The envelope sat unopened on Lilith's coffee table for most of the night. She'd poured herself a glass of wine, stared at the edges of the flap, and still hadn't worked up the nerve to touch it again.
By morning, she'd decided to call him.
The line rang once. Then twice. Then picked up.
"Lilith," Arnold said smoothly as if he'd been expecting her.
"I read it," she said.
There was a pause on his end. "And?"
"I haven't signed."
Another beat.
"Is that a no?"
"I'm not sure yet."
Silence.
Arnold spoke again, slower this time. "You said something at dinner. That I wasn't what you expected."
Lilith leaned back in her chair, fingers curling around the phone. "You weren't. You're… careful. Measured. I don't know what you want from me. That makes you dangerous."
He didn't deny it. "I told you what I want. I think you'd be an asset to the board."
She hesitated. "That's not all of it, though, is it? You didn't show up at my café because you needed help finding strong female representation for your public-facing philanthropy."
"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I'm offering it to you anyway."
A long pause stretched between them.
Then, she added, "You think Victor came after me because of you?"
"Possibly," he said. "The deal I closed earlier this month... it gutted one of Sterling Industries' old subsidiaries. Harold's legacy. It made waves in some circles, but I didn't think much of it. Until now."
Lilith's lips parted slightly. She went quiet.
Arnold picked up on the change in her tone. "You already knew about the deal?"
She nodded before realizing he couldn't see it. "Yeah. It was in the news. Sterling's loss. Your win. Kind of a big headline."
Arnold's voice remained calm, but sharper now. "And you recognized the names involved?"
A pause. Then: "Yes."
He didn't respond immediately.
Then, quietly: "How?"
Lilith's chest tightened. She stood and moved toward the window, gaze drifting to the street below. Her voice came softer now.
"I knew Harold Sterling. Years ago."
Arnold didn't say anything.
"I wasn't close to him or anything," she added quickly, almost too quickly. "But I knew who he was before everything fell apart."
Arnold absorbed that silently. It changed something—he wasn't sure what yet—but it shifted the edges of the picture he'd been assembling.
"You were part of that world," he said, more of a realization than a question.
Lilith didn't confirm or deny. Just sighed. "For a while. And not in the way people usually mean it."
She moved back to the table and stared at the proposal again, tapping the cover page with a fingernail. "That's why this... your board, your offer... I'm not sure I can say yes. I don't want to be tied to anything corporate. Not again."
Arnold's brow furrowed slightly on his end.
"You think working with me would be the same as whatever you were involved in back then?"
Lilith gave a weak smile. "I don't know what I think. But I'm not comfortable. Not when I've spent the last few years rebuilding something clean. Quiet."
He leaned back in his chair, processing. She was giving him breadcrumbs, but not the whole map. Just enough to make him question how far back this really went. How many layers there were to her silence.
"I'm not asking you to give up your café," he said. "Or to change your life. The board position would be part-time. Public-facing, yes, but with full autonomy. No leash."
"That's the thing," Lilith replied quietly. "I've worn a leash before. Even when I thought I was free."
He watched the silence fill up between her words. There was more. That much was clear. But she wasn't ready. Not yet.
"I respect that," he said finally. "But if you're saying no just because the past scares you..."
She cut him off, gently. "I'm not scared of my past, Arnold. I'm scared of what happens when it catches up."
He didn't answer immediately.
And maybe that was the closest thing they had to understanding for now.
Later that night, Arnold stood at the window of his penthouse, staring out across the skyline. The glass reflected faint streaks of rain, and somewhere below, the city pulsed with quiet menace.
He replayed their conversation. Every pause. Every careful phrasing. Every word she'd chosen not to say.
Lilith knew Harold Sterling.
She'd said it casually, but it meant something. Everything Victor had done—his sudden reappearance, the quiet threat—now felt personal. And far more deliberate.
Arnold reached for his decanter and poured a drink, his movements calm, and controlled.
He wasn't afraid of Victor Sterling. But he hated being blindsided.
And Lilith?
She wasn't just a woman from the past anymore.
She was a key.
To what, he still didn't know.
But he intended to find out.