The ballroom of the Grand Meridian was full by eight.

Troy Aiden stood at the top of the staircase and looked down at it. Six hundred guests. Cameras. Champagne towers. All of it for Aiden Corporation.

All of it for him.

"Sir, you have ten minutes before your speech," Imani said. She stood beside him with a tablet held to her chest. "Do you want to go over the cards?"

Troy kept his eyes on the crowd. "No."

"You said that last year too."

The corner of Troy's mouth moved. "And last year I did fine."

"You made a senator laugh and a reporter cry."

"Then I did great." Troy fixed his cufflink. It was black, with a small silver A. "Where's my uncle?"

Imani tipped her head toward the bar. "Near the bar. He's been shaking hands for an hour."

Troy's smile went flat. "Of course he has."

Imani gave him a look. "He's your family, sir."

Troy's voice cooled. "He's my father's brother. That's different."

She didn't argue. Imani never argued when he was right.

Troy walked down the stairs. People turned. They always did. A woman in red told him the company had never looked stronger. A young man asked for a photo. Troy gave each of them the same smile. Small. Polite. Cold enough to keep them back.

"Mr. Aiden."

An older man in a grey suit stepped in front of him. Hollis Grant, chairman of Grant Steel.

"Congratulations. I never thought your father would let go."

"He didn't let go. I took it."

Hollis laughed. "That's what I like about you. Everyone else says thank you for the opportunity."

Troy didn't smile back. "I don't thank people for what I earned."

"And Ross? I hear he's been circling."

Troy's eyes stayed on the room. "Let him circle."

"He took Halden from you."

"He took one contract. I'll take the next."

Hollis raised his glass. "I'll bet on you."

Troy gave him a thin, sharp smile. "Don't bet. Watch."

Troy moved on. Twenty-six years old. Three months as CEO. Every person in this room knew his name.

He was an S-tier Alpha. The kind born once in a hundred thousand people. When he walked in, rooms went quiet. Betas stepped aside. Other Alphas lowered their eyes.

It was a good life. He liked it.

"Troy!"

His uncle Everett came through the crowd with his arms open. Fifty-eight years old, silver hair, big warm smile. He hugged Troy hard and slapped his back twice.

"Look at you. Your father would've cried if he were here."

Troy allowed the hug for exactly one second, then stepped back. "My father is in Portugal fishing."

"He'd cry from there." Everett held him by the shoulders. "Big night. Anything you need, you tell me."

Troy straightened his jacket. "I need you to stop hugging me in front of the press."

"Ha. Always so serious." Everett patted his cheek. "Go. Make a good speech."

Troy watched him walk away. That smile always felt like a door left open.

He shook it off. Not tonight.

"Mr. Aiden." A waiter held out a tray. "Champagne?"

"Water."

"Yes, sir."

He took the glass and turned to look over the room.

And stopped.

Across the ballroom, by the tall windows, a man was looking straight at him.

Dylan Ross.

Of course he came.

Dylan stood with one hand in his pocket and a glass of whisky in the other. Black suit. No tie. Collar open, like he'd dressed for a different party. Tall, broad, dark hair pushed back. Thirty years old. S-tier Alpha. CEO of Ross Holdings.

And the only man in the city who had ever beaten Troy in a bid.

Twice.

Dylan lifted his glass. Slowly. Like a toast.

Troy didn't lift his.

"Is that Ross?" Imani whispered. "I thought he wasn't coming."

Troy's jaw set. "He's here to watch me fail."

"Or he's here because you invited him."

"My board invited him. For appearances."

"Mm." Imani checked her tablet. "He's walking over."

"I can see that."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"No. Go check the stage."

She left. Troy straightened his back.

Dylan crossed the floor like he had all night. People moved out of his way without knowing they did it. When he stopped, he was close. Closer than he needed to be.

Dylan stopped close, one hand in his pocket, his voice easy. "Aiden."

Troy didn't step back, though every instinct told him to. "Ross."

"Nice party."

Troy's eyes narrowed. "You hate parties."

"I do." Dylan looked around, then back at him. "But I like this one."

"Why?"

"You're in it."

Troy raised an eyebrow. "That line works on people?"

"Never tried it before." The corner of Dylan's mouth moved. "How is it?"

Troy's face stayed blank. "Terrible."

"Good to know."

Troy took a sip of water. "You weren't invited by me."

"Then I'll thank your board."

"Did you come to threaten me again?"

"Threaten?"

"The Halden contract. You called my offer cute."

"It was cute."

Troy's chin lifted. "It was fair."

"It was cute and fair." Dylan tilted his head. "I won, Troy."

Troy's fingers tightened on his glass. "Because you undercut us."

"Because I wanted it more."

"You wanted to hurt me."

Dylan's eyes sharpened. Just a little. "No. That's not it."

"Then what?"

Dylan didn't answer. He just looked at him. Long. Steady. Troy felt it on his skin, like standing too close to a fire.

He hated it.

"If you have nothing useful to say, go away."

"I have something useful." Dylan leaned in. His voice dropped. "Your collar's crooked."

Troy froze. "What?"

Dylan raised a hand. Troy caught his wrist before it touched him.

Troy's voice dropped, flat and warning. "Don't."

"Fine." Dylan let his hand fall. "Fix it yourself."

Troy fixed it. His face felt warm. From anger. It had to be anger.

"Mr. Aiden." Imani's voice came through his earpiece. "Five minutes. Stage left."

"I'm coming." Troy put down his glass. "Enjoy the party, Ross. Try not to steal anything."

"No promises."

Troy walked away. His back was straight. His steps were even. He could feel Dylan's eyes on him the whole way across the floor.

He didn't look back.

Backstage, the noise dulled. A stagehand clipped a mic to his lapel. Imani handed him the cards he didn't want.

"You're flushed," she said.

"It's hot in here."

"It's cold in here, sir. They turned the air up."

"Then I'm excited. Is that so strange?"

"For you? Yes."

"Watch it."

She smiled. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Did Ross say something to you?"

"He said my collar was crooked."

"Was it?"

Troy opened his mouth. Closed it.

"No."

Imani said nothing. She just handed him a bottle of water.

The lights dimmed. The music faded. A voice announced his name through the speakers, and the crowd began to clap.

Troy walked onto the stage.

The light hit him. Six hundred faces looked up. Cameras flashed.

He stepped to the podium and smiled.

"Good evening," he said. "Thank you all for coming."

Far in the back, Dylan Ross watched him without blinking.

And deep in Troy's chest, something warm turned over. Once. Slowly.

He ignored it.