Aurora spent Saturday avoiding Liam Ashford like it was a professional sport.
Morning keynote? She sat in the back, left before the lights came up. Breakout sessions? She picked panels he wasn't on. Lunch? She ate in her room.
It was exhausting. And pathetic. And absolutely necessary.
Because every time she'd caught a glimpse of him yesterday—across the ballroom, in the hallway—something in her chest had tightened. Not attraction. Not sympathy. Just awareness.
That he was there. That he was looking for her. That avoiding him was taking more energy than facing him would.
Her phone buzzed.
Ricky: Evening reception starts at 7. You going?
Aurora: No.
Ricky: You have to. Investors expect you there. Plus you're literally THE story of the summit. If you don't show, people will think you're scared.
Aurora: I'm not scared.
Ricky: Then prove it. Show up. Be seen. Remind everyone who won yesterday.
He was right. Hiding made her look weak.
Aurora: Fine. One hour. Then I'm gone.
Ricky: That's my girl. Go be terrifying.
***
The evening reception was held in the hotel's grand ballroom—ambient lighting, expensive flowers, a string quartet. The air was heavy with jasmine from the centerpieces.
Aurora arrived at 7:15. Black dress, simple but elegant. She grabbed champagne, trying to ignore how the jasmine made her stomach tighten.
She scanned the room with practiced efficiency. Investors. Journalists. Other CEOs she'd need to smile at and pretend to care about. And somewhere in this crowd—
There. Near the windows. Talking to someone from his board.
Liam looked tired. Good.
Aurora turned away. Found a conversation about AI regulation with two venture capitalists. She smiled. Nodded. Let them talk.
An hour in, the quartet shifted to something slower. Couples drifted toward the dance floor.
Aurora was mid-sentence when she felt him approach.
"Excuse me." Liam's voice, directed at the VCs. "Mind if I steal Ms. Castillo for a moment?"
They didn't mind. Everyone wanted to watch the rivalry up close.
Liam turned to Aurora. Extended his hand. "Dance with me?"
Aurora stared at his hand. "You're going way ahead of yourself."
"It's just a dance." Something flickered in his eyes. "Nothing personal."
Everything with you is personal.
But she took his hand. Because refusing would cause a scene.
His hand settled at her waist—warm through the thin fabric. She placed her hand in his, the other on his shoulder. Standard position. Respectable distance.
Except the distance didn't feel respectable at all.
They moved. The music wrapped around them. Someone passed wearing jasmine perfume, and Aurora's jaw tightened.
Liam wasn't asking questions tonight. Wasn't probing. Just... present. Like yesterday's confrontation had never happened.
His touch was firm. Steady. She could feel each of his fingers splayed against the curve of her back. The touch was professional. Appropriate.
So why did her body register it as anything but?
"You look beautiful, by the way," Liam said quietly. "I should have said that first."
Aurora's eyes snapped to his. "What?"
"The dress. You look stunning." His voice was sincere. "I thought you should know."
She didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to process a compliment that sounded genuine instead of strategic.
"Thank you," she said finally.
They moved through another turn. Liam's hand guided her effortlessly, and Aurora found herself following without thinking. Her body remembering something her mind refused to acknowledge.
She stared past his shoulder. This would be over in three minutes. Maybe four.
But she needed to know. Needed to assess whether yesterday's confrontation was truly over.
"You seemed different yesterday," Aurora said, her tone light. "After the panel."
Liam's hand tightened at her waist. "Different how?"
"More direct. You made some interesting accusations. In the hallway."
His expression shifted. Not defensive. Almost regretful. "I did."
"Did you mean them?"
"I don't know." He exhaled slowly. "I was frustrated. Looking for patterns. Maybe seeing things that weren't there."
"Maybe?"
"Probably." Something vulnerable crossed his face. "Direct accusations don't suit me. They suit my father. I'm trying not to be him."
