The awards ceremony continued.
Aurora settled back into her seat at table twelve, crystal trophy gleaming beside her champagne glass. On stage, some tech industry veteran whose name she'd already forgotten was droning on about the future of artificial intelligence.
She tuned him out.
Ricky leaned closer, voice low enough that only she could hear over the speech. "So. Thursday."
"Thursday," Aurora confirmed.
"Dinner with Liam Ashford." Ricky's tone was carefully neutral. Too neutral. "Bold move."
"Strategic move," she corrected.
"Is there a difference anymore?"
Aurora glanced at him. Ricky's expression was unreadable—professionally pleasant, the mask he wore in public. But she'd known him for nine years. Long enough to see the tension in his jaw.
"There's always a difference," Aurora said quietly. "This is work."
"Right. Work." Ricky took a sip of champagne. "Because nothing says 'professional rivalry' like accepting dinner invitations on terraces."
"Are you jealous?"
"I'm practical." He set down his glass. "But since we're being practical, let's talk about what happens Thursday."
Aurora pulled out her phone, angled it so only Ricky could see the screen. Typed: Recording device. Just as we discussed.
Ricky's eyes flicked to the message. Nodded once.
She deleted it. Typed again: Gray Ashford's son. Need him comfortable. Talking.
Ricky's expression darkened at the name Gray Ashford.
Aurora had known this would strike a nerve. Ricky's father had been a brilliant programmer—had developed a revolutionary algorithm for data processing fifteen years ago. Had taken it to Gray Ashford for potential partnership.
Gray had smiled. Shook his hand. Said he'd think about it.
Three months later, Ashford Technologies launched a nearly identical system. Ricky's father tried to fight it. Lawyers. NDAs. Legal threats that buried him under paperwork and debt.
His career never recovered. The man who'd taught Ricky to code spent his last years bitter and broken, watching the Ashfords profit off his stolen work.
Ricky had been twenty when his father died.
He'd carried that rage for fourteen years.
"Good," Ricky said finally, voice hard. "Make him comfortable. Make him trust you. Then we take everything."
"That's the plan."
"And if he actually—" Ricky stopped. Started again. "What if he falls for it? For you?"
"Then it works faster."
"And if you fall for him?"
Aurora's head snapped toward Ricky. "That won't happen."
"You sure about that?" Ricky's eyes cut across the ballroom.
Aurora followed his gaze.
Liam sat at table three, not quite listening to his board members' conversation. His attention kept drifting toward table twelve. Toward her.
Their eyes met across the room.
Liam's expression shifted—something warm, almost hopeful. He raised his glass slightly. A private toast.
Aurora held his gaze for three seconds. Didn't smile. Didn't acknowledge.
Then she looked away.
"See?" Ricky murmured. "He's already hooked."
"That's not the same as me being hooked."
"Isn't it though?" Ricky shifted in his seat, angling toward her. "You've been tracking him for years. Memorizing his schedule. Watching his interviews. You know what coffee he drinks, what gym he goes to, what time he leaves his office."
"Know your enemy."
"Or obsess over him." Ricky's voice dropped lower. "There's a fine line, Rora."
Aurora's fingers tightened on her champagne glass. "I'm not obsessed. I'm thorough."
"You're something." Ricky studied her face. Then his expression gentled. Shifted into something that almost looked like resignation. "You know what? Forget I said anything. You're doing great. You're brilliant. You're—" He paused, seemed to choose his words carefully. "You're the full package, actually. Beautiful, successful, intelligent, and you have a great sense of humor. Dark sense of humor, sure, but I appreciate that about you."
Aurora blinked. "Where is this going?"
"Nowhere. I'm just saying." Ricky leaned back, swirling his champagne. "You're the most admired woman in tech right now. Every CEO in this room would kill for five minutes of your time. I'm just sitting here thinking—" Another pause. "—maybe I should upgrade my status from best friend to husband before someone else gets the idea."
Aurora choked on her champagne. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me." Ricky's smile was dangerous. Playful. "Flirty Ricky wasn't on your bingo card today?"
"Absolutely not."
"Well. Surprise."
"Richard."
She used his full name deliberately. Let it land like a warning.
