Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle-Chapter 128: The Distance Between Them

The balcony doors closed softly behind Audrey Sawyer as she stepped outside.

The air beyond the glass carried the sharper chill of winter, a quiet contrast to the warmth and layered conversations inside the ballroom. From here the music reached her in softened fragments, the quartet’s notes drifting through the closed doors as if the sound itself had grown tired of the crowd.

Audrey rested one hand lightly against the railing.

The view overlooked the city lights stretching across the river, their reflections trembling faintly in the dark water below. It was not the sort of view meant to distract a guest for long; the balcony had been designed more for pause than spectacle, a place where someone might step away from the center of the room for a few minutes before returning.

For Audrey, the pause felt necessary.

She opened the small notebook she carried and flipped through the pages slowly, her pen hovering for a moment before making a brief notation along the margin. The article she had written about Rochefort Group earlier that month had already been published, but habits formed in a newsroom did not disappear easily. Even when she attended an event socially, her mind continued to record small details.

The arrangement of the evening had confirmed much of what she had written.

Rochefort Group had not fractured after Alexander Rochefort’s death. The structure around the company—around the family—had adjusted, settled again with surprising steadiness.

From the balcony she could see part of the ballroom through the tall glass doors.

The musicians remained near the stage, the violin rising slightly above the other instruments as the melody turned toward another piece.

At the center of the room stood Arianne Summers.

Even from this distance Audrey could see how naturally the conversations moved toward her. People approached, spoke with her briefly, then moved aside for the next group without hesitation. It was not the sort of attention that came from novelty or curiosity. It looked like recognition.

Eight months ago, after the news of Alexander’s death and the Chairman’s sudden illness, many analysts in Audrey’s industry had predicted instability for the Rochefort family.

Instead the room below her told a different story.

Near the long table on the right side of the ballroom, Franz Rochefort stood with the twins. Lily appeared to be explaining something to him with serious enthusiasm while Leo typed a short line onto the tablet he carried. Franz bent slightly to read the screen before answering quietly.

Audrey watched the small exchange for a moment.

The distance between Franz and Arianne remained exactly what it had been all evening—several steps apart, never touching, never standing beside one another long enough to draw attention. But the alignment between them was unmistakable.

Anyone who understood rooms like this could see it.

Audrey closed the notebook slowly.

"You always worked even during parties."

The voice behind her was familiar.

She turned.

Gilbert Pemberton stepped onto the balcony, allowing the door to close quietly behind him. The colder air did not appear to bother him. He stood with his hands resting loosely in the pockets of his jacket, his attention moving briefly toward the city lights before returning to her.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Five years had passed since the last time they had stood this close.

"You noticed that," Audrey said at last.

Gilbert allowed a faint smile.

"You used to do the same thing during dinners," he said. "You would excuse yourself for five minutes and come back with three new questions."

Audrey considered that.

"I was a junior reporter then," she replied. "Questions were part of the job."

"And now?"

"Now I try to ask better ones."

The conversation paused again.

Inside the ballroom the quartet moved to a slower piece, the cello drawing a deeper note beneath the violin’s steady rhythm. Guests continued moving between tables as the evening settled into its later hours.

Gilbert glanced briefly through the glass doors.

"Your article was careful," he said.

Audrey leaned lightly against the railing.

"It needed to be."

He looked back at her.

"Most people expected something sharper."

"That would have been easier," she admitted.

"But you did not."

"No."

Gilbert studied her for a moment before nodding once.

"Thank you."

The words were simple.

Audrey did not respond immediately.

She had written enough articles about powerful families to recognize how rarely gratitude appeared in conversations like this. Usually the response was caution or distance.

"I was not writing about scandal," she said quietly. "I was writing about structure."

Gilbert nodded slightly.

"That is what most people missed."

He stepped closer to the railing beside her, leaving a comfortable space between them as they both looked out over the river.

For a while neither spoke.

Five years earlier, silence between them had often carried tension.

Now it carried something closer to familiarity.

"Five years is a long time," Audrey said.

Gilbert’s gaze stayed on the water.

"Yes."

She glanced toward the ballroom. Arianne was speaking with trustees. Not looking their way. But the glass was clear.

"They know I’m out here with you," she said quietly.

"They know we’re talking. That’s all."

"Is that all?"

He turned to her. "What do you want it to be?"

The single word carried more weight than the conversation so far.

Audrey said nothing. She rested her elbows lightly against the railing.

"When we ended things," she continued, "I thought the distance between us was too wide."

"It was."

"And now?"

Gilbert was quiet. "Now you’re standing on a balcony with me while half the city watches through that glass."

