I hated how quiet my office felt after Blake left. Like his presence had stirred something up, and now everything was rearranging itself in his absence. The skyline outside remained the same—unyielding glass towers, cranes painting the future, Velmoré humming with ambition—but inside me, there was a tension I couldn't shake.
Blake Aldridge had a way of getting under my skin. Always composed, always two steps ahead, like he knew which move I'd make before I even considered it. And yet, today he'd done something I hadn't expected—he told the truth.
And it rattled me more than his silence ever had.
I walked to the window and pressed my fingertips to the glass. He said he didn't love easily. That he watched his mother mourn, and decided never to give anyone the power to break him the same way.
That kind of honesty—raw, bare, and completely human—wasn't the Blake I thought I knew.
But it didn't change how I felt.
I still hated this arrangement.
I still hated that he stood by and let this deal be orchestrated around us like we were game pieces.
And most of all, I hated that part of me wanted to understand him now. To untangle the reasons behind his carefully curated walls.
A knock broke the silence.
"Come in," I called, turning just in time to see Sarah enter, tablet in hand.
"How was brunch with the future in-law?" she asked with a grin that barely concealed her curiosity.
I hesitated. "Surprisingly... disarming."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Disarming? That sounds dangerously close to 'pleasant.'"
I sank into my chair and sighed. "She's lovely. Warm. Intelligent. Not at all what I expected."
"And the heir to the Aldridge empire?"
"Still infuriating," I muttered. "Still too calm. Too strategic. And now, annoyingly sincere."
Sarah smirked. "You sound like someone who doesn't want to admit she's intrigued."
I shot her a look. "I'm not. I'm unsettled. There's a difference."
She chuckled. "Sure. Whatever keeps the crown on."
When she left, I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment. I had to get back to work, but my thoughts kept returning to the moment Blake stood in front of my desk and told me about his parents. The way his voice shifted—not for effect, but because it genuinely hurt him.
I didn't know what was worse: the fact that I sympathized with him, or the fact that a small part of me believed him.
It made him dangerous.
Because vulnerability wasn't just an opening—it was a tool. A strategy. And I'd grown up learning that in a world like ours, sincerity could be weaponized.
He may not love easily, but that didn't mean he wouldn't use his past to soften the ground he walked on.
And I couldn't afford to fall for it.
Not when the stakes were this high. Not when every board member, investor, and rival corporation was watching our every move, waiting to see if the Cater-Aldridge alliance would crash and burn.
I turned to my computer and pulled up the quarterly reports. Numbers didn't lie. Feelings did.
But even the columns and forecasts couldn't hold my focus.
My mind drifted to Evelyn's kindness, to the way she placed that hairpin in my hand like it carried legacy instead of sentiment. I should've rejected it. Politely, of course. But I didn't. I kept it. It was still in my purse.
I groaned and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes.
Get it together, Celine.
This wasn't about Blake. This wasn't about his mother or his quiet, brooding honesty. This was about me. My future. My name.
Cater Innovations wasn't just a company. It was my mother's dream too. She helped build it with my father, brick by brick, before illness took her away. She always said I could lead, even when the board doubted me.
She believed in me.
And now, this merger—this marriage—threatened to overwrite all of that. Like I needed a husband's name to keep my legacy afloat.
It made me furious all over again.
I shoved my chair back and stood, pacing the office. If Blake wanted to play the long game, I'd match him step for step. I wouldn't let sincerity cloud my judgment. I wouldn't let Evelyn's kindness soften my stance. And I sure as hell wouldn't let Blake Aldridge get in my head again.
Because we weren't friends. We weren't lovers. We were enemies, dressed in formalwear and forced to smile for the cameras.
Whatever flicker of truth passed between us this afternoon? It meant nothing. Not in the world we lived in. Not when the contracts were signed and the rings were being measured.
I paused in front of the mirror and looked at myself—chin high, expression calm, eyes steeled.
Let Blake keep his secrets.
Let his mother hope for fairy tales.
I would do what I had to.
And I would win.