meeting," he added quietly. "When the hospital called."
Amber couldn't breathe.
"She died alone."
That broke something inside her.
Without thinking—
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Tight.
Fierce.
Like she was trying to hold him together.
For a second he stiffened.
Like he didn't know what to do.
Then—
Slowly—
His arms came around her.
Careful.
Like she might disappear.
Like he was afraid to hold too tight.
She felt it then.
The trembling.
So slight.
But real.
Alex Wilson—
The man who terrified investors and crushed competitors—
Was shaking.
"I promised myself after that," he whispered into her hair, "I would never love someone enough to lose them again."
Her heart shattered quietly.
"So I stopped," he continued. "Stopped feeling. Stopped hoping. Stopped needing anyone."
"And then I met you."
He pulled back just enough to look at her.
His eyes weren't cold anymore.
They weren't controlled.
They were wrecked.
"You're the first person who's made me forget that promise," he said.
Her lips parted.
"I didn't want that," he admitted. "Didn't want to need you. Didn't want you to matter."
"But you do."
Not a question.
A confession.
"You matter too much," he said.
Her eyes burned.
All this time…
She thought she was competing with a ghost.
When really—
He'd been running from one.
"You idiot," she whispered softly.
He blinked. "What?"
"You thought loving someone means losing them."
"It does."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "Loving someone means choosing them. Even knowing you could lose them."
He stared at her.
Like she'd said something impossible.
"Life doesn't come with guarantees, Alex," she continued. "You don't protect people by not loving them. You just end up alone."
The word hung between them.
Alone.
That was exactly what both of them had been.
For years.
Even standing next to each other.
—
She reached up.
Touched his face gently.
"You're not replacing her," she said softly. "And I'm not competing with her."
His breath hitched.
"She was your past."
Her hand slid down to his chest.
Over his heart.
"I'm your present."
Silence.
Then—
"So don't push me away because you're scared," she whispered. "I'm scared too."
Their foreheads touched.
Breathing the same air.
Same fear.
Same want.
And for the first time—
Neither of them pretended otherwise.