CRIMSON WEAVE

The grand ballroom of the Hotel Royale sparkled with opulence, the air alive with the hum of polite conversation and the soft strains of an elegant orchestra. Azalea moved through the crowd effortlessly, her crimson gown a beacon amidst the sea of tuxedos and jewel-toned dresses. She was a picture of grace, the epitome of Scarlet Vogue's vision, but her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts shadowed by the contents of the encrypted message she had received earlier that evening.

"Miss Laurent, your designs are simply breathtaking," a wealthy patron gushed as Azalea passed.

"Thank you," she replied with a practiced smile, offering a polite nod before excusing herself.

She slipped away toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, her eyes scanning the crowd with the precision of a hunter. Somewhere among the glittering attendees was her contact, the person who had left her the message. Her instincts told her the intel was too crucial to ignore.

"Azalea," came a familiar voice, smooth and confident.

She turned to find Ambrose standing there, impossibly handsome in his tailored black suit. His smile was warm, but his eyes, as always, held a flicker of something unreadable.

"Ambrose," she greeted, letting the corners of her lips curl into a subtle smile.

"I didn't expect to see you here tonight," he said, offering her a glass of champagne.

"I could say the same about you," she countered, taking the glass but not drinking from it.

"Business," he said vaguely, his gaze sweeping the room. "And you?"

"Networking," she replied smoothly, her tone neutral.

Their eyes locked for a moment, a silent game of chess playing out between them. Azalea could feel his curiosity, his desire to probe deeper, but she wasn't about to let him.

"I'll admit, the evening just got a bit brighter," he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

Azalea allowed herself a soft chuckle. "Charming as ever, Mr. Ambrose."

Before he could reply, a discreet cough interrupted them. A waiter stood nearby, his expression impassive but his eyes sharp. He handed Azalea a folded napkin, murmuring, "For you, madam," before disappearing into the crowd.

Azalea's fingers tightened slightly around the napkin as she unfolded it, revealing a single line of text: Terrace, midnight.

She folded the napkin again, slipping it into her clutch with practiced ease. "If you'll excuse me, Ambrose, I need to powder my nose," she said lightly.

"Of course," he replied, though his gaze lingered on her retreating figure, a faint frown creasing his brow.

Azalea navigated the opulent hallways with ease, her steps measured but purposeful. She reached the terrace just as the clock struck midnight. The cool night air wrapped around her as she stepped outside, her eyes immediately finding the figure waiting for her in the shadows.

"It's been a while," the man said, his voice low.

"Not long enough," Azalea replied, her tone sharp. "What do you have for me?"

The man handed her a small envelope. "High-profile target. The location, details, and deadline are all inside. Payment will be transferred upon completion."

Azalea opened the envelope and scanned the contents. Her blood ran cold when she saw the name: Victor Langston. A notorious arms dealer whose dealings had left a trail of devastation across continents. But what sent a chill down her spine wasn't his name—it was the realization that Victor Langston was one of Ambrose's most prominent business partners.

"You're sure about this intel?" she asked, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

"Positive," the man replied. "Langston's attending a private meeting tomorrow night. Security will be tight, but we know you can handle it."

Azalea nodded curtly, tucking the envelope into her clutch. "Consider it done."

As the man disappeared into the shadows, Azalea lingered on the terrace, her mind racing. This mission was unlike any she had undertaken before. It wasn't just about eliminating a dangerous man; it was about the potential fallout with Ambrose.

She returned to the ballroom, her expression composed but her thoughts a whirlwind. She found Ambrose again, now engaged in a conversation with a group of influential figures. His smile was charming, his demeanor relaxed, but Azalea couldn't shake the image of Victor Langston's name from her mind.

"Azalea," Ambrose said, his face lighting up when he saw her. "You're back. I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me."

"Hardly," she said, forcing a smile. "Though it seems you've kept yourself entertained."

He chuckled. "These events are all the same—endless chatter about profits and partnerships. You're the only interesting thing here."

She arched an eyebrow, her tone playful. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, his voice tinged with warmth.

For a moment, the tension in her chest eased. But then one of the men in the group mentioned Victor Langston, and the tension returned tenfold.

"Langston's been a tricky one," the man said, shaking his head. "But Ambrose here knows how to handle him."

Ambrose laughed lightly. "Victor's not so bad once you understand his methods."

Azalea felt her stomach churn. She excused herself from the conversation, claiming she needed a moment to herself. Ambrose watched her go, his instincts telling him something was wrong.

Later that night, as Azalea reviewed the details of the mission, she couldn't shake the image of Ambrose standing beside Victor Langston, their partnership a web of connections that complicated everything.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. It was a message from Ambrose:

You seemed off tonight. Is everything alright?

Azalea stared at the message, her fingers hovering over the screen. Finally, she typed a response:

I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind.

She didn't expect him to reply so quickly.

If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.

Azalea's lips pressed into a thin line. She appreciated the sentiment, but this was a battle she had to face alone.

The following evening, Azalea arrived at the location specified in the intel. The building was heavily guarded, as expected, but she navigated the security with the precision of a seasoned professional. She moved like a shadow, her every step calculated, her senses heightened.

When she reached the room where Victor Langston was holding his meeting, she paused, her heart pounding. Through the crack of the door, she could see him, seated at the head of a table surrounded by his entourage.

And then her breath caught.

Ambrose was there, sitting to Langston's right, his expression calm but focused.

Azalea's mind raced. She couldn't complete the mission with Ambrose there—not without exposing herself. She needed a new plan, and she needed it fast.

Before she could retreat, a guard spotted her.

"Hey!" he called out, drawing his weapon.

Azalea reacted instantly, disarming him with a swift motion and knocking him unconscious. The commotion alerted the others, and chaos erupted.

Inside the room, Ambrose sprang to his feet, his instincts kicking in. He caught a glimpse of a figure retreating down the hallway and felt a jolt of recognition.

"Stay here," he ordered Langston, ignoring the man's protests as he pursued the intruder.

Azalea moved swiftly, her mind racing as she tried to find an escape route. She didn't want a confrontation with Ambrose—not here, not now. But her luck ran out when he intercepted her near the stairwell.

"Azalea?" he said, his voice filled with disbelief.

She froze, her heart pounding as she turned to face him.

"Ambrose," she said, her tone calm despite the turmoil inside her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his gaze sharp.

"I could ask you the same thing," she countered, her mind scrambling for an explanation.

"I'm handling business," he said, his voice tinged with suspicion. "But you... this doesn't make sense."

Azalea took a step back, her expression guarded. "It's complicated."

Before he could press her further, the sound of approaching footsteps forced them both to move.

"Another time," she said, disappearing into the shadows.

Ambrose stood there for a moment, his mind racing. The woman he thought he knew was proving to be an enigma, and the threads of their lives were unraveling in ways he hadn't anticipated.