(Malia's POV)

  I didn't expect him to approach me.

  Not that soon, anyway.

  After our brief eye contact across the ballroom, I'd made a conscious decision to disappear into the crowd - to blend. I wasn't here to chase him. I was here to be noticed. Calculated. Mysterious. Andrew had drilled that into me.

  "Men like Kieth Williams don't react to attention," he'd said. "They react to disruption."

  I wasn't sure I was ready to be a disruption. Not tonight. Not yet.

  So I smiled when spoken to. Nodded when people introduced themselves. Repeated the name "Malia Green" until it felt almost real on my tongue. Ivy had helped me rehearse my fake background - marketing and nonprofit strategy consultant, freelancing for elite firms. Enough truth to sound credible. Enough fiction to keep it clean.

  I moved through the glittering event space with practiced grace, careful not to let my nerves show. Everyone here was wealthy, well-connected, and mostly bored. Champagne glasses were clutched like accessories. Laughter was sharp and hollow.

  And somewhere in this glimmering mess was him.

  Kieth.

  I felt his presence before I saw him again. It was the quiet shift in the air, the subtle turn of heads when he moved through the room. People noticed him - or rather, they noticed not to get in his way.

  So when I turned and saw him walking straight toward me, my heart lurched into my throat.

  I kept my expression neutral.

  His steps were slow, measured. His gaze was direct. No emotion. No warning. Just observation - like he was already dissecting me.

  "Miss Green," he said as he stopped in front of me.

  His voice was deeper than I'd imagined. Smooth, but not soft. He didn't offer a hand. Just stood there, waiting to see how I'd respond.

  I forced a polite smile. "Mr. Williams."

  "You're new."

  Not a question. A statement.

  "I'm a guest," I replied calmly. "Consultant for the Langford Foundation. Just came onboard to restructure some of their donor engagement."

  He tilted his head slightly. "Your first gala?"

  "Not my first. Just my first in this city."

  "And how are you finding it so far?"

  I kept my posture relaxed, but not too relaxed. This wasn't small talk. This was a test.

  "It's... lively," I said with a small smile. "Though I imagine you don't come to these for the entertainment."

  He didn't blink. "I come to be seen."

  There was something unsettling about the way he said it.

  I sipped my drink to ground myself.

  "Is that why you're speaking to me?" I asked, meeting his gaze. "Visibility?"

  His mouth twitched - just barely. Not quite a smile. More like recognition.

  "You're not like the others," he said quietly. "Most people in this room want something. Money, a favor, a photo. But you..."

  He trailed off, his eyes scanning me.

  "You're hiding something."

  A small chill raced down my spine. He was too close to the truth.

  "I'm just here for business," I replied, keeping my tone smooth.

  "Everyone here is," he murmured. "But you're not networking. You're watching."

  My fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

  He stepped a little closer. Not invading, just enough to remind me who held the upper hand.

  "People who watch that much," he said, "either have something to protect... or something to steal."

  I let out a soft laugh, as if amused. "Or maybe I just like people-watching."

  "I don't believe in coincidence."

  "And I don't believe in being intimidated by rich men with good suits."

  That did something.

  His gaze sharpened.

  Then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't warm - it was curious. Like a lion intrigued by a bird that didn't fly away.

  "You're interesting," he said. "That's not a compliment. Just an observation."

  "Duly noted," I replied. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I didn't show it.

  He looked over my shoulder, nodding briefly at someone, then turned back to me.

  "Enjoy your evening, Miss Green," he said. "But be careful."

  With that, he walked away.

  And I stood there, pulse racing, barely breathing.

  He knew.

  Not what I was doing. Not who I was.

  But he knew I wasn't here by accident.

  ⸻

  "You spoke to him?" Ivy whispered later that night when I called her from the guest bedroom.

  "He spoke to me."

  "Already?"

  "Yeah."

  "Jesus," she breathed. "And?"

  "He was... sharp," I said, lying flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "He doesn't talk like most people. Every sentence felt like a test."

  "But you held your own?"

  "I think so. Maybe. He was watching me the entire time. Like he could see through the part I was playing."

  "You said the right name, right? Malia Green?"

  "I didn't forget my own alias," I snapped, then sighed. "Sorry. I'm just... tense."

  "No, you're in deep water now, Mal. But that's good. He noticed you. That's what Andrew wanted."

  I hesitated. "I don't know if that's what I wanted."

  She was quiet for a moment. Then: "You still have a choice, you know. You can walk away."

  I turned my head toward the window.

  "I don't think I can," I whispered. "Not now."

  ⸻

  Sleep didn't come easily.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him again. Not the image from the file Andrew gave me - but him. Real. Alive. Looking straight into me.

  It scared me how quickly he'd read my energy.

  But it scared me more that I wanted to talk to him again.

  Not because of the job.

  Because something about him... felt too familiar.

  And somehow, we both knew it.

  (Malia’s POV)

    I didn’t expect the call.

    Not this soon.

