007

Caleb POV 

"Interesting."

The words left my mouth almost on instinct. I walked away from Rosalie's desk without looking back, every measured step belying the chaos brewing beneath my skin.

Control. That was all this was. Control. I had spent twenty-seven years mastering it—in business, grief and life.

One reckless night wasn't enough to undo decades of discipline. It couldn't.

There's something about her. 

The voice slammed into my head. My jaw clenched.

Enough.

A low growl answered me. It was not aloud. It was inside. The beast I'd spent years burying shifted restlessly.

She's really interesting. 

I ignored it and climbed the small platform. The lecture hall had gone eerily silent. Over two hundred students watched me expectantly.

The dean. Three lecturers. Even a handful of visiting professors. Every one of them waiting. Good.

Fear made people attentive. I placed both hands behind my back, surveying the room.

"I don't believe in lectures." Confused glances spread through the hall. "I believe in problems."

That got their attention.

"In business, nobody pays you for memorising theories."

I paused.

"They pay you for solving problems other people can't."

There was silence. It was much better. I picked up the marker and drew a rough chart across the board.

"A retail company has lost thirty percent of its revenue within six months despite increasing its marketing budget by forty percent."

I turned back toward the class. "If you're the new CEO..."

"What do you do first?"

Hands stayed down.

No one spoke.

I waited. Still nothing. Disappointing.

Westfield had one of the country's best business programmes.

Yet not one student was willing to risk being wrong.

"Anyone?"

More silence.

A young man near the front finally stood.

"I'll increase advertising."

I shook my head.

"You've just increased spending without identifying the problem."

He sat. Another student tried.

"I'll lay off workers."

"Worse."

A third.

"I'll reduce product prices."

"No."

Each answer only confirmed what I'd suspected. They were treating symptoms and not the causes.

Business didn't reward guesswork. It rewarded observation. My gaze swept across the room.

Then stopped. Rosalie.

She wasn't looking at me. She was staring at the case study I'd written on the board, her brows knitted together.

Her lips moved ever so slightly. Almost as though, she was arguing with my solution. Interesting.

Without meaning to, I found myself watching her longer than I should have.

The faint scent of jasmine drifted through the room. It shouldn't have reached me. It did.

Every muscle in my body stiffened. That scent. God.

I had tried to forget it.

Failed.

I remembered it on my sheets. On my skin. On my clothes. No matter how many meetings I'd attended over the past week, it never truly left me.

She should've been forgettable. It was just one mistake. One night. One memory.

Instead, she occupied my thoughts far more than she had any right to. The gun. That image returned without invitation.

Most people froze when a weapon was pointed at them. Some begged. Some cried.

Rosalie had taken the barrel from my hand and pressed it against herself.

Then she'd looked me in the eye as though I were the one who should be afraid.

Who did that? It hadn't been courage. Or perhaps...

It had. Either way, she was different.

She should be ours.

I exhaled slowly.

Quiet.

The beast didn't listen. A hand suddenly shot into the air.

Emily. For a split second, genuine confusion crossed my mind. Emily had never shown much interest in business.

I nodded anyway. "Yes?"

She stood with an apologetic smile. "I don't actually know the answer."

Soft laughter echoed through the lecture hall. Emily pointed toward the middle row.

"But Rosa does."

Rosalie's head whipped toward her. "Emily..."

My daughter only shrugged.

"She's been whispering the answer since you asked the question."

More laughter followed. Rosalie looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

For reasons I couldn't explain, the sight almost amused me. Almost.

She remained glued to her seat.

"I don't think—"

"Come on," Emily encouraged.

"You've got this."

Every eye in the lecture hall shifted toward Rosalie. She looked trapped or the best word was cornered.

Finally, she stood.

Slowly, I met her gaze.

"Go ahead, Miss Smith."

She swallowed. Then she looked back at the board.

"The first problem isn't revenue."

The room quietened. "It's information."

She stepped forward slightly. "You can't fix declining sales until you understand why they're declining."

Good. Very good.

"If marketing increased but revenue still dropped..."

She continued more confidently now. "...then I'd investigate customer behaviour before spending another pound."

She began listing possibilities. She started from product quality, supply chain issues, customer retention, competitor positioning and operational waste.

Every answer built naturally upon the previous one. She wasn't reciting textbooks.

She was thinking.

By the time she finished, even the lecturers were nodding.

I found myself studying her with renewed interest. It was not because of what had happened between us anymore.

But because she saw the problem exactly the way I would. At least without overcomplicating it or chasing unnecessary theories.

A slow smile threatened to form. I stopped it before anyone noticed.

She smells like ours. I heard clearly. 

This time...I didn't tell the beast to be quiet.