Nova Heights glittered that night.
The skyline shimmered with gold light as limousines slid up the marble driveway of the Grand Sterling Hotel — the venue every elite in the city whispered about for weeks.
The KingTech Annual Gala wasn't just a business gathering.
It was a battlefield dressed in silk gowns and tuxedos, where alliances were sealed with champagne and enemies smiled with red lipstick.
Amelia Jones stepped out of the company car and nearly forgot to breathe.
The hotel's grand chandelier blazed like a fallen star.
Reporters lined the red carpet, flashes erupting as Christopher King's name echoed from their lips.
Her satin black dress hugged her frame perfectly — elegant yet understated. Her curls fell gently over one shoulder, her makeup soft but commanding.
And though she looked every bit the confident assistant, her heart was performing gymnastics.
She wasn't supposed to feel anything. This was work. Strictly work.
But somewhere deep down, she knew the moment she'd see him tonight — in his element, surrounded by power and beauty — something inside her would shift.
---
"Miss Jones."
The voice made her spin.
Mark appeared, looking sharp in a gray tux. "You clean up nicely. Didn't think the corporate assassin had a soft side."
She smirked. "And I didn't think you owned a tie."
"Touché," he said, offering his arm. "Shall we?"
Inside, the ballroom gleamed with gold drapery, chandeliers, and laughter that sounded like secrets.
And there, near the stage — as if he ruled the night itself — stood Christopher King.
Dark tuxedo. Cold expression. A man who didn't need attention but got it anyway.
He was speaking with a group of investors, his posture effortless, his aura untouchable.
But when his gaze found her across the room, he paused.
Just for a second.
Then — like a flicker of something dangerous — his eyes softened before turning away.
---
"Who's that beside him?" Amelia whispered to Mark.
Mark followed her gaze. "That… is Miss Elena Moretti. Christopher's first love. Or, well, the love — if you believe the tabloids."
Her chest tightened. "First love?"
He nodded. "Daughter of the Italian diplomat who financed KingTech's first major deal. She's been in Rome for years, but apparently, she's back for good."
Elena.
The name sounded like luxury and heartbreak rolled into one.
Amelia's fingers gripped her clutch a little tighter.
The woman was radiant — tall, poised, her smile polished to perfection. Her red gown glittered under the chandeliers as she touched Christopher's arm lightly while laughing at something he said.
Something inside Amelia twisted. Not jealousy — not yet — just awareness.
Awareness that the man she worked for, the man who had haunted her thoughts for weeks, wasn't hers to even think about.
---
"Miss Jones," a familiar voice cut through her thoughts.
She turned — Christopher was suddenly standing right in front of her.
"Mr. King," she replied smoothly, though her pulse betrayed her calm.
He scanned her slowly — his gaze starting from the hem of her dress, lingering just a moment too long. "You clean up… exceptionally."
Her lips curved. "Careful, sir. That almost sounded like a compliment."
He leaned in slightly. "Don't get used to it."
"Already not."
His mouth twitched — amusement flickering like static before he gestured toward the crowd. "I'll need you by my side tonight. Elena will be joining our table. I expect you to assist with introductions."
Her breath hitched. "Elena?"
"Elena Moretti," he confirmed, tone neutral. "You'll get along."
Oh, will we now? Amelia thought.
"Understood," she said, though her voice was a shade colder.
---
Later that evening, as the live band began to play, the trio took their seats at the main table.
Elena laughed softly, touching Christopher's hand like she owned every memory he'd ever had.
Amelia smiled politely, answering questions, jotting down brief notes for him, keeping her composure like a soldier on parade.
But then Elena leaned closer to Christopher and said, just loud enough for Amelia to hear:
> "She's lovely. But you've never been good at keeping things professional, have you, Chris?"
Amelia froze. Christopher's jaw tensed — barely — but he didn't respond.
Instead, he turned to Amelia and said evenly,
> "Miss Jones, could you get us another bottle of the 2012 reserve?"
She rose with a smile, but her eyes burned.
"Yes, sir."
As she walked away, she could still hear Elena's laugh.
And deep down, Amelia promised herself one thing — she'd never let that woman see her flinch again.
---