"You're kidding, right, Mr. Rockefeller? Life's like tasting wine—some vintages are meant to savor once and never again. I'm perfectly content with the one I have now." Aurora raised her glass, lips curved in a polite smile, though a glint of frost shimmered behind her calm eyes.

The words struck like a blade wrapped in silk. Grayson's expression hardened; his gaze slid away, and his elegant fingers tightened around his tumbler before he tossed back the liquor in one harsh swallow. That distant, formal "Mr. Rockefeller" cut deeper than any insult—just as it had the day she'd walked out five years ago with half a million dollars and not a backward glance.

A brittle tension settled over the table, chilling the air.

Marc faltered mid-smile as he noticed both Grayson and Leland wearing dark expressions.

"Since you've made it all the way here, Aurora, why not join us for a meal and chat for a little?" Marc gently steered Aurora toward the seat beside Grayson. "It's just a simple dinner, a friendly chat. If your fiancé won't even allow that, how will you manage working at a TV station? Come on, fill your glass and share a drink with Mr. Rockefeller."

While speaking, Marc poured her a brimming glass of strong liquor.

Her fingers trembling faintly, Aurora lifted the glass, her movement stiff. "Mr. Rockefeller, may I share a drink with you?"

Grayson's eyes flickered. He took the glass from her hand and downed it in a single swallow.

A crease formed between Aurora's brows as their fingertips brushed—just a fleeting touch, yet it tugged at a buried chord. Old memories slipped through the cracks—echoes of a love that had ended five years ago.

She remembered the girl she'd been back then: competing in academic contests, skipping meals to chase research deadlines, pushing herself until she landed in the hospital with stomach pain. Grayson had taken it upon himself to oversee her meals ever since—making sure she ate on time, kept a balanced diet, and steering her away from spicy food and alcohol. Just now, despite their breakup years back, he'd downed her glass of liquor to keep her away from alcohol.

Aurora's eyes shifted to Grayson in quiet observation.

His long, sharply defined fingers wrapped around the wine glass, and though his face remained calm and austere, there was a dangerous allure beneath that polished surface—an undercurrent that drew people in like a forbidden bloom.

She pulled her gaze back, forcing composure, and poured herself a glass of red wine. "Mr. Rockefeller, I'll take care of this one myself," she said evenly.

Before the words had fully faded, she tipped the glass back and finished it in one steady motion.

Grayson's hand, poised to stop her, froze awkwardly midair.

Aurora acted as if she hadn't noticed. Getting entangled with Grayson again was the last thing she wanted, and accepting his concern would only feel like another debt she'd never repay. Whatever warmth she once held for him had been buried five years ago. No familiar gesture of his could soften the resolve she'd built since walking away.

She knew Grayson belonged to a world far above hers—a realm of power and privilege she could never touch. She was just a girl from a modest family, and she wouldn't repeat the naïve mistake she'd made five years ago, letting herself believe they could ever stand side by side.

As dinner dragged on, Lana and Leland settled into an easy rhythm, kissing and caressing each other like a couple long past the awkward stage.

The sight only sharpened Aurora's awareness of her own solitude. Staying any longer would make her look like an outsider clinging to a table that wasn't hers.

When Grayson stepped away to answer a call, Aurora seized the chance to slip out quietly. Marc didn't bother to stop her from leaving.

To Marc, as long as the sponsorship was landed, that was what mattered. He didn't care whether it was Aurora or Lana who secured it.

Cool evening air brushed Aurora's face as she stepped outside, relief barely settling before her phone buzzed. A single message flashed across the screen. "If you still want a year's worth of sponsorship, wait for me at the door."

The domineering tone was unmistakable. Anyone else's arrogance she could've brushed off as a wrong number. But this—this was Grayson, exactly as he'd been back then.

Summer had just settled over the city, wrapping the air in warmth that broke now and then into sudden downpours.

Aurora stepped back beneath the porch roof, sheltering from the sheets of rain that swept across the street. Raindrops splashed against her high heels, streaking down her sheer stockings, as echoes of her earlier exchange with Grayson replayed in her mind.

