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.