Ambrose leaned back in his leather chair, gazing out over the sprawling Paris skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. The room was quiet save for the faint clock ticking, but his mind was anything but still. A storm brewed within him, an internal battle between the man he had become and the man he wanted to be for Azalea.
She was a force, fierce and captivating, her every move calculated with precision. He had seen it firsthand during their brief partnership years ago, when they were both masked in shadow, their lives entwined only by the missions they shared. At the time, he had admired her from a distance, knowing better than to hope for anything more. Now, their worlds collided again, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his secret from her.
"Sir?" Evelyn, his assistant, interrupted his thoughts, stepping into the room with her usual composed demeanor. "You have the final schedule for the Scarlet Vogue collaboration. Shall I leave it on your desk?"
Ambrose nodded distractedly. "Yes, thank you, Evelyn. That will be all for now."
Evelyn paused, studying him for a moment. "Is everything alright, sir? You seem... preoccupied."
"I'm fine," Ambrose replied with a small smile. "Just a lot on my mind."
Evelyn hesitated but nodded, leaving the room silently.
Once alone, Ambrose sighed and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He had made up his mind. He needed to tell Azalea the truth—about his past, his real identity, and the lies he had carefully constructed. But the thought of her reaction, of the possibility that she would walk away, made his chest tighten.
That evening, he picked up his phone and called her.
"Ambrose," Azalea's voice answered, smooth and composed as ever. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I thought it was time we talked—properly," he said.
Her silence on the other end was telling. "You mean without business as an excuse?" she asked finally, a teasing edge to her tone.
"Exactly," Ambrose replied, his voice warm. "Dinner. My place. Tomorrow night."
Azalea chuckled softly. "You're quite presumptuous, aren't you?"
"Only when I'm certain the answer will be yes," he countered, with unwavering confidence.
There was a pause before she replied, "Fine. But if this turns into a sales pitch for more fabric collaborations, I'm walking out."
Ambrose laughed. "Noted. See you at eight."
The next evening, Ambrose meticulously prepared. His penthouse dining room was transformed into an intimate setting with soft lighting and an elegantly set table. The scent of fresh roses filled the air, mingling with the aroma of the gourmet meal he had arranged.
When the elevator chimed, signaling her arrival, Ambrose adjusted his suit jacket and went to greet her.
Azalea stepped out, radiant in a sleek black dress that hugged her figure. Her signature red lipstick added a bold touch, and her sharp eyes took in the surroundings with quiet appreciation.
"Ambrose," she said, her tone both playful and intrigued. "You certainly know how to set a scene."
"Only the best for my guest," he replied, offering her a glass of wine.
As they dined, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on everything from business to art to their mutual love of travel. Ambrose found himself captivated by the way she spoke, her words laced with intelligence and a quiet vulnerability she rarely showed.
But beneath the surface, his nerves simmered. He wanted to tell her the truth, yet every time he opened his mouth to speak, the words faltered.
"What is it?" Azalea asked suddenly, setting down her fork. Her sharp gaze locked onto his, as though she could see the turmoil within him.
Ambrose hesitated. "What do you mean?"
"You've been distracted all evening," she said. "Care to share what's on your mind?"
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It's complicated."
Azalea raised an eyebrow. "Life always is. Try me."
He looked at her, the weight of his secret pressing down on him. "Azalea, I haven't been entirely honest with you."
Her expression didn't change, but her posture stiffened slightly. "Go on."
Ambrose chose his words carefully, steering clear of his assassin's past. "You know I've been in the textile business for a long time. What you don't know is that it hasn't always been straightforward."
Azalea tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Define 'not straightforward.'"
"There were times I had to make choices—alliances, deals—that weren't exactly... above board," he admitted, his voice low. "Nothing I'm proud of, but it was necessary to build the empire I have now."
Azalea studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Why tell me this now?"
"Because I don't want there to be any more secrets between us," Ambrose said, his gaze steady. "I value what we're building here, Azalea. I don't want it to be based on half-truths."
She leaned back, her lips curving into a small, enigmatic smile. "That's quite the confession, Mr. Ambrose. But you should know by now, that I'm not easily scared off."
Relief washed over him, though he knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. "I hoped you'd say that."
As the evening wore on, their conversation grew more personal. Ambrose found himself opening up in ways he hadn't anticipated, sharing stories of his struggles and triumphs.
"You surprise me, Ambrose," Azalea said softly, swirling her wine. "You wear confidence like armor, but there's more to you than meets the eye."
"Coming from you, that means a lot," he replied. "You're not exactly an open book yourself."
Azalea chuckled. "Fair point. But I've learned the hard way that trust is a dangerous thing."
"I'd like to change that," Ambrose said, his tone earnest.
She looked at him, her expression softening. "Maybe you will."
As Azalea prepared to leave, Ambrose walked her to the elevator.
"Thank you for tonight," she said, her voice sincere. "It was... unexpected."
"In a good way, I hope," he said with a smile.
She nodded. "Goodnight, Ambrose."
"Goodnight, Azalea," he replied, watching as the elevator doors closed.
As he returned to the penthouse, Ambrose felt a mix of emotions. He had managed to share part of his truth, but the weight of his full secret still loomed. For now, though, he would take solace in the fact that Azalea hadn't walked away.
For now, their fragile connection remained intact. But he knew that sooner or later, the full truth would come to light—and when it did, everything could change.