The house was too quiet.
Not tense.
Not cold.
Just… aware.
After their fight, something had shifted.
Not broken.
Shifted.
Amelia stood on the balcony outside their bedroom, the night wind brushing against her skin. The city lights stretched endlessly below, glittering like secrets.
Behind her, the glass door slid open.
She didn't turn.
"I thought you had another late call," she said softly.
"I canceled it."
That made her glance back.
Alexander Knight did not cancel calls.
He stepped onto the balcony, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed — but his eyes were focused entirely on her.
"You shouldn't have," she said.
"I wanted to."
Simple.
Direct.
Dangerous.
She looked away again.
The silence between them no longer felt like a wall.
It felt like something fragile forming.
"Did you find anything?" she asked.
"Yes."
Her breath hitched.
"There was internal manipulation. The accusation was planted. It will collapse by tomorrow."
Relief flooded her chest.
"And Sophia?"
"She won't try that again."
The calm certainty in his voice told her everything.
She studied him.
"You're terrifying when you're quiet."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"I've been told."
"But you weren't quiet yesterday," she said carefully.
His gaze softened slightly.
"No."
They stood side by side now, city wind surrounding them.
"I didn't know you were doing all that," she admitted. "The investigators. The accounts."
"I don't broadcast my moves."
"You could've told me."
He turned fully toward her.
"I don't let people close enough to require explanations."
Her heartbeat quickened.
"And now?"
His eyes held hers.
Now.
The word lingered in the air like a challenge.
"You're under my protection," he said quietly.
"That's not what I asked."
The wind picked up slightly, lifting her hair. Without thinking, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear.
The touch was gentle.
Unnecessary.
Intentional.
Her breath caught.
"You're not just under contract anymore," he said, voice low.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
"Then what am I?"
The question was soft.
Bare.
His fingers lingered at her jawline.
"You're the only person who's ever stood in front of me and demanded I feel something."
Her throat tightened.
"I didn't demand—"
"You did," he interrupted gently. "You wanted proof that I care."
She whispered, "Do you?"
His jaw flexed.
This was dangerous territory.
For both of them.
"Yes."
The word was quiet.
But absolute.
Her eyes shimmered slightly.
"Why?"
That question was the real one.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she could feel his warmth through the thin fabric of her dress.
"Because when they attacked you," he said slowly, "I wasn't thinking about business."
Her heart slammed.
"I was thinking about who I'd destroy first."
Her breath faltered.
"And that scared me."
Silence.
Heavy.
Honest.
She looked up at him.
"You scare me too."
His brow furrowed slightly.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know where this ends."
His hand slid from her jaw to her waist.
Slowly.
As if giving her time to pull away.
She didn't.
"It was supposed to end in one year," she whispered.
"Yes."
"And now?"
His thumb pressed lightly against her side.
"Now I don't like the idea of an end."
Her heart stopped.
That was it.
That was the moment.
The line between contract and confession.
"If this becomes real," she said shakily, "it won't be controlled. It won't be strategic."
"I know."
"And you hate losing control."
He leaned closer.
"Only when it costs me something."
"And this?"
His forehead nearly touched hers.
"This already does."
Her fingers slowly gripped his shirt.
She felt it.
The truth hovering between them.
Unspoken.
One word away.
"I think I—"
A phone vibrated inside the bedroom.
The sound shattered the moment.
They both froze.
Reality rushed back in.
Alexander closed his eyes briefly.
Then stepped away.
The space between them returned.
Too fast.
Too cold.
He cleared his throat and walked inside, answering the call.
His voice returned to its composed, controlled tone.
"Yes. Confirm it. I want a statement released by morning."
Amelia stayed on the balcony.
Her hand still trembled slightly.
I think I—
She had almost said it.
And he had almost let her.
But neither of them had crossed that final line.
Not yet.
He returned minutes later.
"It's done," he said.
"The accusation?"
"Destroyed."
She nodded.
"That's good."
Silence lingered again.
But this time it felt unfinished.
He walked toward her slowly.
Stopped just in front of her.
"I meant what I said."
"Which part?"
"All of it."
Her heart fluttered again.
"And if this continues?" she asked softly.
"It will."
No hesitation.
No calculation.
Just certainty.
She looked into his eyes.
And for the first time—
She didn't see the billionaire.
She saw the man who had chosen to fight for her.
"I don't want this to be temporary," she admitted.
His breath stilled.
"Neither do I."
There it was.
Not a confession.
But not denial.
Something stronger.
Something inevitable.
He lifted her hand and pressed a slow kiss to her knuckles.
Not possessive.
Not public.
Personal.
"Sleep," he said quietly.
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," he replied, eyes dark and certain, "we stop pretending."
He walked back inside.
Leaving her heart racing.
Leaving the contract… hanging by a thread.