Chapter 8 Lines that Blur

The jet engines purred quietly in the background as Elara stepped into the sleek Grayson Enterprises private plane. She wore a tailored navy blazer, black cigarette pants, and heels sharp enough to double as weapons.

The steward offered her champagne. She waved it away.

Asher was already seated, phone in hand, fingers flying across the screen.

"Didn't know you'd be coming," Elara said, taking the seat across from him.

He looked up briefly. "It's a joint venture. Investors want to meet both of us."

"Right," she said, buckling her belt. "Nothing says teamwork like forced proximity."

He looked at her again, this time longer. "You're not exactly easy to avoid anymore. You know that right?"

"And you're not exactly trying," she shot back.

The tension between them was no longer cold-it was electric.

The hotel in Milan was glass, chrome, and unapologetically luxurious. The suite? Even more so. Except...

"Only one bed?" Elara asked the concierge flatly.

The woman gave a polite smile. "Yes, signora. Per your assistant's request-one presidential suite, one king bed."

Elara turned slowly to glare at Asher, who feigned innocence.

"It must've been a booking error."

"Oh, how convenient."

He smirked. "Unless you'd prefer to switch to separate rooms and feed the press more rumors?"

She exhaled, jaw tense. "Fine. But no funny ideas."

He dropped his luggage beside the couch. "I'll take the sofa.So just relax."

She studied him suspiciously. "That generous side of you is terrifying."

"I know," he said with a wink.

Asher worked at the glass desk, laptop open, tie discarded, sleeves rolled up.

Elara leaned over the tablet on the bed, editing their pitch deck for the morning.

He looked up. "You've added that market disruption slide again."

"It's what they care about. You just want to dazzle them with numbers."

"And you want to charm them with ideology."

"Exactly," she said. "Which is why we win when we don't compete with each other."

He leaned back, watching her. "You've gotten good at this."

She blinked. "At what?"

"At pushing past my walls without even trying."

She froze.

"You were supposed to be a placeholder," he continued, his voice low. "A legal shield. Now, somehow, you're in the blueprint."

"Stop," she said softly, closing the tablet. "You're just tired."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm finally seeing the only thing I didn't calculate for."

"What's that?"

"You."

It was midnight when Elara came out of the bathroom, makeup off, hair tied up.

Asher sat on the sofa in a T-shirt and sweats, scrolling through emails. But when he looked up and saw her-bare-faced, real-his breath hitched just slightly.

She noticed.

"Don't look at me like that," she said.

"Like what?"

"Like you see me."

He stood, stepping close. "But I do see you."

She tried to retreat, but the wall was behind her. His hand hovered beside her cheek-not touching, but close.

"You're not mine," he whispered. "But I hate that I want you to be."

She swallowed hard. "This wasn't part of the agreement."

"I know."

They stood there-hearts pounding, eyes locked, breath mingling.

Then... she stepped sideways.

Asher's hand fell to his side.

"We should sleep," she said quietly.

"Right," he replied.

But neither of them slept for a long, long time.

The next morning, they walked into the Grayson-Moretti joint investor conference like they owned the world. And in that moment, they did.

Elara's voice was confident, her timing perfect.

Asher followed with hard numbers and irresistible ambition.

But the magic wasn't in their individual brilliance-it was the way they flowed together.

One glance, one breath, one idea-and they moved like a team that wasn't pretending anymore.

After the standing ovation, Moretti pulled Asher aside.

That wife of yours... she's gold. Keep her."

Asher smiled faintly. "I'm trying."

That night, the city sparkled below their suite's panoramic view. Elara stood by the glass, arms folded.

Asher joined her, quietly.

"I haven't said it," he murmured. "But I meant it earlier. You make everything... clearer."

She didn't look at him. "And when the contract ends?"

He hesitated.

"I don't know."

"I do," she said. "You'll forget all of this. Go back to business and distance. And I'll be the girl who wore your ring and disappeared."

"I won't forget."

She turned to him.

He stepped closer.

This time, his hand touched her face gently.

She didn't pull away.

But she didn't lean in either.

"I'm scared of this," she admitted.

"Me too," he said. "But I'd rather be scared with you... than alone without you."