Ashley's POV

I didn't expect it to feel this heavy.

The office, the walls, the silence - all of it pressed in the moment I saw him walk through the glass doors.

Alan Jean.

My new business partner.

My mistake.

My secret.

His presence was calm, composed, almost too quiet. But I felt it like static against my skin.

He nodded once in greeting. "Morning."

His tone was polite - stripped of warmth.

"Morning," I replied, just as controlled.

We weren't supposed to be alone in this room.

But one by one, the executives filtered out after our brief introductions, until the door clicked shut and there was nothing but the sound of my own breathing.

It was ridiculous how aware I was of him - the sound of his pen against paper, the subtle shift of his chair, the faint trace of his cologne that made my chest tighten.

He didn't look at me at first. Just turned pages, calm and deliberate, as if this was any other meeting.

And maybe it would've been... if I hadn't seen his cufflink that morning.

If I hadn't realized the truth.

I tried to focus on the proposal in front of me, but my mind refused to cooperate.

"Let's go over the projections for the Jean–Walter merger," I said, hoping my voice didn't tremble.

He looked up finally - eyes steady, unreadable.

"Sure," he said. "If you can concentrate."

My fingers stilled on the page. "Excuse me?"

He leaned back in his chair, gaze not leaving mine. "You seem... distracted."

"I'm not."

His lips curved slightly. "You're sure?"

I swallowed, forcing my tone to stay sharp. "I came here to work, Alan."

"I know." His voice was low now, quieter - dangerous. "I just didn't expect that to be all you came here for."

My pulse stuttered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He studied me for a moment that felt too long, too still.

Then he looked away. "Nothing. Forget it."

But the way he said it - quiet, rough, and too deliberate - told me exactly what he didn't say.

I shifted in my seat, needing distance that didn't exist. "We should finalize the presentation slides before tomorrow's briefing."

"Right," he said softly. "Work."

The air between us thickened. Not from words - but from everything we weren't saying.

Every time our eyes met, it was like stepping too close to fire.

Every time I blinked, I saw the memory flash behind my eyelids - his hands, his breath, that single night we'd both sworn never happened.

He stood suddenly, coming around the table.

I froze.

He stopped beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him even without touch.

He set a document down beside my hand - his sleeve brushing my wrist, light but enough to make my breath hitch.

"You missed this section," he said. His tone was smooth, professional - but the tremor beneath it betrayed him.

"Thank you," I murmured, without looking up.

But when I reached for the paper, his fingers grazed mine. Just barely.

Still, it felt like a shock.

I withdrew my hand instantly. "I'll handle it."

He didn't move. "Ashley."

My name from his lips wasn't a sound. It was a memory.

I made the mistake of looking at him - and the restraint in his eyes was unbearable.

"Alan, please don't-"

"I just need to know if you regret it."

The air disappeared.

"I don't know what you're talking about." My voice came out soft, almost steady.

He let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "You do."

I stood, gathering the documents with trembling hands. "We're done here for today."

He didn't stop me.

Didn't say another word.

But as I walked past him, I felt his gaze follow me - slow, heavy, unrelenting.

When the door closed behind me, I exhaled shakily, pressing my palms against the cold wall.

I'd thought I could manage this.

That I could bury one mistake under professionalism and silence.

But sitting across from him again had proven me wrong.

Because whatever that night was - a lapse in judgment, a cruel twist of fate - it wasn't gone.

It was still here.

Alive.

Waiting.

Alan's POV

She's pretending.

Every glance, every clipped word - I can see her trying to hold the distance. But it's there between us. The pulse. The memory. The truth she refuses to admit.

Watching Ashley Walter pretend the night never happened was almost admirable. Almost.

I'd told myself not to bring it up. But the silence between us was unbearable.

She was sitting right across from me, her focus glued to the paper, her breathing shallow. The same woman who had once leaned into me like she couldn't breathe without it.

And now she acted like I was a stranger.

I wanted to let her.

I really did.

But the words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Do you remember?"

Her pen stopped. Her eyes lifted, calm on the surface, but something flickered behind them.

