Chspter 26: TANGLED IN POWER.

      As Blake and I re-entered the ballroom, the warmth and chatter of the crowd press in around us, a stark contrast to the tension still humming between us. My heels click against the marble floor, but my mind is still back in that quiet corner, still feeling the ghost of Alan’s fingers as he let me go.

I don’t even get the chance to process it before a familiar voice calls my name.

“Samantha!”

I turn just in time to see Isabel approaching, a bright smile on her face. She looks stunning in an emerald green dress, her dark curls swept to one side, the picture of effortless elegance.

Before I can react, she loops an arm through mine, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “There you are! I was starting to think you ran off.”

I force a small smile. “I’m fine. Just… stepping away for a bit.”

She hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t push. Instead, she turns slightly to the man standing beside her, her fingers brushing against his wrist in a casual, familiar gesture.

“I want you to meet someone,” she says, her voice softer now. She gestures between us. “Samantha, this is my boyfriend, Charles. Charles, this is my friend… and my brother’s personal assistant, Samantha.”

Charles extends a hand, offering a polite, easygoing smile. He’s tall, well-dressed, and carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone used to moving in these circles.

“Pleasure to meet you, Samantha,” he says. “Mr Hawthorne” he added.

Blake just nodded.

I shake his hand, nodding. “You too.”

Before the conversation can settle, Isabel’s eyes scan the ballroom, and then she smirks knowingly.

“Where’s Alan?” she asks. “I thought he was your date tonight?”

I feel Blake shift slightly beside me, his presence like a steady pulse at my side.

I glance at her, leveling her with a look. “He is.”

She raises a perfectly arched brow. “And yet… you’re here. With Blake.”

I force a small smile, keeping my tone light. “Mr Blake asked me to meet a few people with him. Just work-related.” My gaze flickers toward the crowd before I add, “I will return back to Alan afterwards.”

Isabel hums again, her gaze flicking between us before she finally shrugs. “Well, don’t keep him waiting too long.”

I don’t plan to.

Still, as Charles and Isabel continue talking, I feel Blake’s hand ghost against the small of my back, guiding me slightly toward him as a passing waiter brushes too close. It’s a small gesture, almost imperceptible, but it sends a shiver down my spine.

I need to go back to Alan.

As we move further into the grand ballroom, the air shifts. It’s not just wealth that fills this space—it’s power, the kind that dictates economies, controls industries, and influences governments from behind closed doors.

And right now, I’m walking straight into the heart of it.

Blake doesn’t have to push through crowds. The moment he steps forward, conversations quieten, and heads turn—not in obvious deference, but in a way that acknowledges who he is without a single word being spoken.

This isn’t just a gathering of the elite. These are the people who own the world in ways the public will never fully understand.

I try to steady my breath as we approach a group standing in a loose circle. Five men and one woman. Their postures are relaxed, but there’s a sharpness in their eyes, like a silent game of dominance is always being played.

Blake doesn’t hesitate. His voice is smooth, controlled. “Gentlemen. Amara.”

The only woman among them tilts her head slightly. She’s stunning, poised, exuding effortless power.

Blake doesn’t leave me in the dark. His next words are meant for me. “Amara Patel. She owns some of the largest private banking institutions in the world.”

My stomach tightens. Banking. That doesn’t sound simple.

Blake continues, moving on effortlessly. “Victor Sokolov,” Blake says, “Russian oil and energy.” His eyes flick to me briefly. “If there’s a deal too dangerous for anyone else to touch, he’s usually behind it.”

The man gives me a knowing look, something in his gaze assessing.

“And Lorenzo De Luca.”

Blake’s tone doesn’t shift, but something about the way he says it makes my breath hitch.

Lorenzo. Italian. His suit is impeccable, his presence commanding. “Shipping magnate,” Blake adds. “Controls most of the European trade routes.”

Lorenzo offers a polite nod, but his eyes don’t move from me.

I barely have time to process before Blake moves on. “Matthias König. Cybersecurity. If you want something hidden from the world, he’s the man you go to.”

Matthias studies me for a moment before giving a brief nod.

Then Blake speaks again, and this time, his voice shifts. “And this is Samantha White. My personal assistant.”

The effect is immediate.

The air changes.

Amara’s head tilts slightly. Victor’s gaze sharpens. Matthias looks faintly amused.

But it’s Lorenzo who reacts the most. His eyes flick between me and Blake before his lips curve into a slow smile.

“The elusive Blake Hawthorne has a personal assistant,” Lorenzo muses, his voice smooth. “Something you don’t do.” His gaze lingers on me. “She must be special.”

A prickle runs down my spine, but I keep my expression neutral.

Blake doesn’t flinch. “She’s efficient.”

Lorenzo’s smile deepens. “Efficient.” He repeats the word like he’s tasting it. Then his attention shifts back to me, and something in his gaze makes my breath hitch. “And beautiful.”

The words are low, appreciative—but there’s something deliberate in the way he says them.

Blake’s stance shifts.

It’s subtle, but I feel it.

“She’s here to work, not to be admired,” Blake says, his tone cool.

Lorenzo chuckles. “Work and admiration are not mutually exclusive.” His eyes flick back to me. “If you’re new to this world, I’d be happy to show you around.”

Blake’s grip on his glass tightens.

“She won’t be needing that.”