A sleek Maybach eased to a stop at the curb. The tinted window slid down, revealing a face cut sharp as marble—handsome, composed, and watching her with unreadable eyes. "Get in." The command was short, cool, unmistakably Grayson's.

Aurora frowned. Five years apart hadn't changed him—still the same man who expected obedience, never requests.

Aurora lifted her handbag over her head, intending to make a run for it, when the driver appeared, unfolding a black umbrella. Without a word, he strode toward her and held it aloft, guiding her through the rain toward the waiting car.

Grayson's gaze drifted toward Aurora, seated quietly beside him. His eyes lingered on the delicate curve of her legs, still glistening faintly from the rain, her heels damp and her sheer stockings clinging to her skin with a shimmer of pale warmth. Without a word, he reached for a towel and leaned forward, his movements steady as he began gently wiping the moisture away.

The sudden contact startled Aurora; her muscles tightened beneath his touch. Reclaiming the towel, she murmured a courteous "thank you," her tone smooth but distant, like a polite stranger.

That cool detachment struck harder than any accusation—proof that the closeness they once shared had turned to ash.

A shadow crossed Grayson's face. He leaned back against the seat, eyes fixed on the streams of rain blurring the glass, his fingers absently tightening into slow, rhythmic twists. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, controlled, and threaded with something unreadable. "Have you set the date for the wedding?"

Aurora hesitated before giving a faint shake of her head, signaling that no date had been set yet.

Outside, rain slicked the roads, and traffic crawled. The driver eased the car forward, wipers sweeping rhythmically as the city blurred past in streaks of gray.

A quiet settled over the car, broken only by the soft patter of raindrops. After a long pause, Grayson's low voice cut through the silence. "Is he good to you?"

Her breath hitched, expression briefly faltering before she answered, "He is."

"How good?" His tone was steady, but his gaze remained fixed on her.

Aurora's fingers tightened around the hem of her coat. "He treats me like I'm the most precious thing in his world," she said evenly. "His love is real—devoted and constant."

Grayson said nothing more. Every word she spoke about her fiancé echoed like a quiet reproach aimed straight at him. His hand, once idly twisting his fingers together, curled into a fist against his knee.

Neither spoke after that.

The hum of the engine filled the space between them until, at last, the rain tapered off.

Aurora turned her head toward the window, letting the blur of streetlights and passing buildings hold her attention rather than prying into Grayson's life. Five years had gone by, and he still occupied that lofty, untouchable world—so far removed from her modest existence, from a paycheck barely scraping fifty thousand a month.

The luxury car eventually rolled to a stop in front of the small two-bedroom apartment Aurora had bought with painstaking savings. She didn't bother asking how he'd found her address—or how he'd gotten her number. For someone like Grayson, such things were trivial.

Her hand reached for the car door handle when his voice broke through the quiet. "Why didn't you continue in IT? What made you switch to broadcasting?" He still remembered she'd graduated at the top of her class as an IT major.

Aurora's hand froze on the handle as she turned back to meet his eyes. "Mr. Rockefeller, I'm not the kind of person who clings to the past. Once IT failed me, I cut it loose and chose a path that truly fits who I am now."

Her tone carried a quiet sting that didn't escape him.

Just as she was about to step out, Grayson called her name—but no words followed.

She leaned down slightly, her reflection glinting in the dark glass, voice cool as frost. "You once told me it'd be best if we never crossed paths again, remember?"

Without waiting for an answer, she shut the door with finality and walked off, heels clicking against the pavement in steady defiance.

Grayson sat there watching her silhouette fade into the night, the tension draining from his clenched fist until it dropped uselessly to his side. She'd left with the same unshakable resolve as she had five years ago.

At five in the next morning, Aurora silenced her alarm and slipped out of bed, the faint predawn glow just beginning to brush the horizon. She laced up her running shoes and jogged along the quiet riverside.

By the time she returned home, the city was waking. After a quick shower, she dressed neatly and headed to the TV station, ready to anchor the eight o'clock financial segment.

When the broadcast wrapped, she made her way back to her desk—only to nearly collide with Lana.

Lana stood there holding a lavish bouquet of crimson roses, their fragrance filling the corridor.

