Chapter 5 Lines Blurred

Emilia's POV

Emilia hadn't taken her heels off by the time the headlines hit.

She sat cross-legged on her couch, dress still clinging to her like a second skin, hair in a loose knot, staring at her phone as the first photos from the gala rolled in.

"Billionaire Maddox King Debuts Stunning New Flame at Federal

Palace Charity Ball."

"Who is Emilia Hart? And how did she tame tech's coldest CEO?"

"King's Comeback or Calculated Romance?"

She threw the phone onto the cushions beside her and groaned.

This was what she wanted. Buzz. Perception shift. Narrative momentum. She was a strategist-she lived for moments like this.

But this didn't feel like victory.

It felt like vulnerability.

Because somewhere between the camera flashes and the fake compliments, she'd started feeling like something more than a prop in Maddox's story.

She replayed the moment he touched her back.

The way his jaw clenched when Celeste mocked her.

The way his voice had dipped when he said:

"For the first time in a long time, I don't hate being seen."

It wasn't just a line.

It was a fracture. A glimmer of something real.

And now she didn't know what scared her more-that Maddox meant it or that she wanted him to.

She stood and crossed the room, needing motion, distance from her thoughts. Her apartment was quiet, the kind of curated calm she usually cherished after high-pressure nights. Tonight, it felt suffocating.

She poured herself a half-glass of cheap red wine-her post-event ritual-and stared out the window at the city lights buzzing below. The air still vibrated with adrenaline.

She should've been sleeping. Or reviewing the next phase of the campaign. Or maybe crafting a response to the tabloid coverage.

Instead, she was stuck in a loop of what the hell just happened.

The gala had gone perfectly-on the surface.

Maddox had played his part flawlessly. Elegant, composed, compelling. Even warm, in rare flashes. She'd expected resistance, maybe even sabotage.

Instead, he'd protected her.

When Celeste Carrington appeared and unleashed her polished venom, Emilia had expected Maddox to shut down. Instead, he had stepped in. Shielded her. Walked them away like it meant something.

Not part of the act, she thought now. Not a line in the script.

And that scared her more than anything.

She was supposed to be the one in control. The one who held the reins of narrative. But when Maddox had looked at her like that-like she was more than a chess piece-her plan had fractured.

Her phone buzzed beside her.

Maddox: You handled that better than I expected. Thank you.

No emoji. No punctuation. Just ten words.

But ten words from Maddox King meant more than a paragraph from most men. He didn't waste language. Didn't give what he didn't mean.

Still, she didn't reply.

Because if she replied, it would open a door. And she wasn't sure she had the strength to close it again.

She finally peeled herself out of the dress, pulled on an old T-shirt, and collapsed into bed.

But sleep was elusive.

Her brain ran circles around itself.

He's just a client.

It's just a role.

It's just a story we're selling.

And yet...

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with business.

Maddox King had started out as a crisis to manage.

Now, he was becoming a question she didn't know how to answer.

And the worst part?

She wasn't sure she wanted to.