The following weeks passed like a carefully choreographed dance—one that neither of them fully led, yet both refused to abandon.
Lilith and Arnold saw each other more frequently. Sometimes in public settings—a networking mixer at the rooftop of a new hotel, a curated book event hosted by one of Arnold's foundation partners. Other times, in quieter spaces—a high-end restaurant tucked behind mirrored doors, or a brief coffee at her café just before closing.
To an outsider, it might have seemed like they were courting.
But Lilith could feel it—this wasn't a romance.
It was a test.
And she wasn't sure whether she was passing or not.
Arnold, for his part, remained as composed as ever. Sharp in conversation, observant in silence. He never asked about her past again, not directly. But she could feel the weight of the unspoken questions in his gaze, especially when she hesitated or dodged too carefully.
It was during one of their more private outings—a mid-afternoon walk in a secluded riverside park—that the façade finally cracked, if only slightly.
The sun had softened, bathing the path in gold. Lilith walked beside him, arms tucked into her coat, the silence between them laced with tension. Not discomfort. Something quieter. Colder.
She glanced at him. "You've been quiet lately."
"I listen more than I speak," he said without turning.
"I noticed." She smiled faintly. "But you've also been… distant. More than usual."
At that, he stopped walking. Turned to face her.
"You haven't given me a reason not to be."
Her smile faltered. "I don't follow."
"You're holding back," Arnold said evenly. "I made you a professional offer—one that comes with influence, exposure, and long-term benefit. But weeks have passed, and you still haven't committed. I'm beginning to wonder if you're taking it seriously."
Lilith blinked, the coldness in his tone catching her off guard. "I am. I've just had a lot on my plate."
"I know," he replied. "Victor Sterling's sudden reappearance. Your 'complicated' past. Your reluctance to speak about either."
She flinched slightly at the way he said it—not cruel, but calculated.
"I'm not trying to waste your time, Arnold," she said quietly. "I'm just… trying to find my footing again."
He studied her face for a long moment, unreadable. "You told me you were rebuilding your life. That much I respect. But I didn't extend that offer out of sentimentality. I saw potential. You presented yourself as someone capable. Grounded. But now I'm wondering if I misread you."
Lilith felt something tighten in her chest. "So this is about business."
"Of course it is," he said, calm and matter-of-fact. "It always was."
The finality of that made her heart ache in a way she wasn't prepared for.
She looked away, trying to hide the sting in her eyes. "You're not curious about who I am. You're just impatient that I haven't signed your proposal."
Arnold didn't deny it.
"I don't do guesswork, Lilith. Either you're in, or you're not. And if you're not, I'd prefer clarity over ambiguity."
She swallowed. "So that's what this is? A warning?"
"No," he said. "It's a reminder."
They resumed walking, but the warmth of the moment had vanished.
Arnold was silent again, but his mind was active, threading together the pieces Lilith continued to conceal. Her connection to Harold Sterling. The fear in her voice when she spoke of the past. The way she danced around truths but never quite lied.
She wasn't just a woman avoiding commitment.
She was a variable.
And Arnold Blaze didn't tolerate unpredictability for long.
—
Back at Blaze Enterprises, Isabella sat at her desk, watching the light fade over the city skyline. Her fingers hovered over her tablet, but her mind wasn't on the quarterly projections.
It was on Arnold.
He'd changed lately. Not in ways anyone else might notice. But she had.
He was distracted. Not inefficient—he was never inefficient—but... slower. Less cold in meetings, more easily drawn into silence when Lilith's name surfaced in conversation.
And that—more than anything—unnerved her.
She had seen women come and go before. Most of them never made it past a polite drink. But Lilith had carved out something more dangerous.
Space.
Isabella leaned back in her chair and narrowed her eyes.
She didn't trust Lilith. There was something off.
Arnold might not see it yet.
But Isabella would.
She reached for her phone and began typing.
If Arnold wouldn't vet Lilith properly, she would.
—
That night, Lilith stood on her balcony, arms wrapped around herself. The night air nipped at her skin, but her thoughts were louder than the cold.
He'd said it was about business.
Only business.
Then why did it hurt so much?
She wanted to believe she was doing this for survival—for leverage, as Athena had said. But with every interaction, she found herself wanting more.
Not just protection.
Not just a seat at his table.
She wanted him to see her. Not as a liability. Not as a wildcard.
But as something… human.
She hated that she cared.
She hated that she was falling—
—and that he wasn't even blinking.