"Morning, Aurora," Lana said brightly.

Aurora offered a polite nod, her eyes flicking to the flowers. "They're lovely."

Unbothered by the curious glances around them, Lana tilted her chin and smiled with smugness. "Leland sent them."

A ripple of scorn swept through their colleagues—meaningful smirks, exchanged looks. After meeting just last night, Lana and Leland were already making quite the statement this morning. Her eagerness to flaunt her new backer drew only cool, dismissive glances from the colleagues. To them, her public bragging looked foolish—almost reckless. Didn't she worry about tripping over her own smugness later?

Aurora merely offered a polite smile, uninterested in joining the spectacle. "That's nice," she responded lightly.

Lana tilted her chin, her voice crisp and edged with provocation. "Oh, come on, Aurora. My little bouquet can't compare to your reward." Her tone dripped with mock admiration as she raised her voice for everyone to hear. "You charmed Mr. Rockefeller last night, and he immediately sealed a two-year sponsorship contract for you."

She leaned in close, covering her mouth with one hand while deliberately speaking loud enough for the office to catch every word. "Mr. Rockefeller must be quite pleased with your performance last night, right?"

A faint crease deepened between Aurora's brows. "That's nonsense."

Lana's eyes glinted with amusement. "Oh, drop the act. Mr. Saunders confirmed the contract first thing this morning—the sponsor's none other than Mr. Rockefeller."

Aurora froze, the news sinking in before she could form a response. Then, Marc's voice rang out across the office. "Aurora, get ready—we're meeting Mr. Rockefeller in ten minutes."

Aurora paused, her expression darkening.

Lana crossed her arms with a smug little smirk. "Well?"

...

Aurora's head still felt clouded as she slid into Marc's car, the cityscape blurring past on their way to the tallest tower downtown.

Marc, cheerful as ever, strode up to the reception desk and announced with practiced ease, "We have an appointment with Mr. Rockefeller."

Aurora furrowed her brows slightly. Why would she and Marc be meeting Grayson here? Wasn't Grayson supposed to be in the Prosecutor's Office?

While he handled the formalities, Aurora drifted a few steps back, her gaze lifting to the gleaming AF Global Tech logo mounted high on the wall. The bold letters—AF—struck her like a spark from the past.

Those same initials had once been scribbled in pencil across a library notebook during her junior year, when she and Grayson used to whisper plans between stacks of textbooks—dreaming of launching a tech start-up together the moment they scraped together enough capital.

But three months later, Grayson had accepted a coveted position at the Odonrith Prosecutor's Office—and ended their relationship without hesitation.

She hadn't begged him to stay. She hadn't even let herself cry. Faced with the collapse of her dreams and the sting of betrayal, she had chosen quiet acceptance over despair.

Just then, the receptionist smiled at Marc and Aurora and said, "Our CEO is ready to meet you. His assistant will lead you to his office."

Walking into Grayson's office behind his assistant, Aurora carried that same composed calm with her.

By the window, Grayson stood mid-conversation on the phone, his voice low and fluent in a foreign tongue—the very language of the country where Aurora had once studied abroad.

Settling onto a sleek black leather sofa, Aurora took in her surroundings. The décor was understated yet refined—clean lines, cool hues, every detail reflecting Grayson's restrained sophistication.

Grayson wore a tailored dark gray suit, the fine wool catching the light as he moved, exuding effortless authority. When his gaze finally found Aurora, he paused for a heartbeat before ending the call.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he remarked smoothly, crossing the room to take a seat opposite Marc and Aurora, his composure as impeccable as ever.

Marc's grin stretched wide. "No worries, Mr. Rockefeller—we're more than happy to wait." A sponsorship worth fifty million was enough to justify waiting all day if needed.

Grayson casually rolled up his sleeves, his movements unhurried as he reached for the coffee pot. "Still taking it with milk, no sugar?" he inquired, his voice carrying a quiet, unforced ease.

Aurora didn't answer. Her gaze lingered on the carton of milk he had already picked up, the small, familiar gesture stirring something deep inside her. Hadn't he already decided for her?

