The low hum of the private jet engine thrummed like a heartbeat, steady and cool. Selene Blackwood sat by the window, legs crossed, spine razor-straight, fingers drumming against her laptop. The screen glowed with financial reports and internal projections—but her mind wasn't on numbers.
Not today.
Across from her, Julian Crane looked every inch the polished, charming devil he was. Charcoal suit, gold cufflinks, sleeves rolled up just enough to seem casual but not lazy. He sat relaxed, legs stretched out, one ankle resting over his knee, a cup of black espresso in hand like a weapon of choice.
"Still tense on flights, huh?" he asked, voice smooth as silk.
Selene didn't glance up. "I'm tense around bad ideas."
"Is that what this is to you?" His smile widened. "A bad idea?"
"This trip. Not the flight," she said, sipping her sparkling water.
He tilted his head, amused. "You agreed to it."
"I was blackmailed into agreeing."
Julian laughed. "You're dramatic."
"You're reckless."
"And yet, here we are."
---
✈️ Altitude Equals Vulnerability
Thirty minutes into the flight, the usual walls began to show hairline cracks.
Julian watched her.
She was unreadable, as always—cheekbones sharp, hair in a sleek knot, tailored black dress that made her look untouchable. But he noticed the twitch of her jaw. The way she tapped her pen exactly three times when she was annoyed. And the fact that she hadn't scolded him for watching her.
She was breaking.
And he was falling. Again.
"Selene," he said, finally setting his laptop aside. "We need to talk."
She looked up, annoyed. "About the project timeline?"
"No. About that night."
She paused.
Her pen stopped tapping.
"What night?"
"You know which one."
A long silence stretched between them like tensioned wire.
"The gala," she said flatly.
He nodded. "The kiss."
She stared at him. "It was a moment. It passed."
Julian leaned forward, voice low. "It didn't pass for me."
---
🔥 The Past Never Stays Quiet
Selene clenched her jaw.
Why did he have to bring it up now? They were thousands of feet in the air, trapped in a metal tube with no escape, and here he was, poking at the one thing she'd tried to bury.
"You kissed me," she said, voice tight. "And I made a mistake by letting it happen."
Julian's smile faded. "So that's all it was?"
"Yes."
"You kissed me back, Selene."
"I was drunk."
"You weren't."
She exhaled sharply, turning back to her laptop.
"I don't have time for this."
Julian studied her face, quiet for a moment.
Then he said something she didn't expect.
"I remember how you looked at me that night. It wasn't cold. It wasn't calculated. You were just… you."
Selene swallowed hard.
She remembered too. The warmth in his touch. The quiet moment on the rooftop. The way her heart had dared to hope—for one reckless second—that maybe he could be more than a rival.
But she shut that part of her down long ago.
"There's no room for feelings in business," she said.
"And what about after business hours?"
"There are no after hours with you, Julian."
---
🛬 Singapore: Enemies Await
The SkyGlint Hotel in Singapore was a testament to wealth and power. Fifty-six stories of reflective glass and ambition. The company had reserved the top three floors for the international expansion summit.
As they exited the sleek black town car, a familiar voice greeted them.
"Selene. Julian. Finally."
Camille Foster stood near the marble entrance, sunglasses perched on her head, ivory pantsuit crisp and tailored. She looked flawless—and smug.
"I took the liberty of requesting adjoining suites," she added smoothly. "For convenience, of course."
Julian remained neutral.
Selene's glare could melt glass.
"You always were generous with other people's space," Selene said.
Camille smiled thinly. "Only for people I trust."
The irony wasn't lost on anyone.
---
🥂 The Welcome Gala – Pretending Is a Game
Later that night, the rooftop gala shimmered with luxury. Twinkling lights. Crystal glasses. The skyline glittering behind guests dressed in designer gowns and sharp tuxedos.
Selene wore a deep emerald gown that made her look carved from royalty. She stood by the railing, overlooking the city, wine untouched in her hand.
Camille was already working the room, laughing with board members, letting her fingers linger too long on Julian's shoulder.
Selene didn't care.
She didn't.
Until Marcus Hale showed up.
"I'd say you missed me," he said, sliding beside her, drink in hand.
Selene's throat tightened.
"Marcus."
"You look good."
"I know."
He chuckled. "Still charming."
"You're still breathing. That's luck."
They hadn't spoken in two years. Not since he left her with nothing but a shattered engagement ring and a tabloid scandal.
And now he was here. On her turf.
"Camille invited me to speak," he said, reading her expression.
Selene's laugh was hollow. "Of course she did."
---
💌 The Note
As Selene turned to leave, a waiter approached.
"Miss Blackwood. This was left for you."
A small envelope. No return address.
She opened it carefully.
You don't know who you're working with. But they know everything about you.
Her stomach dropped.
She scanned the room—Marcus was gone. Julian was still speaking with a foreign executive. Camille was laughing too hard.
A flicker of paranoia lit in her chest.
She folded the note and slipped it into her clutch, already calculating threats, enemies, and vulnerabilities.
Because Selene Blackwood didn't believe in coincidences.
And she had too many secrets someone could use.
---
💥 Private Confrontations
Back in her suite, hours later, she barely had time to kick off her heels when a knock came.
Julian.
He didn't wait to be invited in.
"Who was the guy at the gala?"
She blinked. "What?"
"The one who made you go pale. Tall. Smirking. Former lover?"
"None of your business."
Julian crossed the room in two strides.
"Everything about you is my business. We're partners now."
"You're not my partner," she snapped. "You're a convenient arrangement."
"And yet you kissed me."
She slapped him.
The room went quiet.
He touched his cheek, slowly. "You hit harder than you pretend not to feel."
Her breath caught.
They stared at each other.
And then—too fast, too messy—they collided.
Mouths clashing. Emotions combusting. Walls tumbling.
They kissed like they were drowning.
They pulled away like it hurt.
Selene pushed him back.
"This was a mistake."
Julian's jaw tightened. "Then make it again."
She slammed the door in his face.
---
🧊 Camille's Game Begins
The next morning, Camille stood at the breakfast terrace with Marcus, watching Selene's distant figure by the pool.
"You sure this will work?" Marcus asked.
Camille smiled, sipping her espresso. "Selene's good at chess. But I'm playing poker."
"And Julian?"
Camille's eyes narrowed.
"He thinks he's falling in love with her."
Marcus smirked. "Isn't he?"
"Let him," she said. "The higher he climbs, the farther he'll fall."