Hostile Heart, Soft Kisses

"Tell me this isn't your fault, Vance."

Amelia Roth didn't bother standing when Leo stormed into her office. She didn't flinch when the glass doors slammed shut behind him. Her heels were propped on the corner of her desk, a leather folder open in front of her, and her voice sharp enough to leave marks.

Across the room, Leo Vance's jaw ticked just enough to betray that she'd already hit a nerve.

> "Good morning to you too, Roth. Coffee? Or just caffeine-free aggression today?"

He was dressed in sin: a black-on-black suit, undone collar, and that goddamn smirk that had sunk more negotiations than scandal ever could. Amelia's pulse didn't flicker. Not for him.

> "Spare me the charm," she said, shutting the folder. "Because unless you can explain why our stock just tanked twelve percent in three hours, I'm calling your father and suggesting we burn your name off this deal before the SEC has a chance."

Leo's lips parted amused, not surprised.

> "You think I leaked it?"

> "I think you exist to be a problem. I think this is exactly your brand of sabotage. And I think I'm one call away from crushing your company and salting the ground it was built on."

> "Always such violent metaphors," he said, walking toward her desk. "Tell me, Amelia. Do you speak to everyone like you're auditioning for the role of Ice Queen? Or am I special?"

> "You're not special. You're a headline waiting to happen."

> "Aren't we all?" He pulled out the chair across from her and sat like he owned the floor beneath it. "But here's the thing. This leak hurts me too. And I don't like bleeding in public."

Amelia's eyes narrowed. She folded her hands over the desk.

> "Talk."

Leo's cocky grin faded just enough to make room for something dangerous.

> "This wasn't a random hack. The files that went out were internal. Confidential. They had both Roth and Vance merger plans attached. That means someone on the inside of this joint venture wants us dead."

> "Then find them and fire them."

> "Oh, I intend to. But first, we have a press conference in two hours. And like it or not " he leaned forward, dropping a printed headline in front of her, " the press already thinks we're screwing."

She didn't look at the paper. She looked at him. Hard.

> "We aren't."

> "That's not what this says." Leo's finger tapped the bold red title: Roth and Vance: Bedroom Deal or Corporate Merger?

He grinned again. More wolf than man.

> "I guess we're trending."

Amelia stood, slowly. She walked around the desk, each step a calculated threat.

> "If you think I'll play along with some tabloid fantasy "

> "Then I'll show them the truth." Leo's voice dropped. "That you're ruthless. Cold. And completely under my skin."

They stood chest to chest. Her perfume hit him like a sin he'd regret. His breath tickled her jaw.

> "This isn't high school, Vance."

> "Could've fooled me. You just called my dad."

Her mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not quite.

> "Leave."

> "I will. After we make a deal."

> "What deal?"

> "We fake it," he said, simple. "A truce. Public unity. You and me, playing nice for the cameras. Hell, let's give them what they want. Let's flirt at galas, smile for the media. Pretend we don't want to slit each other's throats."

Amelia's nails dug into her palm.

> "Pretend we don't?"

> "Pretend I haven't wanted to touch you since I saw you destroy that VP in Singapore last year."

Silence slammed between them.

Then, he turned for the door.

> "I'll send the PR team your measurements for a joint photo shoot," he said. "Try to wear something soft. It'll make you seem human."

He left before she could throw something at his head.

Amelia sat stone-still in the Roth-Vance conference room as Charles Vance paced and her father polished his rage behind thin glasses.

> "This is beyond damage control," Charles growled. "This is an all-out attack."

> "We've been undercut," William Roth agreed. "By someone with access to both infrastructures."

> "And the press already has their narrative," Leo added, lounging like a prince at war. "Us. Together. Destroying everything."

> "Then lean into it," Charles said. "Give them what they want."

Amelia's head snapped up.

> "You're suggesting we stage a relationship?"

> "I'm suggesting you become the solution to the scandal. Co-leads. Public partnership. And yes if the chemistry looks real, let them believe it."

> "It's a lie," she bit out.

> "It's strategy," Leo corrected. "You know, the thing you're so famous for."

She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him.

She hated that both urges felt the same.

Later that evening, a sleek black envelope waited on her desk.

Roth-Vance Charity Gala

Tomorrow. 7PM. Arrive together.

Underneath, Leo had written in his lazy, scrawling pen:

> We should at least pretend to like each other. Wear red. I'll match your sin.

Amelia stared at the note for a long time.

