The ballroom's glittering chatter swelled around them as Alex guided Lily toward a circle of investors. They were older men in immaculate suits, with silver cufflinks and champagne glasses balanced like props in their hands. Their wives, draped in silks and diamonds, hovered nearby, looking effortlessly bored.
Lily swallowed hard. Oh no. Here comes the shark tank.
"Alexander," one of the investors greeted warmly, clasping Alex's hand. "Always punctual. That's why I trust your numbers more than anyone else's."
"Mr. Dawson," Alex replied with his usual sharp professionalism. His voice cut clean through the crowd, steady and confident. "A pleasure."
They slipped into conversation about quarterly projections, acquisitions, and land values. Lily tried to shrink into the background, clutching her clutch like a shield.
She was just starting to relax when it happened.
"Ah, and this must be your assistant," another investor said, turning to her. "What's your name, young lady?"
Lily froze like a deer in headlights.
"Lily Carter," she managed, voice squeaky.
The man smiled indulgently, clearly not expecting much. "Well, Miss Carter, since you work so closely with Knight, what's your take on the market shift in renewable investments?"
Her brain blanked. Renewable investments? She had heard those words. Separately. Maybe even in the same sentence once. But together? With all these eyes on her?
Alex didn't move. He didn't step in. He simply turned his head, eyes narrowing slightly, waiting.
He's not going to save me. He's testing me.
Her palms dampened. She forced herself to breathe.
"Well…" she began, fumbling for words. "Renewables are like… like the underdog in a boxing match. Everyone knows they've got potential, but people are hesitant to bet on them because they're not proven heavyweights yet. But underdogs surprise you. They adapt. And with enough backing, they can change the whole fight."
Silence.
Lily's stomach dropped. Oh God. I just compared the global energy market to Rocky Balboa.
Then Mr. Dawson chuckled. "That's… actually a fair way of putting it."
Another investor nodded. "Simple, but accurate. And people remember analogies better than graphs."
Lily blinked, shocked. They weren't laughing at her. They were… nodding. Listening.
Her confidence sparked. "Exactly. And while the big guys—coal, oil, gas—have been hogging the ring for decades, renewables are nimble. Solar and wind can slip in where traditional energy can't. If you back them now, you're not just investing in energy—you're investing in resilience."
The investors exchanged impressed looks. One even muttered, "Knight always brings sharp people to his side."
Lily felt heat creep up her neck. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to faint—all at once.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Alex. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze lingered on her a fraction too long.
The conversation flowed back to contracts and figures, but something had shifted.
Lily wasn't just "Knight's assistant" anymore. She was Knight's secret weapon.
___________________________________
When the investors finally drifted away, Lily collapsed into a chair at the edge of the ballroom, fanning herself with her clutch. "Did I just… not ruin everything? Did that actually happen?"
Melissa would have squealed. Her brother Ethan—if she still had him—would have teased her relentlessly. But here she was, alone, staring at the chandeliers like they might answer her.
Then Alex appeared, tall and composed, his shadow falling over her.
"You held their attention," he said quietly.
Lily blinked up at him. "That's it? No criticism? No 'you could've said X, Y, Z instead'? Just… I held their attention?"
He studied her, expression as cool as ever. "You did better than expected."
Lily scoffed. "Wow. Engrave it on a trophy. 'Better than expected.'"
For the briefest moment, the corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smirk. Then he looked away, as though catching himself.
And Lily realized something.
He wasn't dismissing her. Not this time.
He was impressed.
__________________________
The ballroom buzzed with the hum of conversation, music swelling from the live string quartet tucked near the stage. Champagne flowed, laughter sparkled, and everywhere Lily turned, people seemed larger than life—polished, powerful, perfect.
And then there was her.
She slipped away from the crowd, heels clicking softly against marble until she reached a side balcony. The glass doors closed behind her with a muffled hush, muting the noise of the gala.
Cool night air washed over her, carrying the faint scent of roses from the manicured garden below. She leaned against the railing, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly.
"Okay, Carter," she whispered to herself. "You survived. No tripping, no spilling, no vomiting on investors. And you somehow convinced people renewable energy is Rocky Balboa. That's a win."
Her chest loosened slightly, though her nerves still buzzed.
"Talking to yourself again."
She startled, spinning around. Alex stood in the doorway, tuxedo sharp, posture impeccable, hands tucked into his pockets. The city lights behind him framed him like a painting—every inch the untouchable CEO.
Lily's pulse jumped. "You have got to stop sneaking up on me. One of these days I'm going to fall off a balcony, and it's going to be your fault."
He stepped closer, the glass door whispering shut behind him. "If you fall, that will be your fault, not mine."
"Wow," she muttered, turning back to the view. "You're a real comfort, you know that?"
