Amelia tilted her head slightly, the small, disbelieving smile still lingering on her face.
"Although, I have to admit, I’m a little surprised you’re Sir Streak. I knew you were popular. I just didn’t realize you were that popular."
"It’s a relatively recent development."
"Recent?" She raised an eyebrow. "Sir Streak has been the most discussed gifter on TikTuk Live for the past two weeks. I’ve heard your alias mentioned at media board meetings, Stan. You’re practically a phenomenon."
"It’s been an eventful two weeks."
"That is the understatement of the year."
She laughed softly, the first genuine laugh he had heard from her. Low, a little rough, the laugh of a woman whose throat had only recently relearned the motion after days of silence.
"Most people spend a decade building that kind of profile," she continued. "You managed it while studying at Peak University."
"It happened in stages."
"It happened in weeks."
Stan inclined his head, conceding the point.
Amelia took a sip of her coffee before setting the cup down again, shaking her head faintly.
"You’re an odd person, Stan Harrison."
"I’ve been told."
"In a good way. You keep doing things no one expects from you."
"Sometimes."
The answer drew another laugh from her, less guarded than the last.
From there, the conversation settled naturally into something easier.
Amelia asked about Ghost Signal, having seen several viral clips while recovering. Stan answered with the casual brevity he reserved for discussions of his own work.
She asked about the Wanhai Group next, carefully, professionally, the way one shareholder might question another about a position. He gave her enough to satisfy the question and nothing more.
Eventually, she asked about Sacha.
The topic surprised him.
The existence of his sister wasn’t exactly private information. Anyone willing to spend ten minutes researching Stan Harrison could discover that he had an older sister. Yet very few people ever bothered asking about her.
Stan found himself answering more openly.
Apart from Mia, Amelia was the first person in a very long time to ask about Sacha with genuine interest rather than casual curiosity.
Perhaps that shouldn’t have mattered. Yet somehow it did.
As he spoke, Amelia listened with an attentiveness that felt deeper than the conversation required.
She wasn’t merely hearing the words.
She was observing the way he spoke them.
The warmth that entered his voice whenever he mentioned his sister. The quiet protectiveness hidden beneath that warmth.
The complete absence of performance. This was not a man trying to appear caring. This was simply a man who loved his family.
’He’s very much unlike my father...’ she smiled...
And like many people who genuinely loved their family, he expressed it not through grand declarations, but through small, matter-of-fact details that slipped naturally into conversation.
Somewhere in the middle of listening to him, Amelia realized it was the strongest confirmation yet of what she had already concluded about his character.
Her gaze rested on him as he lifted his cup and took another sip of his flat white.
Without intending to, her eyes drifted lower.
To his lips. The realization struck almost immediately.
Her attention snapped upward. Their eyes met. A small jolt passed through her.
Because Stan had already been looking at her.
The eye contact lasted only a few seconds, but it felt longer. Long enough for warmth to begin climbing into her cheeks.
Long enough for her to become painfully aware of herself. Amelia broke the gaze first.
She turned her head slightly and looked toward the restaurant window with the careful composure of a woman who had just embarrassed herself in public and was determined not to acknowledge it.
Unfortunately, her blush proved far less cooperative. The faint pink remained. And deepened.
Stan noticed. Of course he noticed. But, as always, he was kind enough not to mention it.
He simply took another sip of his coffee. And allowed her dignity to survive the moment.
She drew a slow breath, gathered her courage, and turned back to him.
"Stan."
"Yes."
"I should get your Snapchat. So I can update you when we start identifying the impersonators."
She delivered it with crisp professionalism, framing the request as a practical necessity.
"I’ll give you mine too. That way you have a direct line."
"Sure."
The agreement came so easily that it nearly threw her off balance.
Before she could reconsider, she pulled out her phone, opened the QR scanner, and slid it across the table. Stan did the same. Their screens flashed almost simultaneously.
[Connection established: Stan] [Connection established: Amelia]
Amelia tapped into the newly added contact. His profile loaded.
The account name was exactly what she should have expected.
[Stan.]
No embellishments. No aliases. No clever usernames. Just Stan. She stared at it for a second.
Then the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
A small smile. One she immediately tried and failed to suppress. Her thumb drifted to the edit icon and the custom contact field opened.
Amelia glanced up. Stan was looking at his own phone.
’Good.’ She smiled and typed.
[My Hero ❤️]
The new label appeared beneath his profile picture. She stared at it. It was ridiculous.
Utterly, catastrophically ridiculous. This was the sort of contact name a teenage girl saved after developing her first serious crush.
It was not the sort of thing a twenty-eight-year-old Warner Bros. shareholder, responsible for multimillion-dollar decisions and accustomed to coordinating international business operations, should be doing.
Nor was it the sort of thing a woman who routinely directed armed security details should be doing.
The label remained on the screen. Amelia looked at it. Then she smiled. She loved it. She pressed Save. And had no regrets about it.
When she looked up again, a tiny trace of guilt still lingered in her expression, the look of someone who had just indulged herself and fully intended to keep the reason private.
Stan met her eyes. His expression carried a faint hint of amusement. Not because he knew what she had done. Because he clearly knew she had done something.
Fortunately, he was polite enough not to ask.
Amelia cleared her throat. Then she opened a conversation with him.