"Remember what?"

I almost smiled. "Forget it."

She pushed back her chair a little too fast. "We should wrap this up."

There it was again - the tremor in her composure. The one she tried to hide behind that perfect posture.

As she stood, I reached out, almost on instinct, and touched her wrist. Just long enough for her to freeze.

The same spot where that mark rested - the one I'd seen, felt, kissed.

She pulled away slowly, meeting my gaze. "This isn't going to work if you can't stay professional."

"Then teach me," I said quietly.

Her eyes widened just slightly - and then, she turned and walked out.

No words. No glance back.

But when the door closed, the scent of her perfume still lingered - maddening, subtle, impossible to forget.

And for the first time in years, I realized something dangerous.

I didn't just want her again.

I wanted to break whatever rules she hid behind until she admitted she remembered too.

Alan's POV

If tension could be bottled, this room would explode.

The dinner was supposed to be a celebration - two legacies merging, two empires aligning. But to me, it felt like a trap wrapped in candlelight.

The Walters had spared no expense. The long dining table gleamed under the crystal chandeliers, waiters moved like shadows, and every word spoken was dipped in formality.

I'd been in countless corporate dinners, but none where I had to fight the urge to look at someone every other second.

Ashley Walter sat three seats away, posture perfect, expression unreadable.

The same woman who had once whispered, "no names," while tracing circles on my skin - now acting like we were strangers.

Except we weren't.

Every time she shifted, my chest tightened. Every time she laughed politely at a joke her father made, I heard the echo of her real laugh - the one that had spilled out softly against my neck.

Leah leaned in beside me, whispering, "You look like you're solving a murder."

"Maybe I am," I muttered, cutting my steak. "Just haven't decided who the victim is yet."

She smirked. "Try not to make it the Walters. Bad optics."

Across the table, Ashley glanced up at that moment. Our eyes locked - too long, too knowing - and she quickly turned back to her wine glass.

My jaw clenched.

So that's how she wanted to play it.

For the next hour, I played along - nodding at presentations, answering questions about projected revenue, pretending to care about graphs and partnerships. But under the table, my foot bounced restlessly.

Because I could feel her.

She wasn't even sitting next to me, yet every inch of my body was aware of her presence. The curve of her neck. The way her fingers brushed the stem of her glass. The faint perfume - same one that had clung to my sheets that night.

The room blurred around her.

By dessert, I couldn't take it anymore.

When the waiters cleared the plates and people started drifting toward the balcony for cigars and light talk, I found my opening.

I caught her arm gently as she stood. "Ashley."

She froze - her polite smile faltering for just a second before she turned. "Mr. Jean."

I raised a brow. "We're back to last names now?"

Her eyes flicked to the others nearby, then back to me. "We're at work."

"Right," I said quietly. "Work."

We stood there in silence for a moment - too close, too careful. Every word I didn't say was fighting its way out.

Finally, I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You're really not going to talk about it?"

Her lips parted slightly. "About what?"

I almost laughed. "You know what."

Her chin lifted, that icy corporate composure sliding neatly into place. "I don't think that would be appropriate."

"Inappropriate?" I echoed, smirking. "That's not what you thought that night."

Her eyes snapped to mine - sharp, warning.

But she didn't step back.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.

The noise of the room faded - executives chatting, glasses clinking - it all turned to static.

Then she exhaled softly and said, "This merger is complicated enough, Mr. Jean. Let's not make it worse."

"Too late," I murmured.

She looked away, and that small gesture - the flicker of her lashes, the tremor of restraint - hit harder than any argument.

I should've let her go. I knew that.

But my hand was still around her wrist, light but firm.

The same wrist with that tiny crescent-shaped tattoo.

Her pulse was racing.

When she finally pulled free, she didn't meet my eyes. "You're making a scene."

I smiled faintly. "I'm being discreet."

"Then be more discreet," she whispered, before brushing past me - her shoulder grazing mine, leaving my body in chaos.

I turned to watch her walk away, every inch of her collected and calm, like the moment hadn't just cracked the air in half.

