Ashley's POV

A week. That's how long it took for me to almost forget the stranger from the gala.

Almost.

He'd become a ghost stitched between my thoughts. A whisper when I closed my eyes. A burn I couldn't name. But I buried it - deep - because the last thing I needed was another secret in a family built on them.

The Walters and the Jeans weren't just rivals. We were blood-feud royalty.

Two empires carved out of the same ruthless industry - media and power - forever trying to outshine, outbuy, or outright destroy each other.

And yet, here I was, walking into a boardroom lined with both family crests. The meeting my father had called historic.

The irony burned.

My heels clicked against the marble floor as I followed him inside. Reporters weren't allowed, but tension was. It filled every inch of the room like smoke.

Marcus Walter - my father - stood at the head of the table, his expression cut from steel.

Opposite him was Charles Jean - Alan's father - wearing the same smug smirk I'd seen on magazine covers since I was old enough to read.

And beside him stood him.

Alan Jean.

Tall. Composed. Dangerous in that quiet, self-assured way that made people listen.

There was something about his presence that dragged the air tighter.

For a moment, I thought my pulse misfired.

No. Impossible.

He wasn't the man from that night. He couldn't be.

That man was faceless, voiceless, hidden behind a silver mask and darkness.

This one was all sharp lines and power. Untouchable.

So why did something deep in me recognize him - the shape of his jaw, the way he stood, even the faint scar near his collarbone that his open cuff revealed?

I forced myself to breathe and sat beside my father, pretending calm while chaos bloomed in my chest.

"Let's get one thing straight," my father began, his tone clipped. "This partnership isn't personal. It's business. The press will see it as reconciliation, but it's a calculated alliance. Nothing more."

Charles Jean smiled thinly. "Call it what you want, Marcus. The world will still talk."

The air tightened. Across from me, Alan's gaze flicked up. For a heartbeat, our eyes met - dark and unreadable. Then he looked away like I didn't exist.

Good.

That made one of us pretending well.

Leah Jean, his twin sister, sat beside him, watching everything with quiet amusement.

I could tell she didn't trust us - or maybe she just enjoyed the tension.

"So," Leah said lightly, "how do you plan to make this work without killing each other?"

I smiled politely. "Maybe we'll just kill the competition instead."

Her eyes glinted. "Same difference."

The conversation shifted to contracts, percentages, and projected revenue - words that filled the room but couldn't drown the undercurrent of old hatred.

Halfway through, my phone buzzed under the table. Richard.

I ignored it.

He'd been calling all week, his apologies more exhausting than his silence. I didn't want to talk about him. Not today.

Not when my focus was already slipping every time Alan spoke.

His voice - calm, low, steady - had a weight that drew attention. He spoke like someone used to being obeyed, and I hated that it made me listen.

When the presentation ended, our fathers rose simultaneously.

"Let's make it official," my father said. "A symbolic handshake. Our next generation leading the charge."

I froze.

Surely, he didn't mean-

He did.

Alan stood across the room, already extending his hand.

For the cameras that weren't even here. For the illusion of peace.

I pushed my chair back and stood, legs barely steady beneath my calm.

I reached out.

His hand closed over mine - firm, warm, electric. And then I saw it.

The cufflink.

Silver. Sleek. Polished.

Engraved with two letters.

A.J.

The same letters I'd seen that morning after the gala. The same ones I'd turned over in my fingers, trying to erase from my memory.

The room blurred. My breath caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.

It couldn't be.

It couldn't.

I forced myself not to move, not to flinch, not to let the realization shatter across my face.

Because standing here - smiling for our fathers, pretending for the cameras that weren't here - I realized something that made my skin crawl and my heart race at once.

The masked stranger I'd given myself to wasn't a nobody.

He was Alan Jean.

The enemy.

And as his thumb brushed the edge of my wrist, his eyes flicked down - just once - to the tattoo he'd traced that night.

His expression didn't change, but I saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the faint tremor in his grip.

He knew too.

And neither of us could say a word.

The room erupted in applause - fake, polite, rehearsed - as our fathers shook hands like history hadn't just twisted itself into something cruel.

I smiled for the illusion, my pulse thundering behind my ribs.

Alan's fingers lingered for half a second longer before he let go.

That brief touch burned hotter than any sin I'd committed.

And in that moment, I knew one thing for sure -

This wasn't over.

This was only the beginning.

Alan's POV

If hell had chandeliers, they'd look like this boardroom.

Gold, gleaming, expensive - and utterly suffocating. The Walters were seated opposite us, the tension so sharp you could hear it hum beneath the polite laughter.

I'd been to dozens of business meetings, but never one where I couldn't breathe.

Not because of the deal. Because of her.

Ashley Walter. A name that carried legacy, control, and the kind of family my father spent decades trying to destroy.

I'd told myself to treat her like any other corporate pawn.