Marc, oblivious to the charged silence, jumped in eagerly. "Anything's fine, really. We're not picky."

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint grassy scent of Grayson's cologne, a fragrance uniquely his.

The moment wrapped around Aurora like a memory—familiar, intoxicating. That subtle scent had once been her weakness, the quiet addiction she could never quite escape.

Grayson's long fingers offered Aurora the coffee with deliberate calm. Aurora accepted it with a polite nod, murmured a soft "thank you," and set the cup down untouched.

The small courtesy faded as they turned to business.

Before any contract could be signed, Grayson presented his stipulation. "My request is simple. I want your station to air reports during prime time for the next three nights, covering the recent Topspeed Lightning electric vehicle fire cases. Emphasize that the cause lies in underdeveloped technology—preferably with a compiled segment highlighting multiple incidents."

His voice was even, though his tone carried a glacial firmness.

Aurora, who had been closely following the latest in artificial intelligence and clean-tech, recognized Topspeed Lightning as one of the industry's frontrunners. Meeting his gaze through the faint gleam of his gold-rimmed glasses, she replied carefully, "Mr. Rockefeller, there's still no official verdict on whether those fires stem from immature technology. If our station airs such a claim now, it might be seen as manipulating public perception."

Grayson's left hand draped lazily over the armrest as his gaze locked on hers. "A two-year sponsorship in exchange for highlighting a few incidents—you can weigh which holds more weight."

Aurora's breath caught. She'd known AF Global Tech's launch was just three days away, but discovering Grayson was the CEO left her stunned. He hadn't changed—still the master strategist, calculating every move.

Her eyes chilled as she straightened in her seat. "Mr. Rockefeller, the financial channel isn't a pawn for you to build your empire on."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Grayson's mouth. "So, Miss Flynn, is that a refusal?"

In the stillness that followed, the office felt almost frozen.

Grayson sat rigidly on the sofa, his gaze locked on the seat where Aurora had just been, a shadow darkening his expression. The cup of coffee he'd carefully brewed for her sat untouched, the steam long gone. Her distant demeanor toward him had cut sharper than frost, leaving a chill clinging to the air.

Just then, Grayson's assistant returned to the office, lowering his voice. "Mr. Rockefeller, I have just seen Miss Flynn and Mr. Saunders off. Do we still need to follow up on the contract?"

Grayson's eyes lingered on the abandoned cup, a fleeting emotion flickering beneath his calm exterior. The moment passed, leaving only the glacial mask he wore so well. After a beat, his voice came low and restrained. "Leave it for now."

...

As the car eased into motion, Marc drummed his index finger against the console in front of Aurora, irritation sharpening his tone. "Aurora, what the hell is wrong with you? It's only some car fire reports—nothing worth stressing over. Why did you have to pick a fight with Mr. Rockefeller?"

Aurora's gaze fell to her shoes, voice quiet but firm. "When we report, we owe the truth to the public. We must stay fair and objective. What you consider trivial might be the downfall of a company, or even a family."

A flicker of irritation crossed Marc's face. His brows knit as he snapped, "If you care that much about being fair, you should've gone to law school! Be a judge, a prosecutor—anything but a news anchor!"

Aurora said nothing, shoulders drooping as she dropped her gaze.

Marc, frustrated by her silence, flung his hand in the air with a sharp gesture. "Aurora, you're being utterly foolish! We're talking about a two-year sponsorship contract worth fifty million! That's no small matter! You either go make things right with Mr. Rockefeller yourself, or you find another sponsor fast. Otherwise, the hosting spot for this year's gala of the Financial Beacon will go to Lana! She's new, but she knows how to play the game—and the station favors people who deliver."

The Financial Beacon was the crown jewel of the financial channel, a program every anchor dreamed of hosting. Aurora had held that honor three years in a row, but with Lana's arrival, her grip on the spot had loosened.

Online discussions buzzed with speculation, many insisting that Lana would inevitably claim the role and outshine Aurora as the new rising star.

Six months earlier, shortly after her arrival, Lana had cornered Aurora in the restroom, smugly declaring that the station manager planned to mold her into "the next Aurora." Her hunger for fame had never been subtle.

