Nowhere To Run From The Cold-Hearted CEO's Obsession

"Aurora, what is keeping you? The new sponsors are already waiting at the Gentry Club. It's been half an hour since Mr. Saunders set off with Lana. You'd better hurry, or you'll definitely be late, granting Lana more time to curry favor with the new sponsors. Everyone's aware Lana only got her job through connections. If you let her grab this chance, your title as the leading finance anchor might be gone before morning."

Hearing her friend's voice message from ten minutes earlier, Aurora Flynn froze mid-motion, fingers tangled in her half-loosened updo.

She stood in the Odonrith Broadcasting Station's dressing room, the scent of studio lights and powder still clinging to her after finishing the evening finance segment.

That broadcast slot had originally been Lana Stewart's, yet Marc Saunders, their director, had reassigned it to Aurora—and conveniently rescheduled the sponsor dinner an hour sooner. The timing reeked of manipulation. Lana clearly hoped Aurora would miss the meeting with the new sponsors entirely.

Schemes didn't scare Aurora, but the title of leading finance anchor was one she'd earned, not one she intended to surrender.

Still wearing her sleek on-air suit and heels, Aurora grabbed her bag and hurried out into the night toward the Gentry Club.

As soon as Aurora stepped inside, she went rigid. Lana sat perched on the lap of Leland Wells—one of the new sponsors—her smile sugary sweet, her posture all coquettish charm.

For what was supposed to be a simple dinner meeting, Lana had already resorted to seduction, brazenly flaunting her eagerness to win his approval.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. Wells." Aurora walked forward, lifted a wine glass with a steady hand, and drained it in one swallow.

Leland's palm rested possessively against Lana's exposed waist as he studied Aurora with a mild smile. "Miss Flynn, why do you look so familiar?"

Assuming it was the sort of casual remarks men tossed around at these functions, Aurora gave a polite smile—until he turned slightly and added with teasing amusement, "You remind me of my good friend's ex-girlfriend."

Her gaze instinctively followed Leland's line of sight—and landed on a man seated nearby. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and a sharply tailored black suit, the shirt and tie perfectly matched. Every inch of him radiated precision and restraint, an aloof refinement that seemed untouchable. Behind the lenses, his eyes were cool, incisive, and utterly commanding.

Aurora's pupils widened in stunned disbelief. She knew that face—too well to mistake. Grayson Rockefeller, hailing from a lineage steeped in law and politics, had soared through the national exams five years ago, earning a coveted place in the Odonrith Prosecutor's Office. At just twenty-five, he'd become the youngest prosecutor in the city's judicial ranks—brilliant, unyielding, and already destined for power.

Yet, the first thing he'd done after securing that triumph was end their three-year relationship—cleanly, coldly, without warning. Aurora had been blindsided, utterly unprepared.

Now, Grayson regarded Aurora with composed, almost detached eyes, his expression unreadable beneath the sheen of calm professionalism.

Aurora forced a faint, bitter smile. She turned her head away, hiding the tremor in her breath and the turmoil flickering across her features. Her friend's off-hand remark turned out to be true—tonight's dinner wasn't hers to claim. It would be Lana's stage, from start to finish.

Back when Grayson ended their relationship, he'd thrown Aurora a check of half a million dollars and told her never to appear in his world again.

After the breakup, Aurora had spent two years overseas for education and then returned quietly home for three years. Though both she and Grayson lived in Odonrith, their paths had never crossed once since parting ways.

Still remembering Grayson's term of never sharing the same place again, Aurora turned to leave.

Leland arched a brow, his voice carrying a subtle challenge. "Miss Flynn, leaving not long after you arrived—don't you think that's a little rude?"

She paused, turned around, and then faced him with a polite, practiced smile. "Mr. Wells, you already have a lovely companion by your side. I wouldn't want to intrude."

He let out a subtle laugh. "True, I do have company—but Grayson doesn't. If you can please him tonight, I'll sponsor your show for a full year. What do you say?"

With that, Leland shot Grayson a teasing look, convinced he was the perfect wingman.

Grayson said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on Aurora, unwavering from the moment she stepped through the door.

Aurora wavered, uncertain whether to retreat. Across from her, Lana tightened her grip on the situation—she had fought too hard to gain Leland's favor to let Aurora steal the spotlight now.

With a coy smile, Lana's slender fingers toyed with Leland's tie as she purred, "Mr. Wells, please don't put Aurora in such an awkward spot. She's already engaged, and if rumors of her being with another man spread, it could damage her reputation. She and her fiancé are deeply in love—completely faithful to each other."

Leland chuckled, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Well, isn't that touching?"

Grayson lowered his head as a flicker of shadow crossed his face, gone almost as soon as it appeared. When his gaze returned to Aurora, his tone was cool but probing. "So, you're getting married?"

Aurora hesitated. She did have a fiancé—but the engagement was nothing more than a convenient facade, a mutual agreement with a close friend to quiet their own families' constant urging to marry. When the occasion demanded, they played their parts, exchanging affectionate smiles before relatives; beyond that, they lived entirely separate lives.

With composure sharpened by years apart, Aurora shifted her head and regarded Grayson with a polite, distant nod. Her eyes held the chill of indifference, colder even than his own, as though their shared past had long been erased.

Leland noted the turmoil in Grayson's eyes and probed teasingly, "Grayson, you seem awfully invested in Miss Flynn's wedding prospects. What's next—planning to crash the ceremony and object?"

Grayson's fingertips drummed lightly against the table, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes revealing nothing of the turmoil beneath. After a brief pause, his voice came low and steady. "That depends on whether Miss Flynn intends to give me the chance."