But the moment she walked in, the world tilted. Her perfume hit first - faint, familiar.

Then the way she carried herself - calm, precise, almost cold.

The meeting dragged on for an hour. Numbers, proposals, projections - all noise. I didn't hear a damn word.

All I could think about was the way her eyes had flicked to my wrist when I sat down. The way her breath had caught when our gazes locked.

When our fathers finally called for the "symbolic handshake," I almost laughed. Symbolic? Try catastrophic. She approached like she was walking into a battlefield. Calm on the outside, chaos beneath.

She stopped in front of me, just close enough that I could smell that same faint trace of perfume - the one that had ruined my self-control the first time.

Her hand slid into mine.

Soft. Steady. Familiar.

And for a second, time folded.

The boardroom dissolved. The chatter vanished. All I could see was her - the same woman in that dim suite, pressed against me, whispering "no names."

The heat that surged between us now was quieter, but sharper. Dangerous.

Her pulse raced beneath my thumb as I held her hand, and then - I saw it.

The tattoo.

That crescent-shaped mark inked on her wrist. The one I'd kissed without knowing it would haunt me later.

It brushed against my palm, and the air went thin.

She looked up at me, eyes wide but unreadable, every secret screaming behind them.

She knew.

I knew.

And neither of us could breathe.

Applause. Cameras. Smiles. Lies.

Our fathers were shaking hands, congratulating themselves for uniting two dynasties built on ruin.

I forced a smile for the cameras, the kind that didn't touch my eyes.

Every flash of light felt like it was burning that secret into my skin.

Leah, beside me, leaned in with that knowing glint. "You're awfully quiet."

"Just tired," I said, keeping my tone flat.

"Hmm." She studied me for a moment. "You hate being here, but somehow, I don't think that's why."

I didn't answer.

Because if I opened my mouth, I might've said her name - the name I wasn't supposed to know.

The speeches went on. The older men talked about legacy, progress, and "a new era of partnership." It sounded noble to anyone who didn't know how much blood these families had shed to get here.

Ashley didn't say much. She didn't need to. She sat there, perfect posture, flawless composure, her eyes fixed on the contract in front of her as if the ink might start bleeding secrets.

I couldn't stop looking at her hands. The same hands that had once pulled me closer now clenched around a pen, hiding that mark like she knew it was dangerous.

When it was finally over, she stood. Smiling politely, shaking a few hands, doing the performance she'd been born into.

I should've looked away. I didn't.

She turned to leave, and for a moment, I let her go.

Then her gaze dropped - just once - to my wrist.

The cufflink gleamed in the light.

A.J.

Her lips parted slightly. Just a flicker - but it was there.

Recognition. Shock.

And for a fraction of a second, I saw the mask slip. The perfect daughter, the polished heiress - gone.

What was left was the woman I'd held in the dark, now standing under crystal lights, pretending she didn't remember the shape of my voice.

She blinked, hiding it fast, and turned away.

Our secret - the one night that was never meant to exist - had just followed us into daylight.

The irony almost made me laugh. Out of all the women in this damn city, I'd fallen into bed with the enemy's daughter.

And now we were partners.

The headlines tomorrow would talk about legacy and collaboration, about how two powerful families were finally setting aside their pride.

But none of them would know the truth.

That beneath every handshake, every smile, every carefully spoken promise - there was history. Bitterness. And now, a secret that could burn it all down.

Leah nudged me again. "You okay?"

I didn't look at her. "Yeah."

But my gaze stayed on the door Ashley had just walked through.

She was gone. But the scent lingered. The memory stayed. And the imprint of her touch refused to fade.

For years, our families had fought over money, contracts, power.

Now it was different.

This wasn't just business anymore.

It was personal.

And one of us would burn before it was over.

Ashley's POV

The moment I stepped into the car, my hands wouldn't stop trembling.

"Home," I told the driver, my voice barely steady.

The door shut, the city noise faded, and for the first time since that handshake, I could breathe-barely. My chest rose and fell too quickly. My pulse hadn't calmed since I saw it - that small, gleaming cufflink with the initials A.J.

Alan.

Alan Jean.

My father's greatest rival's son.

The man I had slept with.

My stomach twisted. I pressed a hand against it, as if I could physically hold the truth down before it exploded out of me. Every memory from that night flashed like broken film reels - the way he'd touched me, the way I'd felt safe in his arms, the way he'd whispered nothing that could ever be traced.

No names.

No past.

No future.

And I'd thought it was freedom.

Now I realized it was a trap I'd walked into with both eyes closed.

The car turned a corner, but I barely noticed. My mind was spinning too fast, tripping over possibilities. Did he know it was me that night? Had he recognized me first? Was this some twisted game between the families?

No. That didn't make sense. The look on his face when our eyes met - that shock, that pause - it was real. We were both blindsided.

Still, that didn't make it any less dangerous.

If my father ever found out...

