Chapter 8

• The press conference shimmered with luxury—bright spotlights, crystal chandeliers, a sea of black suits and glittering gowns. Danielle stepped onto the red carpet entrance of The Crest Hotel, the high-end venue chosen for the merger announcement between her company and Virella Group. Her heels clicked sharply against marble, echoing like quiet defiance.
• She wore a deep green dress that hugged her slender frame, her long curls tucked into a sleek knot. Elegant. Untouchable. At least that was the image she’d learned to wear over the years—like perfectly cut armor.
• Behind her, Aria muttered, “That’s a lot of cameras. Are you sure you don’t want me to answer any questions on your behalf?”
• Danielle offered a soft smile. “No need. I’m just here to show face. They’ll all be watching Bianca anyway.”
• Speak of the devil.
• “Danielle?” The high-pitched, syrupy voice froze the air.
• Danielle turned, only her eyes moving first. Bianca Carter stood a few feet away in a wine-colored gown that screamed designer exclusivity, arm linked with their father’s.
• Bianca’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
• “Didn’t think you’d show.”
• “I could say the same,” Danielle replied coolly. Her gaze flicked to Richard Carter, who hadn’t acknowledged her presence yet. As if she were invisible. A ghost in her own family.
• He finally gave her a brief nod, the kind reserved for strangers on the street. “Danielle.”
• “Father,” she said with a cordial smile. Empty.
• There was a pause. Tension hovered like perfume clinging to silk.
• “You’ll want to be careful up there,” Bianca said lightly, eyes sharp beneath her mascara. “This merger isn’t a charity drive. The board will be watching.”
• Danielle arched a brow. “Then I suppose it’s lucky I didn’t come here to impress you.”
• Bianca's lips tightened before she smiled wider, like a serpent adjusting its coils. “Of course not. But I heard your company is still stabilizing after that investor fallout last year. Strange that Virella would want to work with you. I wonder who’s pulling strings behind the curtain.”
• Danielle's gaze didn’t waver. “I prefer my achievements earned. You should try it sometime.”
• Richard cleared his throat, clearly unimpressed with their back-and-forth. “Bianca, we’re needed inside. Danielle,” he added as an afterthought, “don’t make trouble.”
• The moment they turned, Aria exhaled beside her. “That was a drive-by in heels.”
• Danielle didn’t respond. Her fingers curled slightly around the clutch in her hand.
• Make trouble? She wasn’t here for that.
• But trouble had a way of finding her anyway.
• ---
• The press conference hall buzzed with anticipation. Virella’s CEO was late—an annoying habit Danielle had grown used to. While she waited backstage, her phone buzzed.
• A message.
• Unknown Number: “You were beautiful last night.”
• Her stomach dipped.
• She read it again. No name. No emoji. Just words.
• Somehow… they felt like him.
• Alexander.
• It had to be.
• She didn't bother dwelling on how he had gotten her private number.
• She hadn't seen him or Theo since they left her apartment. No messages. No calls. She told herself that was a good thing—it kept the lines uncrossed. Still, she had expected something. Anything.
• She started typing.
• “Is this you?”
• But she didn’t hit send.
• Instead, she silenced her phone and walked out toward the crowd. The game had already begun. And she couldn’t afford distractions.
• Not with Bianca watching.
• ---
• Alexander Sterling hadn’t meant to text her.
• It was a mistake.
• At least that’s what he told himself as he sat in his boardroom, fingers tapping against a black coffee mug.
• The night at Danielle’s place kept replaying in his head. The way Theo had leaned into her. The small smile she gave when she thought no one was looking. The way her home had felt—warm in a way he hadn’t known he missed.
• Dangerous.
• She was dangerous.
• Not because she meant to be—but because she was too easy to remember.
• And even harder to forget.
• Theo had asked about her three times that morning.
• Each time, Alexander had brushed it off.
• “She’s busy.”
• “She has work.”
• “She probably doesn’t remember us.”
• He wasn’t sure who he was lying to more—Theo or himself.
• Damian entered without knocking, as usual. “You’re watching the merger livestream?”
• Alexander glanced at the screen. Danielle stood at the far side of the press conference panel, her posture calm, unbothered, despite Bianca speaking into the microphone like a show pony on opening night.
• “She handles herself well,” Damian said, watching him instead of the screen.
• Alexander didn’t answer.
• Because he wasn’t just watching.
• He was studying.
• ---
• After the press conference, Danielle escaped to the hallway with a bottle of water, her thoughts swirling.
• Bianca had dropped veiled barbs all through the Q&A. The reporters ate it up, gossip dressed in stock numbers. Danielle had kept her answers neutral, polished, but each word had felt like walking a tightrope over fire.
• “Ms. Carter?”
• A voice pulled her back.
• It was a man from the Virella side. Sharp glasses, neutral suit. The company’s legal advisor.
• “We’d like a follow-up meeting with just the founding parties. Could you make time this week?”
• Danielle gave a professional nod. “Send a schedule. I’ll make time.”
• As she turned, she found Bianca already watching her from across the room. Something unreadable in her expression. Not triumph.
• Wariness.
• Danielle walked past her without a word.
• She had no time for small fights when the real battle was still ahead.
• ---
• Later that evening, her phone buzzed again.
• Unknown Number: “You’re harder to forget than you think.”
• Her breath caught.
• She read it once. Twice.
• Then she smiled—just barely.
• And this time, she replied.
• “So are you.”