We circulate for another ten minutes, Thrall making a point to introduce me to every major investor in the room. By the time I finally extract myself to check on the evening gala setup, I've collected four new business cards and three requests for consultations.
"I told you," Thrall murmurs as I reluctantly pull away. "You're brilliant."
"I'm going back to work before you completely derail my professionalism," I say, though my hand lingers in his for just a moment longer than strictly necessary. I can feel the warmth of his palm, the solid presence of him, and it's dangerously distracting.
"Meet me after the gala." It's not a question. It's a demand wrapped in the softest possible tone, which somehow makes it infinitely more compelling.
I pull my hand away, reluctantly, and cross my arms over my chest. "Thrall, the gala runs until eleven. I'll be exhausted. I need to oversee breakdown, debrief with Kiera, make sure the catering team handles cleanup, and?—"
"I don't care," he interrupts, and there's something in his voice that makes my breath catch. Something that sounds like genuine intensity beneath the casual words. "Meet me. Please."
Thepleaseis what gets me. Thrall doesn't do pleading. He doesn't do vulnerability. And yet there it is, rough-edged and sincere, hanging between us like a challenge I don't know how to refuse.
I study his face, catching something in his expression that I can't quite name. Anticipation, maybe. Nervousness, which is absurd because Thrall is never nervous.
"Okay," I agree slowly. "Where?"
"I'll find you."
Then he releases my hand and strides back into the reception, and I'm left standing there wondering what exactly he's planning.
The evening gala is perfect.
The ballroom is transformed, all soft amber lighting and elegant centerpieces and a live jazz quartet playing sophisticated background music. The catering staff moves through the crowd with practiced efficiency, the bar never runs dry, and the networking is flowing smoothly.
I stand near the back of the room, tablet in hand, monitoring everything with the same focused intensity I bring to every event. Kiera appears periodically with updates, but there are no emergencies, no disasters, no last-minute catastrophes.
Everything is running exactly as planned.
Which means I should feel satisfied. Accomplished. Proud.
Instead, I feel restless.
I scan the room, searching for Thrall without consciously meaning to. He's near the center of the ballroom, surrounded by a cluster of investors and executives, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. He's laughing at something one of them said, but even from across the room, I can see the way his eyes keep flicking toward me.
Checking. Confirming. Grounding.
My heart does something ridiculous and affectionate .
"Ms. Lin?" Kiera appears beside me, looking slightly concerned. "You've been standing in the same spot for twenty minutes. Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine." I refocus on my tablet. "Just making sure everything stays on track."
"Everything is perfect. You know it is." She hesitates, then adds gently, "You could actually enjoy the event, you know. You earned it."
I glance at her, startled. "I'm working."
"You're always working. But sometimes it's okay to step back and appreciate what you built." She gestures toward the ballroom. "This is incredible, Romee. You should be proud."
I am proud. But there's something about letting go, about stepping back from the control, that still feels dangerous. Like if I stop monitoring every detail, everything will fall apart.
"I'll relax when it's over," I tell her.
She sighs but doesn't push. "Mr. Orkenshade is looking for you, by the way. He asked me to tell you to meet him in the east alcove off the main ballroom when you have a moment."
My pulse kicks up. "When did he ask you this?"
"About ten minutes ago. He seemed..." She pauses, searching for the right word. "Intent."