"What if I'm serious?"
Aurora set down her glass, turned fully toward him. Studied his face. The smile was still there, but something underneath it looked raw. Real.
"Please," she said carefully. "I've already fielded half a dozen flirty compliments tonight from men who want something from me. You'll have to get in line."
The smile didn't quite reach Ricky's eyes anymore. "Right. Of course. Put me in line with all the others."
"That's not what I meant—"
"Ms. Castillo?" A woman's voice interrupted. A tech journalist Aurora vaguely recognized from Wired was leaning toward their table. "Could I get a quick quote about your win?"
Aurora turned away from Ricky. Smiled professionally. "Of course."
Behind her, she heard Ricky mutter something under his breath. Couldn't quite catch it. Something about comparing him to other men.
But the journalist was already talking, and Aurora had a role to play.
By the time she finished the interview, Ricky's expression had smoothed back into professional neutrality. Whatever moment they'd been having was gone.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the MC's voice boomed from the stage. "For our closing remarks, we're honored to have Liam Ashford, CEO of Ashford Technologies."
Applause filled the ballroom.
Aurora watched Liam stand. Adjust his jacket. Run his hand through his hair—once, twice—before heading toward the stage.
There it is. The tell.
She'd seen him do that a thousand times when they were younger. When his father summoned him. When he was about to lie about something. When he was nervous.
He was nervous now.
Good.
Liam took the stage with practiced ease. Smiled at the crowd. Looked comfortable and confident despite the hair-touching tell that said otherwise.
"Thank you all for being here tonight," he began. "This has been an incredible evening celebrating innovation and excellence in our industry."
His eyes found Aurora's across the ballroom.
"I want to take a moment to personally congratulate Aurora Castillo and Rora AI." He gestured toward her table. "The Turing Excellence Award has been in my family for twenty-five years. And while I'd be lying if I said losing doesn't sting—"
Polite laughter rippled through the crowd.
"—I'm genuinely impressed by what she's built. Competition makes us all better. Innovation thrives when we're challenged. And I'm looking forward to seeing what comes next."
Aurora kept her expression neutral. Professional.
But inside, she catalogued everything.
The way his jaw tightened when he said "twenty-five years." The slight tremor in his voice on "losing." The forced brightness when he said "looking forward."
He was bleeding. Just not visibly enough for anyone else to notice.
She'd been watching him too long not to see it.
And she'd been watching him for years. Not just since the rivalry heated up. Since before Rora AI even launched. Since the moment she decided to come back.
She'd tracked his interviews, his earnings calls, his public appearances. The rumors about a mayoral run had surfaced last quarter, just like his father had attempted before dying. Liam had dismissed them publicly, saying his passion was technology, not politics.
As if that made him different. As if choosing circuits over city council absolved him of being his father's son.
She also watched Ashford Technologies' growth trajectory under his leadership.
The numbers didn't lie. When Liam had taken over nine years ago, the company had been stagnating—coasting on his father's legacy, losing ground to hungrier competitors. Revenue flat. Innovation minimal. A slow decline masked by name recognition.
Then Liam stepped in. Revenue up eighteen percent year one. Twenty-two percent year two. Strategic partnerships. Talent acquisitions. Product innovation that actually pushed the industry forward.
He'd earned the respect he was showing tonight.
Which made what she was about to do so much more satisfying.
She wasn't destroying a lazy heir coasting on daddy's money. She was destroying someone who'd actually built something. Who'd worked for it.
Someone who deserved to lose it all.
Liam finished his speech to warm applause. Descended the stage. Returned to his table.
But not before glancing her way one more time.
"He's hooked," Ricky murmured.
"I know."
"Are you?"
Aurora didn't answer.
***
The ceremony ended twenty minutes later.
The ballroom shifted into mingling chaos. Investors clustering. Journalists chasing quotes. CEOs networking.
Aurora stood, smoothing her gown. "I need to—"
"Bathroom," Ricky finished. "Yeah. I figured."
"I'll be back."
She wove through the crowd toward the back hallway. Away from the cameras and the noise.
Ricky waited a beat. Then followed at a distance.
He wasn't following Aurora. He was watching someone else.
