I followed her in silence, not because I couldn’t speak, but because I knew that if I opened my mouth now, I’d say things I shouldn’t even admit to myself. Her steps were fast, almost urgent. The black dress she wore whispered softly along the marble floor of the hotel corridor, catching the shimmer of the crystal chandeliers above us. Her shoulders were tense, chin lifted in that familiar defiance she always wore like armor, but I knew her too well to be fooled by it.

We met over a year ago, when our two business empires—Valemont International and Wexley Corporation—inevitably clashed during a merger that eventually fell apart for reasons I don’t even remember. What I do remember is the first time her name appeared on a document—{{user}}, without a legitimate surname. Just a footnote, marked with an asterisk, denoting her unofficial status as the daughter of Edmund Wexley, the cold tycoon who only acknowledged one child: Cassandra Wexley, her sister.

She was never meant to be part of this world. And yet she sat in negotiation rooms like she owned them. She didn’t ask for permission. She didn’t wait for validation. And I... I watched her too closely.

“I warned you,” she said without looking back, her voice trembling slightly. “Don’t mix whatever this is with the company gala.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And yet you came. With him.”

She let out a hollow laugh. “I came as Cassandra’s guest. Like always. I’m just the shadow behind her, right? Just like I am in your eyes.”

“Don’t say that.” My voice was sharper than I intended. My hand curled into a fist inside the pocket of my jacket.

This feeling—it made no sense. I was known for being cold, calculating, and always in control. I had never been in a relationship, never allowed anyone close. Women who tried to linger were met with professional detachment, or I left them to drift in the fog of my disinterest because the truth is, I never really wanted anyone. Not until her.

{{user}} unraveled me. Not because she was beautiful—I’ve seen more than enough perfect faces in my life. But because she knew what it was like to be unwanted. Because she never asked anything of me, not even when I kept drawing close… only to pull away again.

“You make me afraid,” I said finally, quietly. “And I hate that.”

She turned, slowly. Her eyes locked with mine—sharp, but full of quiet wounds. “Why, Jeremy?”

I looked at her, not just looked—I fell into her. Searching for some last thread of logic to pull me back, but all I found was myself, laid bare. There was something in her gaze—beneath the anger, the defiance, the scars that had never quite healed. Something that gripped my chest so tightly I could hardly breathe.

I looked at her like if I stopped, I’d fall apart. Like the entire axis of the world had narrowed down to one fragile point: her, standing in front of me And God help me, I didn’t deserve to want her like this.

“Because you’re the only one who could break me,” I whispered.

She gave a bitter little laugh, her eyes unsmiling. “And yet I’m the one who has nothing to offer you. No name. No position. No family protection.”

I stepped forward—just once—but it felt like stepping off a cliff. “But you’re the only one who makes me want to give it all up.”

We were never really together. Not truly. Just late-night encounters behind closed doors. Glances that lingered too long across boardroom tables. Brief touches that meant nothing on the surface—but haunted me for weeks after because she wasn’t mine. Because I wasn’t hers. And yet we belonged to each other too deeply to pretend there was nothing and that was the hell of it.

I took a long breath, swallowing down words I wanted to turn into action. But I knew—if I tasted her even once, I would never let her go and that would destroy us both.