    I was sitting at Ivy’s breakfast table, still in my robe, sipping lukewarm coffee and trying to pretend I hadn’t spent the entire night tossing and turning with Kieth’s voice stuck in my head, when my phone lit up with a private number.

    I almost didn’t answer.

    But then I did.

    “Hello?”

    “Miss Green,” came the smooth, unmistakable voice on the other end. “This is Kieth Williams.”

    His tone was casual, emotionless.

    “I’d like to meet. Today. My office. Noon.”

    No room for negotiation.

    “I—uh—yes. Of course.”

    He ended the call without a goodbye.

    I stared at the screen for several seconds after the line went dead, my heart hammering.

    “What?” Ivy asked as she came into the kitchen, munching on an apple.

    I looked up at her slowly.

    “He just called.”

    Her eyes widened. “Kieth?”

    I nodded. “He wants to meet. Today.”

    She blinked. “Already?”

    “He said noon. No explanation.”

    Ivy set the apple down. “That’s fast. Too fast.”

    “Should I be worried?”

    “You should be prepared,” she said, moving into crisis mode. “You need to dress like you belong in that office but also like you’re not trying too hard.”

    “Right,” I murmured, already on my feet. “Because it’s totally normal to be summoned by a billionaire after a thirty-second conversation.”

    “This is good,” she said, grabbing her phone. “It means he’s interested. But not romantically — not yet. He wants to read you. He’s going to test you. So don’t flinch.”

    “I’m flinching inside,” I muttered.

    “Then keep it inside.”

    ⸻

    By the time I arrived at his building — Apex Holdings, Williams Tower, 54th floor — I had done everything Ivy told me to do.

    Hair tied back into a neat twist. Light makeup. Navy slacks. Silk white blouse tucked in, no accessories except for a watch that didn’t even work anymore. I looked clean. Professional. Invisible, if I wanted to be.

    The elevator ride felt so long.

    The doors opened to a reception area. A single receptionist with perfectly slicked hair greeted me.

    “Miss Green?” she asked.

    “Yes.”

    “Mr. Williams is expecting you. Straight through those doors.”

    I walked toward the tall black doors she pointed at. When I opened them, the contrast hit me.

    His office was massive, but not lavish. No gold. No art. Just cool tones, a massive window view of the city, a desk that looked too empty, and a man standing by the glass.

    He didn’t turn around when I entered.

    I closed the door behind me.

    “Mr. Williams,” I said softly.

    “I wanted to see if you’d actually come,” he said without turning.

    “Why wouldn’t I?”

    “Because most people who fake confidence can only hold it in public.”

    “I wasn’t faking.”

    Now he turned.

    He was in a black button-up again, no jacket. Sleeves rolled. Watch on his wrist. His face unreadable, but his eyes… sharp. Always sharp.

    He gestured to the seat in front of his desk.

    “Sit.”

    I did.

    He sat across from me, lacing his fingers together. Silence stretched between us.

    “I did some digging,” he said finally.

    I went still. “On me?”

    “Of course.”

    I kept my breathing even. “Find anything interesting?”

    “That’s the strange part,” he said. “You exist… but only just enough. Resume. LinkedIn. A few scattered consulting gigs. But no personal footprints. No photos. No old coworkers. No chatter.”

    “I like my privacy.”

    “So do I,” he said. “But I’ve never met a woman who could vanish this well without training.”

    I smiled. “Maybe I’m just good at staying in my lane.”

    “Or maybe,” he said slowly, “you’re exactly the kind of woman people send into rooms like this.”

    My pulse jumped.

    “What do you mean?”

    “I mean you don’t flinch. You don’t stumble. And you don’t beg for attention like most people who orbit this world. You observe. You wait. That’s dangerous.”

    “I’m not dangerous, Mr. Williams.”

    He leaned forward.

    “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

    I held his gaze.

    “You called me here to accuse me of being a spy?” I said calmly.

    “No,” he replied. “I called you here to offer you a job.”

    That… I didn’t expect.

    My eyes narrowed. “A job?”

    He nodded once. “There’s a charity gala in Italy next month. I need someone to manage my brand presence. Handle the press. Guide the narrative.”

    “You already have a PR team.”

    “I don’t trust them.”

    “And you trust me?”

    “No,” he said. “But I trust the unknown more than I trust incompetence.”

    I blinked.

    “Let me be clear,” he added. “You’re not here because I believe your backstory. You’re here because I want to see what you do when the spotlight turns hot.”

    My mind was spinning. “Why me?”

    “Because you lied to me without blinking,” he said. “And I respect that.”

    I stared at him, unsure whether I should be flattered or terrified.

    “Your hotel will be arranged,” he continued. “A flight will be booked. You’ll be paid upfront. A week in Milan. You’ll be shadowing me during the event.”

    “Why would I say yes?”

    He stood slowly, walking toward the window again. “Because I can offer you everything you’ve ever wanted. Or nothing at all.”

    I stood too.

    “And if I’m really someone dangerous?” I asked.

    He turned back to me, eyes gleaming. “Then I’ll find out eventually. And I’ll handle it.”