Aurora felt something flicker in her chest. She pushed it down. "So you've decided I'm not your enemy?"
"I've decided I don't know what you are." His eyes searched hers. "But I'd like to find out. Without the interrogation this time."
Aurora let herself soften. Just slightly. Just enough for him to notice. "That's probably wise. The interrogation approach wasn't your best work."
Liam's mouth curved. "No. It wasn't."
"So what's this? Your new approach?"
"Maybe." His voice dropped lower. "Is it working?"
Aurora tilted her head. Let silence stretch.
Then, quietly: "I haven't decided yet."
Liam's eyes darkened. "Fair enough."
They moved in silence. The jasmine was everywhere now—wrapping around her like a memory she couldn't escape.
"I also wanted to say—" Liam's voice pulled her back. "You've done remarkable work. Diamond Technologies, Meridian Corp. Building Rora AI into what it is. You're brilliant at this. I have to admire that."
Aurora studied his face. Looking for sarcasm. Bitterness. Anger.
Found none.
But she saw exhaustion. Genuine hurt.
"And Paterson?" Aurora asked quietly. "You congratulated me yesterday. How does it feel now? A day later?"
Liam's expression flickered. "Still hurts, if I'm being honest."
"Most people wouldn't admit that."
"Most people aren't trying to be better than they used to be." He guided her through another turn. "But if you're asking if I resent you for it? No. I don't."
The honesty caught her off guard.
"How did it make you feel?" Aurora pressed. Needed to know. "Really. Losing them."
Liam was quiet. When he spoke, his voice was careful. "Paterson was with us for twenty-three years. My father signed that deal when I was eleven. And now they're gone. Because I wasn't good enough to keep them."
Aurora felt something crack in her chest.
The distance between them had closed. She was close enough to see the flecks of darker gray in his eyes. Close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne beneath the jasmine.
Close enough that when his hand shifted at her waist, her breath caught.
No. Don't feel sympathy.
"It's just business," she said. You said it yourself at the panel—competition is healthy."
"It is. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." His hand at her waist was warm. Solid. "But you won them fair and square. That's on me, not you."
The crack widened.
Aurora pushed it down. Fought it back. Hard.
He's the enemy. He destroyed you. Don't forget that just because he's touching you like this. Don't forget because his hand feels right where it is. Don't—
"You seemed like you were avoiding me today," Liam said, his voice dropping lower. More intimate.
Aurora forced herself to refocus. "I wasn't avoiding you. I was busy."
"You left every session before I could catch you. Skipped lunch entirely."
"Are you tracking my movements? That's concerning."
"I'm observant." He pulled her fractionally closer. "And you were definitely avoiding me."
"Maybe I just don't enjoy your company."
"Maybe." His eyes dropped to her mouth before returning to her eyes. "Or maybe yesterday rattled you more than you're admitting."
"Rattled me? We had a professional debate on a panel. Why would that rattle me?"
"Because you walked away the moment I started asking real questions. In the hallway. Like you were afraid I'd get too close to something you didn't want me to see."
"The only thing I'm afraid of is wasting time on conversations that don't matter."
Liam went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice had shifted—softer. "So our conversations don't matter?"
The question landed differently. Not accusatory. Almost hurt.
They were close now. Really close. His chest was inches from hers.
Aurora met his eyes. "Yesterday you seemed to think I was your enemy. Today you're asking if our conversations matter. Which is it, Liam?"
His hand flexed against her back. "Yesterday I was trying to understand why everything falling apart for my company seemed to benefit you. Today I'm trying to understand you."
"And if they're the same thing?"
"Then I'll deal with that when I figure it out." His eyes searched hers. "But right now, I'd rather just... know you. Without the theories. Without the suspicion."
He meant it.
Which made him either very naive or very dangerous.
She let her expression soften. "That's surprisingly mature of you."
"I have my moments."
"Rare moments."
Liam smiled. Real. Unguarded. "I'm trying to have more of them."
