LOGINCleopatra’s POVThe morning after the gala, I made myself a firm promise: whatever had happened between Desmond and me on that hotel terrace would remain exactly where it belonged.I repeated those words like a mantra while getting dressed, whispered them again while brushing my hair, and said them one last time as I stepped into the elevator at Walton Global. Unfortunately, my heart refused to cooperate with my resolve.The moment the elevator doors slid open onto the executive floor, my eyes landed on him immediately.Desmond stood beside Claire’s desk, reviewing a document on his tablet. His black suit was well pressed, and his facial expression was completely controlled, looking to anyone else exactly as he always did.But I knew better now. I knew the feel of his hands against my skin, the warmth in his voice when he confessed he was losing his mind over me, and the exact taste of his lips against mine.I quickly looked away, keeping my voice cool. "Good morning, Mr. Walton."His
Cleopatra’s POVThe gala finally wound down shortly after midnight. As the remaining guests began filter out and the ballroom music faded, I slipped away through the side doors before anyone could stop me. I needed fresh air to clear my head.The hotel's upper terrace was deserted. A brief rain shower had passed over earlier, leaving the stone floor slick and dark beneath the city lights. The skyline stretched out beyond the glass railing, its reflection shimmering in Puddles like broken glass. I stepped out to the edge, closing my eyes as the cool night breeze hit my skin. For the first time all evening, the tight knot in my chest loosened."Running away?"I opened my eyes, not at all surprised to find Desmond standing a few paces behind me. I let out a quiet breath. "Do you ever stop following me around?""Not when you look this stressed," he said, walking up to the railing beside me."I’m not stressed.""You’re a terrible liar, Cleopatra."I turned to face him fully. "Tonight was e
Cleopatra’s POVTonight the company was organizing its annual gala. I had changed my mind about attending the gala at least six times. The dress was the primary issue: a striking sapphire gown that made me feel exposed. While the front was elegant and tailored, the back descended into an open cut that left my shoulders and most of my spine completely bare.I stared at my reflection in the mirror, leaning against the vanity with a sigh. "This is ridiculous," I whispered to the empty room.My phone buzzed against the marble counter with a message from Desmond: The gala is about to start.I frowned down at the screen, typing back immediately. I will be right there.His response arrived seconds later: can't wait to see you.I stared at his answer longer than necessary before finally slipping the phone into my clutch.When I stepped into the Walton Global lobby, Desmond was already waiting near the entrance. His black tuxedo was impeccably tailored, and his expression maintained its usual
Desmond’s POVIt was eight forty-seven in the evening when I finally noticed the light pouring out from beneath Cleopatra’s office door. I had already sent most of the workers home, leaving the building almost entirely silent.I walked toward her office expecting to find her reviewing the next day’s schedule, but instead, I found her fast asleep. She was slouched behind her desk with her arms folded over a stack of financial reports, her laptop still open with a spreadsheet filling the screen, and her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose.For several seconds, I simply stood in the doorway watching her. She looked entirely different while sleeping: younger, softer, and stripped of the sharp responses and guarded expressions she routinely wore around me. She looked like the woman from the photograph I had seen right before the wedding, the innocent woman who had walked into a church expecting to marry the man she loved, only to be dragged into my corporate war.I steppe
Cleopatra’s POVBy six thirty the following evening, I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror wondering why I had agreed to attend dinner at the Walton family estate.The black dress Grace had insisted I borrow fit perfectly, but that only made me more uncomfortable. I wasn’t supposed to look like I belonged in Desmond Walton’s world; I was supposed to look like his employee. Unfortunately, the dress made that distinction difficult.My phone vibrated on the vanity. A message from Desmond appeared on the screen: I'm at your door.I stared at it before typing a quick response: hold on, I'm almost ready.I frowned, but before I could send, the doorbell rang downstairs.Ten minutes later, I was sitting inside Desmond’s black sedan, watching Silvercrest disappear behind tinted windows."You could have warned me about the dress code," I said, breaking the silence.Desmond glanced at me from his seat. "I did.""You said dinner.""My mother considers dinner a diplomatic summit," he counte
Desmond’s POVThe city always looked different from sixty floors above Silvercrest. Everything below appeared small enough to manage: people became moving dots, traffic became neat lines of light, and complex problems turned into predictable numbers on spreadsheets. That was how I preferred the world, simple, measurable, and controlled.Yet Cleopatra Sander had managed to shatter that illusion within a single week. After the incident, she had agreed to help me investigate the crimes she was accused of.Sitting across from me in my private office, she was surrounded by stacks of financial reports, encrypted ledgers, and three open laptops. "You missed something," she said suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.I looked up from my screen, frowning. "What did I miss?"She pointed toward a transaction report on her screen. "This transfer right here. You saw the amount, but you completely missed the timing. The payment was made at 2:14 a.m., exactly three minutes after an internal security