His voice is deceptively calm, but the warning is clear.

Lorenzo’s amusement only grows. “Ah, of course.” But his eyes flicker with something else—interest. A challenge.

I swallow, my mind racing.

I don’t have to look at Blake to know.

He’s jealous.

And the realization makes my pulse race.

There’s a flicker of unspoken approval among them — not warm, but... respectful. Like they’re acknowledging I’ve earned a place here, even if they don’t understand how.

A waiter appears with a tray of champagne. I reach for a glass, but before I can take one, Mr. Hawthorne plucks a flute from the tray and hands it to me himself.

It’s a small gesture — barely noticeable — but Amara catches it. So does Victor. So does Lorenzo.

They’re watching me now. Watching him.

I sip the champagne carefully, my mind racing.

I should go back to Alan. I thought to myself again.

Because standing here, caught in this silent exchange of power and suspicion, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve stumbled into something far bigger than I realized.

And somehow…

It feels like there’s no way out.

Lorenzo’s gaze lingers on me before shifting smoothly to Blake, amusement dancing in his sharp eyes. Before returning them back to me.

"Alan brought you to the ball, didn’t he?"

I barely have a second to react before he turns his attention to Blake.

"Speaking of which… where is your brother?"

Blake doesn’t even flinch. "Occupied."

Lorenzo hums, tilting his head slightly. "Is that so?" There's something uncertain in his gaze before it shifts back to me.

“Alan isn’t one for social events, so his absence doesn’t surprise me.”

Amara, watching the exchange with quiet interest, finally speaks. Her voice is smooth, thoughtful.

"Interesting. First, Alan brings her to the ball, and now Blake introduces her to us. I wonder…"

The weight of their attention presses down on me.

Blake doesn’t let it linger. His voice is calm, controlled.

"Don’t."

A single word, but the warning is clear.

Lorenzo chuckles, but I can see the flicker of something sharper beneath his amusement. This conversation isn’t over.

I straighten my posture, forcing a polite smile despite the tension crackling around me. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you all,” I say, my voice steady. I refuse to let them—any of them—think I’m just some silent accessory to Alan or Blake.

I turn slightly toward Blake. “If there’s nothing else you need from me, I’d like to return to Alan.”

The words come out calm, measured, but I can feel the weight of them settling between us. A quiet reminder that I am here by choice, not because I’m being shuffled between the two brothers like some kind of possession.

For a beat, no one speaks. Then, from the corner of my eye, I catch the way Amara’s lips twitch upward, her gaze flicking between me and Blake like she’s just been handed the most interesting puzzle. Lorenzo, on the other hand, lets out a soft, amused hum, studying me as if seeing me properly for the first time.

Blake takes his time responding, his grip on his glass unwavering. Then, finally, in that cool, controlled tone of his, he says, “You can go.”

I nod, resisting the urge to exhale in relief, and turn to leave. But just as I step away, Amara's voice follows me, teasing and deliberate.

“I think I like her.”

I don’t stop, don’t react, but I feel it. The subtle shift in the air. The way Blake’s presence cools, like a slow-moving storm.

And I know, without even looking back, that I’ve just walked out of one game and straight into another.

I’ve only taken a few steps when I hear him behind me.

“Mrs White, wait.”

I pause but don’t turn immediately. There’s something about Lorenzo De Luca—his presence, his audacity—that warns me to be careful. Slowly, I glance back, meeting his sharp, unreadable gaze. He’s already too close, his movements effortless, like he’s used to getting what he wants without asking twice.

“Let’s keep in touch,” he says smoothly, pulling out a business card. It’s slightly worn, like it’s been sitting in his pocket for too long, but the number scrawled across the back is fresh. Not printed—handwritten. Personal.

I lift a brow, unimpressed. “I’m sorry, Mr. De Luca, but I don’t take random numbers from strangers.”

His lips twitch in amusement, like he expected that answer. “Smart.” Then, instead of backing off, he simply extends the card toward me. “Then take mine. Call me whenever you change your mind.”

I hesitate. The last thing I want is to encourage whatever game he’s playing, but outright rejecting him might invite more trouble than it’s worth. So, keeping my expression composed, I take the card between two fingers, my grip light, detached.

“Excuse me, Mr. De Luca.” My tone is polite but firm as I step away.

I feel his eyes on me the entire way. It’s not leering, not inappropriate—just curious. Intrigued. Like I’ve become some unexpected puzzle he’s suddenly desperate to solve.

I don’t look back. I don’t need to. I know exactly what I’m doing.

————

Blake’s Speech

Blake raised his glass, his expression cool and unreadable as the room quieted.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is more than just an event—it’s a statement. A celebration of success, ambition, and the power we hold to shape the future.

The Hawthorne legacy was built on ambition, not hesitation. My father understood that, and so do I. This company. Our empire—does not wait for opportunity. We create it. We dominate the markets because we refuse to settle for anything less than absolute control. That will not change. Not today. Not ever."

His gaze swept the room, measured and deliberate.

“To partnerships—old and new. To the risks we take and the empires we build. And to staying at the top, where we belong.

Loyalty is not given; it is earned. And for those who question our reach, who think they can outmaneuver us—let them try. We do not lose." He added.

A small pause. Then, with a subtle smirk, he lifted his glass higher.

“To the future.”

Glasses clinked, the moment sealed......

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