MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

The Grand Crestwood Hotel ballroom glittered like a constellation brought to earth. Crystal chandeliers scattered light across shimmering gowns and tailored tuxedos while Emma Lopez navigated through the crowd with a practiced smile.

Her black flats pinched after twelve hours of catering work, sending dull throbs up her calves, but the overtime pay would cover another month of her grandmother's medications. She balanced her tray of delicate canapés and breathed in expensive perfume mingled with lilies and the distant strains of a string quartet.

This world was not hers. She simply worked on it.

He appeared near the grand entrance, a late arrival who commanded attention without speaking. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair falling across his brow, he moved through the parting crowd with natural authority.

Whispers identified him as James Wilson, the formidable CEO of Wilson Industries.

Their eyes met across the ballroom. The noise faded to a dull hum. A current arced between them, instant and undeniable. Emma's breath caught. She tore her gaze away, pulse leaping, and nearly collided with another server.

Even after she turned, she felt his searching gaze like a tangible weight against her skin.

An hour later, her composure shattered.

A careless guest jostled her elbow while she refilled champagne flutes. The heavy bottle tipped, sending expensive champagne splashing across polished marble. Droplets caught the hem of a pristine dark suit.

"I am so sorry." Emma grabbed a linen napkin in a desperate attempt to help. "I did not see you there."

"Clearly." The deep voice carried amusement rather than anger.

Emma looked up and felt the air leave her lungs. James Wilson stood before her, golden liquid darkening his Italian leather shoes.

Up close, his presence overwhelmed her. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw shadowed with stubble, and brown eyes so intense they seemed to see past her professional smile into the truth beneath.

"I truly am sorry, Mr. Wilson." She dabbed uselessly at his shoes, cheeks burning. "I will pay for the cleaning, of course."

He caught her wrist gently, his touch sending warmth through her. "Do not worry about it. Though I must ask, do you make a habit of ambushing your clients' most important guests with champagne?"

Despite her mortification, a genuine smile touched her lips. "Only the most important ones. Everyone else gets the miniature quiches."

His laugh crinkled the corners of his serious face. "I am James."

"Emma." She knew she should pull away and return to her duties, but his hand remained warm and firm around her wrist, a silent anchor in the swirling room.

"Emma." He repeated her name as if tasting it, his voice low. "When is your break?"

"In twenty minutes." The words felt reckless and insane even as she spoke them.

"Meet me on the terrace."

She found herself nodding before her rational mind could protest.

The spring air on the terrace carried the sweet scent of jasmine. Below, the city glittered like scattered diamonds. James leaned against the stone railing, his jacket discarded and tie loosened.

Away from the ballroom's artificial glitter, he looked different. More real, less untouchable.

"You came," he said.

"I probably should not have." Emma kept a distance between them, aware of the danger this moment posed to the walls she had spent years building.

"Probably not." He turned to face her fully. "But I am glad you did. You are different."

"You mean poor?"

"Honest," he corrected, his gaze steady. "Everyone in my world wears a mask. You do not."

They talked through her entire break and well beyond it. James spoke of crushing expectations and the loneliness that came with power. Emma found herself sharing dreams of opening her own restaurant someday and her constant worries about her grandmother's failing health.

With him, she felt seen in a way she never had before.

When her furious supervisor finally came looking for her, James intervened with quiet authority that both startled and thrilled her, securing her the rest of the night off with full pay.

"I should go." The words contradicted the pull her body felt toward his.

"You should." James stepped closer until the space between them crackled with tension. "But I do not want you to."

His hand came up to cup her face, surprisingly gentle. "I have not been able to look away from you all night. I have never felt this way before."

For once in her responsible, meticulously planned life, Emma wanted to be reckless.

The elevator ride to his penthouse suite passed in charged silence. The suite itself embodied impersonal luxury, all glass and steel overlooking city lights. But when he looked at her, his gaze dark with raw emotion, Emma felt anything but cold.

"Tell me to stop," James murmured as he backed her gently against the door.

Emma reached for him instead.

The night unfolded in waves of passion and tenderness. He touched her as if she were precious, as if he had been searching for her without knowing it. In the quiet hours before dawn, wrapped in expensive sheets and the solid warmth of James's arms, Emma felt a shift in her chest.

This mattered in ways she could not articulate.

"Stay," James whispered against her hair, his voice thick with sleep. "Do not go."

"I am right here." She pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder.

Even as she spoke, her phone began vibrating against the nightstand. Once, twice, five times. Pure anxiety cut through the warm haze. Before she even looked, she knew with bone-deep certainty that everything had changed.

The screen's harsh blue light illuminated nine missed calls from Mercy General Hospital.