Leah appeared beside me again, holding a glass of wine and that irritatingly perceptive look.

"Whatever that was," she said, "don't let Dad see it."

"See what?"

"That look you get when something's off-limits," she replied, sipping slowly. "Because knowing you, you'll want it more."

I laughed softly. "You make me sound predictable."

"You are."

"Not this time."

"Sure," she said, smirking. "Keep telling yourself that."

She drifted away, leaving me with the clinking of glasses and a pulse that wouldn't slow.

Across the room, Ashley was standing with her father, smiling perfectly for the cameras. I caught her glance once - fleeting but electric.

It was all there.

The tension. The restraint. The memory neither of us could erase.

And I knew, right then, that pretending would be impossible.

Because every time she looked at me, I saw the night she tried to forget.

Every time I looked at her, I remembered everything she didn't want me to say.

When our fathers toasted to "new beginnings," I raised my glass too - but my thoughts weren't on business or family legacy.

They were on her.

And the quiet, dangerous truth that burned louder than champagne and applause:

If we kept this up, someone would get burned.

And I was no longer sure I cared who.

Ashley's POV

If tension had a taste, the air in my office would've been drowning in it.

For the third time that morning, I caught myself staring at the door, half-hoping, half-dreading he'd walk in. Alan Jean. The man I was supposed to share power with. The man I was supposed to despise.

The man who'd seen me naked under candlelight.

I hated that my pulse still reacted to his name, that the memory of his mouth, his touch, his voice - still lived beneath my skin like a secret I couldn't wash off.

I'd promised myself I wouldn't think about that night. But promises meant nothing the moment he stepped into my office.

He didn't knock - just pushed the door open and filled the space with that energy that always felt too much. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

"Busy?" His voice was smooth, almost polite, but his eyes didn't match. They burned - not with anger exactly, but something worse.

"Ashley."

The sound of my name, ripped from his throat with a raw, undeniable edge, stopped me dead. My entire body locked up, rigid with panic. I couldn't move, couldn't turn around, couldn't breathe.

He didn't need to ask for my attention. His presence was a physical force, pulling the air around us taut.

He closed the door behind him. Slowly. Deliberately. The soft click made my stomach twist.

"Yeah," he said. "We do." He leaned against the edge of my desk, crossing his arms like he owned the room. "But I think there's something else we should probably talk about first."

I looked back at the document on my screen. "If this is about the merger-"

"It's not."

My fingers froze on the keyboard.

"Then what is it about?"

He let out a low breath - one that sounded too much like frustration. "You really don't want to talk about that night, do you?"

I turned to face him. "Alan, drop it."

"Drop it?" His laugh was sharp, almost bitter. "I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. But I can't. I can't stop thinking about you."

My heart kicked hard against my ribs.

He pushed off the desk, taking a step closer. "You really want to pretend it didn't happen? Pretend that night didn't change anything?"

"Alan-"

"Don't 'Alan' me." His voice deepened, rougher now, scraping at the calm I'd built. "You really don't want to talk about that night? Well, sorry, but we have to. Because I haven't stopped thinking about you ever since."

He moved closer again, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him. My throat went dry.

"Tell me," he said, eyes locked on mine, "you don't miss our lips intertwined. Tell me you don't remember the way I grabbed your waist and pulled you in while you tugged on my hair."

"Alan-"

"Tell me you don't miss it," he pressed, voice lower, angrier now. "Tell me you don't remember whispering my name into my ear that night."

The words hit me like a slow burn. My face flushed hot.

"Stop," I whispered, but it came out softer than I meant it to.

"Stop?" He tilted his head, eyes searching my face like he could read every lie I was trying to build. "Because it's driving me insane. Every time I close my eyes, I see you. Every damn time."

My breath caught. For a moment, neither of us moved.

He was close enough that I could see the tiny scar on his jaw, the one I hadn't noticed that night. His tie hung loose, sleeves rolled up, like he'd stopped pretending to care about professionalism the second he saw me.

"Alan," I said quietly, "we can't do this."