    There was no threat in his tone.

    But somehow, it still chilled me.

    He walked to his desk, picked up a folder, and handed it to me.

    Inside was a non-disclosure agreement, a preliminary contract, and a note written in his tight, neat script.

    One lie can open ten doors. But it only takes one truth to burn them all down.

    I closed the folder.

    “When do we leave?”

    “Monday.”

    ⸻

    I walked out of that office feeling like I had just made a deal with the devil.

    And worse?

    I wasn’t sure I wanted to take it back.

(Malia's POV)

The moment I stepped back into Ivy's apartment, the weight of the folder in my hand felt heavier than my entire body. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a second, my head tilted back, breathing like I'd just run ten blocks

Ivy poked her head out of the kitchen, still holding the same apple from earlier, though it was now only a core. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"Worse," I muttered, raising the folder. "I saw a contract."

Her eyes went wide. She walked closer, the apple forgotten. "Already?"

I set the folder on the counter and rubbed my temples. "He didn't waste time. A job. A trip. Milan. He wants me to shadow him for a gala."

Ivy's jaw dropped. "Milan? As in Italy-Milan?"

"Yes, Ivy, not Texas-Milan."

She snatched up the folder, flipping through the neat stack of papers with lawyer-level precision. Her face paled the further she read. "Oh my God. This is moving fast. Too fast."

I flopped onto the couch, burying my face in the throw pillow. "Tell me about it.

She set the papers down gently, like they might explode. "Malia... this isn't some casual flirtation or part-time gig. He's pulling you into his orbit. Kieth Williams doesn't invite people into his orbit unless he intends to use them."

"Thanks for the pep talk," I mumbled into the pillow.

Her eyes softened, but her voice stayed firm. "I'm serious. If you sign this, you're stepping into something you can't easily walk out of. He's not just a man - he's a machine. Contracts, clauses, rules. And you know Andrew..."

The mention of his name made my stomach twist.

As if summoned, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. Private number.

Ivy and I locked eyes. She nodded toward the phone. "Answer."

I picked it up, pressing it to my ear. "Hello?"

Andrew's voice came sharp, cutting. "Well?"

I swallowed. "He offered me a job. Milan. There's a contract."

Silence stretched for a second. Then, "Perfect. That's exactly what we needed."

"I'm not sure-"

"Malia." His tone snapped like a whip. "Do not hesitate. This is the opportunity we've been waiting for. You'll have access to his travel schedule, his files, his contacts. You can't buy this kind of proximity."

My chest tightened. "It's happening too fast."

"Good," he said smoothly. "Fast means he's intrigued. Fast means he's letting his guard down. Do you understand what that means? It means he's vulnerable. And when a man like Kieth Williams is vulnerable, we win."

I glanced at Ivy. Her arms were crossed, worry etched into every line of her face.

"What if he suspects something?" I asked softly.

"Then you smile. You play the role. You do what you're good at. And remember..." His voice dipped lower, dangerous. "Ivy's life is tied to yours. If you slip, if you hesitate, if you think for one second that you can back out, she pays for it. Not you."

Ivy's face drained of color. She shook her head violently, mouthing, Don't listen.

My throat felt like it was closing. "I'll think about it," I whispered.

Andrew's voice hardened. "No. You'll sign it. Now. Put the pen to the paper, Malia. You're already in his cage. Don't forget who holds the key."

The line went dead.

I dropped the phone like it burned me. My hands shook.

Ivy rushed over, gripping my shoulders. "Don't do it. Don't let him scare you into this. You still have a choice."

"A choice?" I laughed bitterly. "Ivy, if I don't do this, you're the one who gets hurt. He made that clear."

Her lips trembled, but she held my gaze. "And if you do this? What then? You think Kieth won't see through you? You think Andrew will suddenly let us go? You're walking into fire either way."

I closed my eyes, breathing through the storm inside me. She was right. But Andrew's words echoed in my head, louder than reason. Ivy pays for it. Not you.

I couldn't let that happen.

I pulled the folder toward me, my hands still trembling. I flipped to the signature page. Ivy grabbed my wrist. "Malia. Please. Once you sign, there's no undoing this."

I looked at her - my best friend, my sister in everything but blood. The girl who had pulled me out of more messes than I could count. The girl who had always believed in me.

And I thought of Andrew's voice, cold and merciless.

I forced my hand free.

The pen felt heavier than iron. My name looked strange as I scratched it onto the line, shaky, almost unreadable.

When I dropped the pen, the sound echoed too loud in the quiet room.

Ivy's eyes filled with tears. "It's done."

I pressed the folder closed, sliding it away from me like I couldn't bear to touch it. My whole body felt hollow.

Ivy sat down beside me, pulling my hand into hers. "We'll figure it out," she whispered. "Somehow, we'll figure it out."

But I didn't answer.

Because deep down, I knew.

I wasn't just signing a contract.

I was signing my way into a cage.

And the worst part?

The man holding the lock wasn't Andrew.

It was Kieth Williams.