Then she picked up her phone and dialed Chloe.

> "What's the sexiest, most 'fuck around and find out' dress I can wear to a PR gala?"

The next night, Amelia walked into the gala on Leo's arm.

Flashes erupted around them like fireworks. His hand grazed her bare back. Her body betrayed her with goosebumps.

> "Careful," she whispered. "I bite."

> "Good," he murmured, lips near her ear. "I bruise."

They smiled for the cameras.

Enemies. Liars. Lovers in the making.

And somewhere across the ballroom, a pair of eyes watched through the scope of a hidden lens.

A red laser blinked once on Amelia's dress.

Click.

Photo captured.

> You're playing a dangerous game, Roth.

And someone just raised the stakes.

The ballroom glittered with billionaire arrogance chandeliers like galaxies, champagne flowing like it wasn't being billed to shareholders, and more scandal than satin on the floor.

Amelia moved like fire in a red backless gown that was one wrong breath away from indecent. She felt Leo's gaze crawl down her spine the moment he saw her.

> "Well?" she asked when he joined her by the bar.

> "You wore sin," he said. "Good girl."

Her eyes cut to his throat. The top three buttons of his shirt were open, no tie in sight. Casual defiance. Controlled chaos. Just like him.

> "You're lucky I didn't bring a blade."

> "You brought better," he murmured, eyes flicking to her lips.

> "Don't flatter yourself."

> "Not yet."

The press swarmed, then peeled off in waves after snapping a dozen shots. Leo's hand stayed on the small of her back, possessive enough to sell the lie but his thumb brushed her spine just once.

It wasn't accidental.

And her body wasn't innocent.

She hated him for that.

> "One dance," he said. "For optics."

> "You just want to touch me."

> "I always want to touch you."

They moved onto the marble floor as the string quartet shifted into something slow and indulgent.

Leo pulled her in. Close. Too close.

> "You know," he said into her ear, "you could've worn black and played it safe."

> "Safe is for people who lose."

> "Is that what this is, then?" His palm flexed against her waist. "You trying to win?"

> "Always."

> "So what happens when you lose to me?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

Her body gave her away.

Her fingers gripped his shoulder too tightly. Her breath hitched when his thigh pressed between hers. And when he dipped her low just to watch her eyes widen her back arched on instinct.

He held her there for one long, heavy second.

> "Admit it," he whispered. "You've thought about it."

> "About what?"

> "Me. Between those ice-sheet thighs of yours."

She snapped up. Pulled back.

Slapped him.

Not hard. Not soft either.

The room noticed.

He smiled.

> "There she is," he said under his breath. "My favorite war."

Back in her penthouse suite shared with Leo now, for "branding purposes" Amelia stormed in first.

He followed. Calm. Too calm.

> "You crossed a line."

> "Which one?" he asked. "I'm losing count."

> "You humiliated me."

> "Correction: you hit me. The press thinks it's foreplay. Our stock's up six percent. You're welcome."

She turned. Angry. Flushed. Aching.

> "You think this is funny?"

> "I think you're scared." He closed the door behind him. Locked it. "Because for the first time in your perfect little life, you don't control the game."

> "You want to see scared?" she said, stepping up to him. "Try crossing me again."

> "You want to see control?" he murmured. "Try telling me to stop."

Her breath caught.

His hand cupped her jaw firm, not rough. He didn't move in, didn't kiss her. Just looked.

> "I'm not your father," he said, voice low. "You don't have to be ice with me."

> "You don't know me."

> "I do. I know you'd rather be hated than touched. I know you're afraid of wanting anything you can't weaponize."

Silence.

She hated how close he was. How steady his voice sounded. How warm his hand was when the rest of the world was cold.

> "I don't want you," she whispered.

> "Liar," he said.

And then

He backed off.

Left the room.

Not because he couldn't have her.

Because he wanted her to come to him.

And it almost worked.

Later that night, Amelia sat on the terrace, wrapped in a silk robe and an expensive kind of fury.

The press was still ablaze.

Enemies turned lovers. Public enemies. Private partners?

Her phone buzzed.

A text. No name. No number.

> That red dress makes you easy to aim at.

Next time, don't give me a reason.

A second text followed. A photo.

Her. And Leo.

On the dance floor.

Laser sight marked on his back.

A third message:

> You're sleeping with the enemy.

And someone's going to bleed for it.

> This wasn't just a scandal.

It was a warning.

And someone out there wanted Amelia Roth dead.