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the muted music inside. She felt him come closer, his presence sharp and grounding at once.
"You did well tonight," he said finally.
Her head snapped toward him. "Wait. Did you just—compliment me? Twice in one night? Someone check the sky, I think pigs are flying."
A faint crease formed at the edge of his mouth, the closest thing to amusement. "Don't get used to it."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "You really are allergic to saying nice things, aren't you?"
"I don't believe in unnecessary words," he replied simply.
"Right. Because telling someone they did a good job is unnecessary. Totally makes sense."
Her sarcasm didn't faze him. His gaze was fixed on the skyline now, distant, unreadable. Yet something in his shoulders looked less rigid than usual.
Lily studied him in the quiet. For once, she wasn't afraid of his silence. She let the moment stretch, her voice softer when she finally spoke.
"You make it look so easy, being in there," she murmured. "Like you belong in that world of glitter and power and… people who never trip over their heels." She glanced down at her dress, fiddling with the hem. "But me? I feel like I'm playing dress-up. Like any second someone's going to point and say, 'Who let her in?'"
His gaze shifted to her, sharp and unwavering.
"You held your own," he said, voice low. "Most people in there couldn't."
Her throat tightened. For a second, she forgot how to breathe. His words weren't dressed in flattery or sugar. They were blunt, stripped down. And maybe that's why they hit so hard—because Alexander Knight didn't waste words on lies.
"Wow," she whispered, half-laughing to cover the sudden rush in her chest. "That almost sounded… nice."
The air between them thickened, charged with something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like the world outside the balcony didn't exist. Just her, him, the glow of city lights, and the tension humming like a live wire.
Her heart raced. She swore he leaned imperceptibly closer, his gaze dipping briefly toward her lips—
And then, just as suddenly, he pulled back. The walls slammed back into place.
"One good night doesn't erase mistakes," he said flatly, stepping away. "Don't get complacent."
The moment shattered.
Lily blinked, the sting sharper than she expected. She forced a smile, masking the pang. "Right. Back to Ice King protocol. Wouldn't want to ruin your brand."
He didn't answer.
She turned back toward the city, gripping the railing tighter than she needed to. But inside, her thoughts tangled messily.
Because for the briefest heartbeat… she could have sworn Alexander Knight almost let her in.
____________________
The gala wound down with the lazy elegance of a fading waltz. Waiters collected empty glasses, the quartet played softer, and laughter grew subdued as the night wore thin.
Lily followed Alex through the ballroom, her heels aching, her clutch clutched tightly in her hand. She told herself she was fine, that she could handle it. But her mind kept replaying the balcony—his words, the near-crack in his armor, the moment that almost was.
She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the eyes watching her from across the room.
Sebastian Brooks.
He leaned casually against the marble column, a glass of wine in hand, his smile sharp as ever. His gaze tracked her and Alex as they crossed the floor. When Lily met his eyes for the briefest second, her chest tightened.
He raised his glass slightly in mock salute. A silent promise.
Lily quickly looked away, her steps faltering.
Alex noticed. "What?"
"Nothing," she said too quickly. "Just… tired."
His eyes narrowed but he didn't press.
Outside, the night air was cool, a relief after the heat of the ballroom. The car pulled up, and Alex held the door open. Lily slid in, her mind buzzing with too many thoughts—Sebastian's words, Alex's fleeting warmth, the gnawing sense that she was caught between forces far bigger than her.
By the time she reached her apartment, exhaustion dragged at her bones. She kicked off her heels, peeled out of the dress, and collapsed into bed.
But sleep was no escape.
The dream came again, sharper, more relentless.
The staircase stretched before her, shadows curling along the banister. Her father's voice echoed—"Lily!"—louder, clearer, desperate. She saw him fall, his body tumbling, the sound sickening.
At the top of the stairs, the faceless figure lingered. Closer now. Darker. Almost solid.
She woke with a strangled gasp, clutching her chest, sweat soaking her skin. Her father's last word still rang in her ears.
"Lily…"
She pressed her face into her hands, trembling. It wasn't just a nightmare. It couldn't be.
Somewhere across the city, Alex stood in his penthouse, staring out over Los Angeles. The skyline glittered, but he saw none of it.
On his desk lay the photograph of his university days—Elijah's grin, Katherine's smile, his own younger face. The ghosts of what once was.
He reached for his glass of scotch but stopped halfway, his hand tightening instead into a fist.
He told himself the past didn't matter. That he had buried it long ago.
But the shadows lingered. And no amount of power could erase them.
____________________
Lily sat in the dark, hugging her knees.
Alex stood in the light of the city, fists clenched.
Two different rooms. Two different battles.
Both haunted. Both unraveling.
And neither knowing how dangerously close their pasts already were.