Liam Ashford had excused himself from his table. Headed in the same direction. Alone.
Ricky kept his distance. Professional. Casual. Just another guest navigating the crowd.
Liam pushed through the bathroom door.
Ricky slowed. Positioned himself near the hallway, just out of sight.
Through the partially open door, he could see Liam's reflection in the mirror.
Liam stood at the sink. Gripped the edge like he needed it to stay upright. His perfect composure cracked completely now that he thought he was alone.
Exhausted. Haunted.
He reached into his jacket pocket. Pulled out a small pill bottle.
Ricky's eyes narrowed.
Liam stared at the bottle for a long moment. Like he was debating. Like he hated needing it.
Then he shook out a pill. Swallowed it dry. Put the bottle back.
Ran both hands through his hair. Took a breath. Put the mask back on.
Ricky stepped away from the door before Liam could see him.
Pills. Secretive behavior. The way he hesitated before taking it.
Ricky's mind spun through possibilities.
Substance abuse. Rich kid coping with pressure through chemical assistance. It would explain the exhaustion. The nervousness. The way he couldn't quite hold it together.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Liam emerged from the bathroom a minute later. Composed again. Professional.
He didn't notice Ricky standing near the hallway entrance, watching.
***
Aurora and Ricky met near the coat check.
"Ready?" Ricky asked.
"Almost."
"Ms. Castillo."
Liam's voice. Again.
Aurora turned.
He stood a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. That earnest expression back in place.
"I just wanted to say—" He glanced at Ricky, then back to Aurora. "Thursday. Still works for you?"
"Still works," Aurora confirmed.
"Great. I'll text you details about the restaurant."
"I said I'd send you the address."
"I know. But I had a thought—there's this place, Le Cirque. Have you been?"
"I've heard of it."
"Would you be open to going there instead? My treat." He smiled. Almost shy. "I know you said somewhere casual, but—I'd like to do this properly."
He wants to impress me.
Aurora let the pause stretch. Watched him shift his weight. Nervous.
"All right," she said finally. "Le Cirque."
Relief flooded his face. "Perfect. Thursday. Seven."
"Thursday. Seven."
Liam nodded. Smiled. "Have a good night, Aurora."
He walked away.
Ricky waited until Liam was out of earshot. His jaw was tight. "Interesting."
"What?"
"He didn't even look at me. Not really." Ricky grabbed their coats from the check, movements sharp. "Glanced once. Like I was furniture."
Aurora frowned. "He was focused on confirming the dinner."
"He was focused on you. I was just—" Ricky shrugged. "Invisible. Guess that's what assistants are to people like him."
"Ricky—"
"It's fine." His voice was flat. Professional. "I'm used to it. Entitled rich kids don't see people like me. We're just background noise."
Aurora opened her mouth to argue, then stopped.
Because Ricky wasn't wrong.
Liam hadn't acknowledged him. Hadn't said goodnight. Hadn't even really looked at him beyond that initial glance—the kind of glance you'd give someone to assess whether they were a threat or irrelevant.
Liam had decided: irrelevant.
And moved on.
"By the way," Ricky said, changing the subject with deliberate sharpness. "Liam Ashford has a drug problem."
Aurora stopped. "What?"
"Saw him in the bathroom. Pills. Secretive about it. Hesitated before taking them like he knew they were illegal or something."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure I saw pills. I'm sure he was alone and acting like he didn't want anyone to know." Ricky handed Aurora her coat. "Could be prescriptions. Could be something else. Either way—it's leverage."
Aurora processed that. Liam Ashford. Pills. Secrets.
"Good work."
"That's what I'm here for." Ricky held the door open, his expression carefully blank. "After you."
They stepped out into the November night. Cold air sharp against Aurora's bare shoulders.
Behind them, the Plaza ballroom glittered with celebration and champagne and people who had no idea what was coming.
Aurora pulled out her phone. Looked at Liam's contact.
Thursday. Three days away.
Ricky appeared beside her, collar turned up against the November cold. "You good?"
"Perfect." She pocketed her phone. "Ready to work?"
"Always." But his eyes lingered on her face, searching for cracks in the mask.
There were none.
Not yet.