Chapter 91 — After the Flashbulbs
The noise didn't stop.
Not immediately.
Even after they left the stage.
Even after security escorted them through the back corridor.
Even after the doors shut behind them.
Amber could still hear it.
The shouting.
The flashes.
Her name.
His name.
Questions thrown like stones.
It echoed inside her skull.
Like war drums.
Like something irreversible had just happened.
Because it had.
The moment Alex said fiancée —
There was no taking that back.
No soft launch.
No quiet exit.
No "it was just business."
They hadn't just confirmed a relationship.
They'd declared war on every rumor, every investor, every gossip channel, every person waiting to see them fail.
And somehow—
That felt heavier than the ring itself.
The hallway outside the press hall was empty.
Too empty.
Thick carpet swallowing their footsteps.
Security trailing at a distance.
Alex hadn't let go of her hand yet.
Not once.
Not during the walk.
Not in the elevator.
Not now.
His grip wasn't tight.
Just constant.
Like he needed proof she was still there.
Like if he let go—
She might disappear.
Funny.
Because she felt the exact same way.
The elevator doors slid shut.
Silence dropped instantly.
Amber exhaled slowly.
"…I think I blacked out," she muttered.
"You answered three questions," Alex said.
"I did?"
"Yes."
"What did I say?"
"You told one reporter to 'mind his blood pressure.'"
She blinked.
"…That sounds like me."
"And you threatened another with legal action."
"Definitely me."
"And you called someone's question stupid."
She nodded. "Okay yeah, that tracks."
A faint breath left him.
Almost a laugh.
God.
That sound.
Rare.
Unfair.
She glanced at him.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
Which meant something was brewing under the surface.
"You're quiet," she said.
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous."
"Yes."
She leaned against the mirrored wall.
Finally looked at her hand again.
The ring flashed under the elevator light.
Still there.
Still real.
"…You really said it," she whispered.
"Yes."
"In front of everyone."
"Yes."
"No hesitation."
"No."
She swallowed.
"Why are you so sure about me?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Raw.
Ugly.
Too honest.
The elevator hummed softly.
Alex didn't answer immediately.
Didn't dodge.
Didn't joke.
He just looked at her.
Direct.
Steady.
Like always.
"You stayed," he said finally.
She frowned. "Stayed where?"
"With me."
"That's not—"
"You could've walked away fifty times."
His voice was quiet now.
Not CEO.
Not commanding.
Just him.
"You could've rejected the contract. Left after the first fight. Run when the media got ugly. You didn't."
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Measured.
"You stayed when it was inconvenient."
Her chest tightened.
"You stayed when I wasn't easy."
Her throat burned.
"You stayed when there was nothing to gain."
Silence.
Soft.
Heavy.
"And people only stay when it matters," he finished.
Her heart cracked open.
Because she hadn't even realized she'd been staying.
She just…
Had.
Without thinking.
Without planning.
Like her body decided before her brain caught up.
"…That's your logic?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"That's terrifyingly simple."
"I prefer simple."
She stared at him.
God.
How was he this steady?
This certain?
Didn't he know how fragile she was inside?
How scared?
How ready to run at the first sign of disaster?
"…What if I don't stay forever?" she asked.
His answer came immediately.
"Then I'll be grateful for however long you did."
Her breath caught.
No guilt.
No pressure.
No chains.
Just—
Grateful.
Why was he like this?
Why wasn't he selfish?
It would've been easier if he was selfish.
Then she could hate him.
Then she could leave.
Instead—
He kept giving her reasons to stay.
The elevator dinged.
Penthouse level.
Doors sliding open.
Quiet.
Still.
Home.
They stepped out.
The moment the door closed behind them—
Everything crashed.
Her knees felt weak.
Her chest tight.
Her head buzzing.
Too many emotions.
Too many cameras.
Too many words.
She dropped her bag on the floor.
Kicked off her heels.
Walked straight to the couch—
And collapsed face-first into the cushions.
"…I'm retiring," she mumbled.
Alex loosened his tie. "From what?"
"Society."
"Denied."
She groaned into the fabric. "You're heartless."
He walked over slowly.
Sat beside her.
Close.
Not touching yet.
Just there.
Solid.
Present.
After a moment—
He reached out.
Brushed his fingers through her hair.
Gentle.
Absent-minded.
Like he didn't even realize he was doing it.
Her brain short-circuited.
Because Alex Wilson didn't do gentle.
He did controlled.
Precise.
Cold.
Not this.
Not soft.
"…What are you doing?" she mumbled.
"Grounding you."
"…With my hair?"
"Yes."
"That's weird."
"You stopped shaking."
She froze.
Oh.
She hadn't even noticed.
Her hands had been trembling slightly.
From adrenaline.
From fear.
From everything.
And somehow—
Just his touch—
Steady.
Slow.
Careful—
Had calmed it.
Unfair.
Completely unfair.
She rolled onto her back.
Stared at the ceiling.
"…We really did it, huh?"
"Yes."
"No going back."
"No."
"Whole country probably talking."
"Yes."
"…You regret it?"
The question came softer this time.
Almost fragile.
Alex didn't hesitate.
"No."
Not even a second.
She turned her head.
Looked at him.
Really looked.
No doubt.
No calculation.
Just certainty.
Like this was the easiest decision of his life.
"…You're insane," she said quietly.
"Probably."
"…But I'm glad it's you."
The words slipped out.
Soft.
Barely there.
But he heard them.
Of course he did.
His hand stilled in her hair.
Eyes darkening slightly.
"Amber," he said quietly.
Dangerous tone.
Too intimate.
Too close.
Her pulse kicked up.
"What?"
"You don't say things like that casually."
"I didn't—"
"You did."
Silence.
Heavy.
Electric.
He leaned down slightly.
Close enough that she could feel his breath.
Close enough that the air changed.
"You don't get to say you're glad it's me," he murmured, "and expect me not to react."
Her heart slammed.
"…React how?"
His gaze dropped to her lips.
Slow.
Intentional.
Heat pooling low in her stomach.
Oh.
Oh no.
This was new territory.
Different from stolen kisses.
Different from tension.
This was—
Deliberate.
"You're staring," she whispered.
"Yes."
"That's rude."
"Stop talking."
And then—
He kissed her.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
Not angry.
Slow.
Warm.
Certain.
Like a promise instead of a question.
Like something that wasn't temporary.
Like something that wasn't going anywhere.
Her fingers curled into his shirt automatically.
Holding.
Anchoring.
Because suddenly—
The noise outside didn't matter.
The board didn't matter.
The cameras didn't matter.
It was just this.
Him.
Her.
Quiet.
Real.
And terrifyingly…
Safe.
When he pulled back—
Her forehead rested against his.
Breath tangled.
He whispered softly—
"Let them watch."
Her heart skipped.
"Let them talk."
Her fingers tightened.
"I'm not letting you go."
And for the first time in years—
Amber Gareth didn't feel like running.