He gave a small, humorless smile. "You think I don't know that?"

"Then stop."

He shook his head slowly. "You're asking the wrong man to stop wanting you."

That shouldn't have made my knees weak. But it did.

I stood, stepping away from the desk, needing distance - but he mirrored me, closing the gap before I could breathe.

"Tell me you don't feel it," he murmured. "Right now. Tell me this-" he gestured between us, "-isn't killing you too."

I opened my mouth, but no sound came.

Because he was right.

It was killing me.

"You truly don't want to talk about that night?" Alan asked, his voice low, shaking with the intensity of his suppressed fury. "Too bad, because I haven't stopped thinking about you since that night."

"There is nothing to talk about, Mr. Jean. It was a mistake. An anonymous encounter under duress. I was wearing a mask, and I didn't know who you were."

"And that makes it a clean slate?" Alan's voice rose, laced with bitter disbelief. He pushed off the wall and took another step, trapping me with his heat and his presence. "You think a piece of lace negates the kind of connection that set us both on fire?"

He planted one hand beside my head, his fingers splayed against the cold marble. He was so close I could feel the ragged cadence of his breath.

"Tell me your memory is blank when our lips intertwined, Ashley," he challenged, his voice dropping to a seductive, dangerous whisper. "Tell me you don't remember the moment I grabbed your waist, pulling you in while your hands gripped my hair."

The memory hit me with sickening clarity-the desperation, the raw, mutual need, the way I had clawed at his neck, pulling him down, needing more. The floor felt like it was tilting beneath my feet. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to block out the image, desperate to hold onto the lie that it was all a faceless blur.

"Stop," I whispered, the word strangled.

He ignored the plea, leaning closer, pressing the attack with the ruthless precision of a predator.

"Tell me you don't recall placing your hands over mine, urging me to hold you tighter, whispering Alan softly into my ears that night," he insisted, his voice a low, furious growl. "Tell me you do not miss my hands on your skin, because you kept guiding them back to you."

The last part was an absolute, undeniable truth. I had. I had needed his touch, needed his presence, needed the validation of his desire that Richard had so cruelly denied me. The shame, the confusion, and the undeniable longing warred inside me, leaving me breathless and weak.

When I opened my eyes, the mask was gone. He could see the wreckage on my face.

"I didn't know it was you," I said, the truth finally breaking free, tasting like ash. "I would never have..."

"You would never have betrayed your father? Your legacy?" Alan finished, a cruel satisfaction flashing in his eyes. He leaned back slightly, giving me just enough air to realize I was still trapped. "That night was reckless, yes. But it was also the only honest thing either of us has done in years."

He stepped away, his control snapping back into place, cold and calculating. He smoothed the sleeve of his suit, adjusting the A.J. cufflink that had signed my death warrant.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"The truth."

I blinked, heart racing. "You want the truth? Fine."

I met his eyes, forcing the words out. "Yes. I think about it too. About you. About that night. But it can't happen again."

Something flickered behind his gaze - relief, maybe, or something darker.

"Can't," he echoed. "Or won't?"

"Both."

The silence that followed stretched so tight it almost hurt.

For a moment, he just stared at me, jaw tight, breathing uneven. Then he nodded slowly, backing away.

"Okay," he said, voice quieter now. "You win."

But there was nothing victorious in his tone.

He reached for the door, paused - then turned back. "You can bury it, Ashley. Pretend it never happened. But I can't."

My heart stuttered.

"Because every time I see you," he added, "I remember exactly how you tasted when you stopped pretending you were perfect."

The door clicked shut behind him before I could breathe again.

I sank into my chair, pulse racing so fast it felt like it might break through my ribs.

My reflection in the glass wall looked composed, calm - but inside, everything was on fire.

Because he was right.

Every look. Every memory. Every part of me that wanted to hate him only ended up wanting him more.

And the worst part?

This was just the beginning.

Because tomorrow, we had another meeting. Another project. Another excuse to be in the same room again.

And I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep pretending that night didn't still live between us - breathing, burning, waiting.