She almost smiled. "Half the city. And your friends."

"They’re not watching."

"Aren’t they?"

He followed her gaze. Arianne had moved slightly. Still not looking. But the angle was better now.

"She sees everything," Gilbert admitted. "They all do."

"Does that bother you?"

He considered it. "It used to. Now it just... is."

The response was direct.

Audrey gave a small nod.

"I was still a junior correspondent," she said. "You had just taken over Pemberton Corporation. Every conversation we had seemed to turn into someone else’s opinion about it."

"I remember."

"They were not wrong," she added. "The difference in status would have followed us everywhere."

Gilbert turned slightly toward her.

"It did."

Another pause settled between them.

From the ballroom came polite laughter followed by a brief rise in applause. Someone had finished a short speech near the stage.

Audrey glanced through the doors again.

"I used to come to these banquets years ago," she said. "Not as a guest. As a reporter standing near the back."

Gilbert followed her gaze.

"They have not changed much."

"No," she said. "But the room has."

He understood what she meant.

Alexander Rochefort had once stood at the center of these gatherings with an ease that drew attention without effort. When he died eight months earlier, many observers assumed the dynamic of the room would disappear with him.

Instead it had adjusted.

Audrey nodded toward the ballroom.

"Your group still moves the room," she said.

Gilbert did not pretend modesty.

"It always has."

He added quietly, "Alex built most of it."

Audrey studied the scene inside again.

Arianne had moved toward another group of donors while Franz remained near the twins. Julian and Nate stood a few steps behind them speaking with two trustees.

"The structure did not collapse," she said.

"No."

"I thought it might."

"So did a lot of people."

Audrey closed her notebook completely.

"But it did not," she said.

Gilbert watched Arianne across the room.

"No."

The answer required no explanation.

Another silence followed, but it no longer felt uncertain.

Audrey looked back toward him.

"Five years ago we ended things because the gap between us seemed impossible."

Gilbert met her gaze.

"You are not a junior correspondent anymore."

A faint smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"No."

"I read your piece on them." He nodded toward the ballroom. "It was careful."

"I meant it to be."

"They noticed," Gilbert murmured.

She looked at him. "Did they?"

"Arianne mentioned it. Said it showed restraint."

A pause.

"That’s high praise, from her."

Audrey absorbed that. "I didn’t think she’d read it."

"She reads everything," Gilbert assured her.

The winter air moved faintly across the balcony, carrying the distant sound of traffic from the street below.

Gilbert looked back toward the ballroom again.

"Are you staying for the rest of the evening?" he asked.

The question sounded casual.

But Audrey understood its meaning.

She looked through the glass. Arianne was near the twins now. Franz beside them.

"Does it matter if I do?"

"You know it does."

She turned back to him. "Then yes."

Gilbert nodded. Didn’t smile. But something in his stance shifted.

"Good."

She held his gaze a moment longer. "Will you tell them? That we talked?"

"They’ll ask. I won’t lie."

"Neither will I."

That settled something between them.

He did not add anything more.

Inside the ballroom Lily had begun pulling Franz toward the edge of the dance floor again, apparently determined to show him something near the musicians. Leo followed closely with the tablet held carefully in both hands.

Audrey watched the small scene with quiet amusement.

"They seem comfortable with him," she said.

Gilbert nodded.

"They are."

"And with her."

"Yes."

Audrey leaned slightly closer to the glass doors.

"A lot of people underestimated her," she said.

Gilbert did not disagree.

"They still do."

From the balcony the chandelier light reflected softly against the polished floor. Guests continued moving through the room in easy patterns, their conversations blending into a quiet rhythm beneath the music.

Arianne crossed the center of the floor again, speaking with a pair of trustees as she walked.

Franz remained with the twins.

Neither of them looked toward the balcony.

But the distance between them remained carefully held.

Audrey observed the alignment for a moment longer.

She slipped the notebook back into her bag.

Beside her, Gilbert rested both hands on the railing as he watched the ballroom through the glass.

Inside, Leo typed. Lily pulled Franz’s sleeve. Arianne crossed the floor.

Audrey watched them all.

"They’re good together," she commented.

"Who?"

"All of them. They survived."

Gilbert nodded. "It did."

Audrey looked at him. "We didn’t."

"No." He didn’t look away. "But we’re here. Standing on the same balcony."

"That’s not nothing."

"No. It’s not."

The music shifted inside. Slower now.

Neither of them moved toward the door.

Inside the ballroom Leo had begun typing again while Lily tried to convince Franz to move closer to the musicians.

The music continued.

And the evening moved forward beneath the steady light of the chandeliers.