Beneath Her Ice

The power went out just as Will stepped into the ballroom.

One second, the room was buzzing with donors, champagne, and faux-witty banter. The next, darkness swallowed everything. A ripple of gasps and laughter moved through the crowd, followed by the flicker of emergency lights casting gold shadows over velvet and steel.

"Perfect," he muttered, adjusting his tie. "Very symbolic."

This was supposed to be a networking event — a fundraiser-slash-tech-showcase held in a glossy Midtown tower. He hadn't expected to be dragged here, but Jan insisted. "Just show your face, Will. Talk to people with money."

So far, he'd talked to three hedge fund managers, two influencers, and zero humans who cared about clean water tech in schools.

And now? Now he was stuck in a building without power.

He turned toward the nearest hallway, looking for quieter air — and walked right into Eliza Darcy.

Quite literally.

Her shoulder collided with his chest. Her phone, dimly lit, slipped from her hand and clattered across the floor.

She exhaled sharply. "You again."

"I could say the same," he said, bending to retrieve her phone. "Do you usually stalk donation events just for fun, or is this another optics thing?"

Her eyes flashed in the dimness. "Believe it or not, I support this cause."

"I'll believe it when you do more than write checks."

She tilted her head. "And here I thought you hated billionaires."

"Not all billionaires. Just the ones who forget people exist outside their quarterly forecasts."

A pause.

Then — "Touché."

Silence pulsed between them like a second heartbeat. Around them, the murmurs of other guests echoed faintly, but this corner of the corridor was unusually still. Emergency lights hummed above. Her features were sculpted in half-shadow, softer than usual.

Without her army of assistants, her perfect lighting, her sleek boardroom — Eliza looked human.

Maybe even vulnerable.

She folded her arms, watching him. "You think you have me figured out."

Will shrugged. "I think you want people to think they have you figured out. That way, they don't look deeper."

Her gaze sharpened. "And what would they find, Mr. Bennett?"

He didn't smile. "Someone scared to care."

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut.

He expected her to pivot, to lash back, to brush him off like she always did.

Instead, she said nothing.

Just looked at him like he'd pulled the rug from under her.

"Your phone," he said, holding it out. His fingers brushed hers — and something in her eyes flinched. A spark. A reaction.

Something alive.

A beat passed. And then another.

If he leaned in — just one inch — he could kiss her.

He didn't.

Because she took a step back.

Not far. Just enough to rewrap the armor.

"Thanks," she said, voice even. "I should find the event manager."

He nodded.

And then she was gone.

Leaving behind silence, static, and the unbearable weight of almost.