Chapter 4 The First Test

(Malia's POV)

I didn't expect him to approach me.

Not that soon, anyway.

After our brief eye contact across the ballroom, I'd made a conscious decision to disappear into the crowd - to blend. I wasn't here to chase him. I was here to be noticed. Calculated. Mysterious. Andrew had drilled that into me.

"Men like Kieth Williams don't react to attention," he'd said. "They react to disruption."

I wasn't sure I was ready to be a disruption. Not tonight. Not yet.

So I smiled when spoken to. Nodded when people introduced themselves. Repeated the name "Malia Green" until it felt almost real on my tongue. Ivy had helped me rehearse my fake background - marketing and nonprofit strategy consultant, freelancing for elite firms. Enough truth to sound credible. Enough fiction to keep it clean.

I moved through the glittering event space with practiced grace, careful not to let my nerves show. Everyone here was wealthy, well-connected, and mostly bored. Champagne glasses were clutched like accessories. Laughter was sharp and hollow.

And somewhere in this glimmering mess was him.

Kieth.

I felt his presence before I saw him again. It was the quiet shift in the air, the subtle turn of heads when he moved through the room. People noticed him - or rather, they noticed not to get in his way.

So when I turned and saw him walking straight toward me, my heart lurched into my throat.

I kept my expression neutral.

His steps were slow, measured. His gaze was direct. No emotion. No warning. Just observation - like he was already dissecting me.

"Miss Green," he said as he stopped in front of me.

His voice was deeper than I'd imagined. Smooth, but not soft. He didn't offer a hand. Just stood there, waiting to see how I'd respond.

I forced a polite smile. "Mr. Williams."

"You're new."

Not a question. A statement.

"I'm a guest," I replied calmly. "Consultant for the Langford Foundation. Just came onboard to restructure some of their donor engagement."

He tilted his head slightly. "Your first gala?"

"Not my first. Just my first in this city."

"And how are you finding it so far?"

I kept my posture relaxed, but not too relaxed. This wasn't small talk. This was a test.

"It's... lively," I said with a small smile. "Though I imagine you don't come to these for the entertainment."

He didn't blink. "I come to be seen."

There was something unsettling about the way he said it.

I sipped my drink to ground myself.

"Is that why you're speaking to me?" I asked, meeting his gaze. "Visibility?"

His mouth twitched - just barely. Not quite a smile. More like recognition.

"You're not like the others," he said quietly. "Most people in this room want something. Money, a favor, a photo. But you..."

He trailed off, his eyes scanning me.

"You're hiding something."

A small chill raced down my spine. He was too close to the truth.

"I'm just here for business," I replied, keeping my tone smooth.

"Everyone here is," he murmured. "But you're not networking. You're watching."

My fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

He stepped a little closer. Not invading, just enough to remind me who held the upper hand.

"People who watch that much," he said, "either have something to protect... or something to steal."

I let out a soft laugh, as if amused. "Or maybe I just like people-watching."

"I don't believe in coincidence."

"And I don't believe in being intimidated by rich men with good suits."

That did something.

His gaze sharpened.

Then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't warm - it was curious. Like a lion intrigued by a bird that didn't fly away.

"You're interesting," he said. "That's not a compliment. Just an observation."

"Duly noted," I replied. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I didn't show it.

He looked over my shoulder, nodding briefly at someone, then turned back to me.

"Enjoy your evening, Miss Green," he said. "But be careful."

With that, he walked away.

And I stood there, pulse racing, barely breathing.

He knew.

Not what I was doing. Not who I was.

But he knew I wasn't here by accident.

⸻

"You spoke to him?" Ivy whispered later that night when I called her from the guest bedroom.

"He spoke to me."

"Already?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus," she breathed. "And?"

"He was... sharp," I said, lying flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "He doesn't talk like most people. Every sentence felt like a test."

"But you held your own?"

"I think so. Maybe. He was watching me the entire time. Like he could see through the part I was playing."

"You said the right name, right? Malia Green?"

"I didn't forget my own alias," I snapped, then sighed. "Sorry. I'm just... tense."

"No, you're in deep water now, Mal. But that's good. He noticed you. That's what Andrew wanted."

I hesitated. "I don't know if that's what I wanted."

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "You still have a choice, you know. You can walk away."

I turned my head toward the window.

"I don't think I can," I whispered. "Not now."

⸻

Sleep didn't come easily.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him again. Not the image from the file Andrew gave me - but him. Real. Alive. Looking straight into me.

It scared me how quickly he'd read my energy.

But it scared me more that I wanted to talk to him again.

Not because of the job.

Because something about him... felt too familiar.

And somehow, we both knew it.