I swallowed hard, gripping the seatbelt until my knuckles turned white. He wouldn't just disown me. He'd destroy everything around me to erase the shame.

The Walters had fought the Jeans for years - lawsuits, smear campaigns, betrayals. My father used to say the Jean bloodline was "poison wearing designer suits." And now here I was, carrying the memory of one in my skin.

The car stopped in front of the house. I sat there for a full minute before stepping out. The marble steps blurred beneath my feet as I walked in, trying to hold myself together.

"Welcome back, Miss Walter," a maid said softly.

I nodded, forcing a smile, but my throat burned. My room felt too quiet when I got there. Too aware. I paced once, twice. Then I grabbed my phone.

I could've called Chloe. But no. Chloe would panic, overanalyze, maybe even tell someone without meaning to.

This wasn't something to gossip about.

This was something that could ruin us.

So I dialed another number.

"Hey," a sleepy voice answered. "Ash?"

"Yeah. You busy?"

"Not really. What's wrong?"

It was my younger sister, Tessa. Eighteen. Honest to a fault. And somehow, despite her age, she was the only person who could handle my mess without judgment.

"I need to talk," I said. "But you can't-cannot-say a word of this to anyone. Not even if someone threatens to kill you."

That woke her up. "Okay... you're scaring me. What happened?"

I sat on the edge of my bed, heart hammering. "Remember the gala?"

"Yeah, the one where you disappeared before midnight?

"Right. That night, I met someone."

Silence.

"Oh," Tessa finally said. "That kind of someone?"

I closed my eyes. "Yeah."

"Okay, go on."

I told her everything - or at least, the parts I could say out loud. The mystery, the attraction, the way I'd felt like I could finally breathe for one night without carrying the weight of our family name.

"And?" she asked quietly.

"And today I found out who he is."

"Who?"

"Alan Jean."

The silence on the other end could've cracked glass.

"You're joking."

"I wish I was."

"Oh my God, Ashley." Her voice rose an octave. "Dad would-"

"I know."

"What are you going to do?"

I laughed. It came out shaky, almost hysterical. "I have no idea. Pretend it didn't happen, maybe. Pray no one ever finds out. Hope he doesn't say anything."

Tessa sighed. "Do you think he will?"

"No. He looked just as shocked as I was."

She was quiet for a while. Then she said softly, "You've always done what Dad expected. For once, you did something for yourself. It's just... the universe gave you the worst possible person."

"Story of my life."

I leaned back against the headboard, eyes fixed on the ceiling. My pulse was finally slowing, but my mind wouldn't rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that cufflink again - bright, damning, and unforgettable.

Alan's POV

I loosened my tie the second I stepped into my car. Leah slid in beside me, eyes sharp as ever.

"Spill," she said.

"About what?"

"Don't start with me, Alan. You've been twitchy since that meeting. What's going on?"

I rubbed a hand over my jaw, debating whether to lie. Leah was my twin - lying to her was like lying to a mirror. She'd always see through it.

"Promise you won't tell anyone?" I said finally.

Her eyebrows shot up. "That bad?"

"Promise, Leah."

She studied me for a second, then nodded. "Fine. I promise."

I exhaled slowly. "The woman from the Walters' side - Ashley. I've met her before."

Her eyes widened. "Where?"

"At the gala."

"The same gala where you disappeared for hours?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, hell." She leaned back, letting out a low whistle. "You didn't."

I didn't answer.

Her eyes snapped to mine. "You did. Alan, please tell me you're not saying what I think you're saying."

"Yeah," I muttered. "I slept with her."

Leah buried her face in her hands. "You absolute idiot."

"It wasn't planned," I said quietly. "We didn't even exchange names. It was just... one night. I didn't know who she was."

"And now she's your business partner," Leah said flatly. "This is beyond bad. This is-"

"I know."

She groaned. "Dad would blow a gasket if he found out. You realize that, right?"

"He won't."

"He can't."

Silence settled between us for a moment. The city blurred past outside, but all I could see was her face - the shock in her eyes, the way she'd frozen when she saw my cufflink.

"You like her," Leah said quietly.

I turned to her. "What?"

"You do. That's the problem."

I didn't answer, because she wasn't wrong.

Something about Ashley lingered long after she'd walked away - that quiet defiance, that strength wrapped in grace. I'd tried to shake it off, but it was impossible.

Leah sighed again. "You need to stay focused. This merger is huge. If Dad even suspects you're involved with her, he'll destroy her family all over again just to make a point."

"I know."

"And still, you're thinking about her."

I glanced out the window, jaw tight. "Wouldn't you?"

Leah didn't respond. She didn't have to. The silence said everything.

When I got home, I poured myself a drink I didn't touch. My reflection in the glass table stared back - calm, controlled, and lying.

I told myself to forget her.

But the truth was simple.

You can't forget someone who's already burned into your skin.