Her hand had slid from his shoulder to the back of his neck—when had she done that? Her fingers had found the soft hair at his nape. Her body had curved into his just slightly.
This was dangerous.
This was wrong.
This was—
"Tomorrow's going to be long," Liam said, his voice rougher now. Like he'd felt the shift too.
"I'm aware."
"Are you doing the closing keynote?"
"No. I have a flight at six in the morning."
"So you're skipping the breakfast session too?"
Aurora frowned. "What breakfast session?"
"Eight AM tomorrow. Future of AI roundtable. They added it last minute."
"I didn't get an invite."
"Really?" Liam looked surprised. "Maybe because you're not staying for closing?"
"So I'm being excluded from a conversation about the future of AI because I'm leaving a few hours early?" Her voice went sharp. The anger cutting through the want. Good. She needed that. "That's absurd."
"I'm not defending it—"
"But I'm going anyway."
Liam blinked. "You weren't invited."
"I don't care. What are they going to do? Escort me out in front of the entire industry?"
He studied her, then shook his head, half-exasperated, half-impressed. "You really don't back down from anything."
"Not when I'm right."
"Even when you're wrong?"
"I'm never wrong."
Liam laughed—genuine, surprised. The sound was warm. Unguarded. And the vibration of it traveled through where their bodies were pressed together. "God, you're impossible."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"Wasn't it?"
He shook his head, smiling. They were barely moving now. Just swaying. "You're telling me in thirty-three years, you've never been wrong about anything? Even someone's character?"
Aurora's chest tightened. A flash of eighteen-year-old her, looking at nineteen-year-old him, believing he'd tell the truth.
She buried it.
"That's exactly what I'm telling you."
"I don't buy it."
"I don't need you to buy it."
"Liar."
The word dropped between them like a stone.
Liar.
Everything stopped.
Aurora's breath caught. Her feet stumbled and Liam's hand tightened, steadying her.
The touch that had felt good seconds ago now burned.
Liar.
Not his voice anymore. Not teasing.
But nineteen-year-old Liam's voice. Terrified eyes. Standing beside his father.
The jasmine. The word. Fifteen years collapsing into this moment.
The ballroom tilted.
"Aurora?" Liam's grip tightened. Concerned. "You okay?"
No. She was drowning. Eighteen again.
Liar.
"My feet hurt." The words came out strangled. "We're done."
She pulled away. Fast.
"Wait—" Confusion flashed across his face. "Did I say something—"
"I'm fine. Just tired." Aurora was already moving. Walking. Don't run. Running draws attention. "Enjoy your evening."
"Aurora—"
But she was gone. Past the dancers. Past the bar. Past everyone.
Bathroom. Now.
***
The door swung shut.
Aurora locked herself in the furthest stall. Pressed her back against cold metal. Slid down until she was sitting on tile, designer dress pooling around her.
Her hands were shaking.
Hands that signed million-dollar contracts. Hands that had clawed at Gray Ashford's face fifteen years ago.
Hands that had just been touching Liam. Wanting him.
Liar.
The word echoed.
Aurora pressed her palms against her thighs. Tried to breathe.
She'd been feeling something out there. Something real. Dangerous.
She'd softened. Let him in. Let herself wonder what it would be like if things were different.
And then that word shattered it all.
Her phone buzzed.
Ricky: How's it going?
Aurora stared at the message. Vision blurred.
Aurora: Fine. Heading back to room soon.
Another lie.
She set it down. Pressed her hands over her face.
Fifteen years of walls collapsing into one word. One smell. One moment.
Outside, the party continued. Music. Laughter. Glasses clinking.
But Aurora sat on that bathroom floor and let one word unravel everything.
She'd been so close to forgetting. So close to letting herself feel something real.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Because if she could feel something for Liam Ashford now—after everything, despite everything—
What did that make her?
Aurora closed her eyes.
Breathed.
And rebuilt her walls.
One brick at a time.