Aurora responded with a faint, composed smile, her voice steady, "Alright, I understand."

When they returned to the station, Marc stormed back into his office, the door banging shut behind him with a sharp thud that made heads turn across the space.

Murmurs rippled through the open floor, but no one dared ask.

Five minutes later, the door cracked open. Marc's voice came out low but curt. "Lana, get in."

Lana rose at once, smoothing her skirt and gliding toward his office with a practiced smile.

Across the room, the director of her program, Sylvie Lawson, rolled her chair over to Aurora's desk, curiosity lighting her eyes. "Aurora, what on earth happened? Marc looked perfectly cheerful when you two left this morning. What was it that set him off?"

Aurora didn't glance up from the financial brief she was preparing, her tone even. "It's off."

Confusion flickered briefly in Sylvie's gaze. "What do you mean, off?"

"The two-year sponsorship deal," Aurora replied simply, flipping a page.

Shock rippled through Sylvie's gaze, her eyes stretching wide. "You've got to be kidding me, Aurora! You actually turned down a deal that massive?"

A wry smile touched Aurora's lips.

Lana strutted out of Marc's office, her grin wide and brimming with triumph. She headed straight for Aurora, waving her interview notebook like a trophy. "Aurora, you won't believe it. Thanks to you, Mr. Saunders just handed me the script for the exclusive interview with that economics guru."

Aurora's face remained composed, her tone cool as she offered a polite word of congratulations.

With a toss of her hair, Lana sauntered back to her desk. A moment later, her voice rang out across the office. "Aurora!"

Aurora turned from her computer, meeting Lana's gleaming eyes across the partition.

After a heartbeat of scrutiny, Lana couldn't hold back a sharp, delighted laugh. "Mr. Saunders said if nothing goes wrong when I host this year's Financial Beacon gala, I'll be the next you." She gave a dramatic shrug, eyes alight with smugness. "And honestly? Doesn't sound that difficult."

Her words sliced through the office like a bell. Heads lifted, brows furrowed. The senior staff exchanged looks of quiet contempt—none of them had ever seen a newcomer so brazenly announce her intent to steal a colleague's place.

Aurora merely regarded Lana with steady composure, a faint, courteous smile softening her expression. "Well, good luck with the hosting."

Lana, of course, doubted the sincerity behind those words. Before parting, she couldn't resist tossing out one last jab—remarking how foolish it had been for Aurora to reject Grayson's generous offer just to cling to her so-called ethics.

Aurora's face remained unreadable; she refused to dignify the comment with a response.

When the workday finally ended, Aurora's friend, Chloe Morgan—fresh off an exhausting outdoor assignment—invited Aurora to unwind at a quiet lounge bar.

The moment their cocktails arrived, Chloe launched into a lively tirade about Lana's shameless antics, her exaggerated indignation making Aurora burst into laughter.

"Alright, alright. Have a drink before you lose your voice." Aurora slid the cocktail toward Chloe, who tipped back the glass and drained the sapphire-blue drink in a single gulp.

Chloe's gaze sharpened as it landed on Aurora's calm expression. "Let me guess—Grayson's giving you a hard time again, isn't he?

"Not exactly," Aurora replied in a flat tone.

Chloe's indignation flared, her voice rising with every word. "He's the absolute worst! Cold-hearted as ever! Back then, he dumped you without an explanation—and now he just shows up, disrupting your peace. Who the hell does he think he is?"

She thrust a dart into Aurora's hand and nodded toward the bullseye pinned to the wall. "Go on, aim for the center. Pretend it's Grayson's smug face and let it fly. That scumbag deserves every hit."

Aurora narrowed her eyes and raised her arm, focusing on the target. But just as she released the dart, someone brushed past, jarring her elbow. The dart veered off course—straight into the sleeve of a sharply tailored suit.

The owner turned, and the air thickened. Grayson stood there, expression dark as storm clouds, clearly having caught every scathing word.

Chloe froze mid-breath and then stepped forward, shielding Aurora instinctively. "Grayson, don't you dare take this out on Aurora," she warned, voice fierce despite her nerves. "Aim whatever you want to do at me. Just leave her alone."