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Chapter 51: Predators at the table
Last Updated:
2025-09-06 02:38:06
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Crossed Lines Chapter 53: Bracing the storm
POV: Damon He set his phone down, the single-word message already sent. No need for pleasantries. Elara understood the weight of precision. The office was quiet except for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass walls. Contracts, acquisitions, and the collaboration with Duval’s holding lay in neat, uncompromising stacks on his desk. He had signed off on half a dozen deals today, shifted numbers across continents, made entire boards bend to his will. And yet, the thought circling his mind wasn’t the ink drying on billion-dollar agreements. It was the look Elara had given him earlier, defiant, burning, even as her pulse betrayed her. Most people broke under pressure. Elara absorbed it, turned it sharp, threw it back at him. That, more than her intelligence or her tenacity, was what fascinated him. What made her impossible to leave alone. Clarisse had been useful, more useful than she realized. Her alliance, though opportunistic, served its purpose. Damon wasn’t naïve about her m
Crossed Lines Chapter 52: The undercurrent
POV: Damon Clarisse didn’t waste time. By midday, her name appeared on his schedule, slipped neatly between two legitimate appointments, as though she belonged there. Damon let it stand. If she thought she had maneuvered her way in, all the better. She arrived draped in tailored silk, perfume wafting in ahead of her, smile polished to a weapon. “You keep yourself busy, Damon. I appreciate you making time for me.” Damon rose from behind his desk but didn’t extend his hand. Instead, he gestured toward the chair opposite. “You made time for yourself, Clarisse. I only let you keep it.” Her eyes flickered, just for a heartbeat, before she smoothed the reaction into charm. “I like a man who doesn’t waste words.” “You’ll find,” Damon said evenly, lowering himself back into his seat, “that I don’t waste much of anything.” For the next twenty minutes, she danced around business talk, dangling vague promises of “influence” in Duval Holdings, name-dropping contacts who had long since sold
Crossed Lines Chapter 51: Predators at the table
POV: Elara The city lights burned against the night, a blur of movement beyond the glass wall of her office at Byte & Beam. Elara sat at her desk long after everyone else had left, staring at the spreadsheets she had compiled for the CrossTech–Duval collaboration. The numbers made sense, clean and precise, but nothing inside her felt orderly. Every meeting with Damon had left her more unmoored. He didn’t just watch, he measured, calculated, waited. And now, with Clarisse circling like a hawk over the Duval empire, Elara knew she was caught in a dangerous crosscurrent. The door creaked, and she flinched. It wasn’t Damon. It was Hailey, carrying two cups of coffee. “You’re still here,” Hailey said softly, setting one cup down in front of her. “I had work.” Elara didn’t lift her eyes from the page, though her hand tightened around her pen. “Work,” Hailey echoed. She dropped into the seat across from her, voice low but edged. “Or Damon Cross?” Elara’s chest clenched. “It’s business
Crossed Lines Chapter 50: The probe
POV: Clarisse The meeting adjourned with the usual chorus of polite words and closing folders. Executives filed out in tidy streams, already speaking in hushed clusters about next steps, but Clarisse lingered. She always lingered. Elara rose from her seat, tucking her notes into the sleek leather folder she carried like armor. Damon stood as well, sliding his chair back with measured ease, his gaze flicking briefly toward Elara before shifting elsewhere. Too brief, too casual. But Clarisse had seen it. She smoothed a hand over her silk blouse and spoke lightly, just loud enough to catch her stepdaughter’s attention. “Impressive handling of CrossTech’s projections, Elara. You’ve grown remarkably… assertive.” Elara’s eyes narrowed at the word, suspicion sharp behind the polite mask she wore. “It’s part of the job.” “Of course,” Clarisse murmured, tilting her head. “Though I couldn’t help noticing…” Her gaze slid to Damon, then back to Elara, deliberately slow. “you respond with su
Crossed Lines Chapter 49: The meeting table
POV: Elara The boardroom smelled faintly of polished oak and ink. Light spilled through the tall windows, too bright, too sharp for the dull throb at the back of Elara’s mind. She hadn’t slept well, not after last night. Not after his words. ‘Because I don’t want to’. They kept replaying in her head like a loop she couldn’t switch off, dragging her into a restlessness she hated. She’d convinced herself the morning would strip it away. But the moment she stepped into the room and saw Damon already seated at the far end of the table, perfectly collected, it all came rushing back. “Miss Duval,” one of the Duval Holdings directors greeted warmly, gesturing toward the empty chair beside Damon. Of course. Elara forced her expression neutral as she slid into the seat, careful not to look at him. Still, his presence was a quiet gravity, steady, inescapable, pulling at the edges of her restraint. Henry Duval’s voice cut through her thoughts. “We’ll begin with the proposal review. CrossT
Crossed Lines Chapter 48: The storm within
POV: Damon Damon watched Elara disappear into the lobby without glancing back. The slam of the car door still lingered in his ears, sharp and defiant, exactly as she wanted it to be. But she hadn’t seen the tremor in her hands. He had. He leaned back against the leather seat, loosening his tie with one hand. A small concession to the pressure building beneath his ribs as he replayed the moment. The rain blurred the city into streaks of light and shadow, but Damon barely saw it. His attention was on her, the way she had pressed herself against the door as if the extra inches of space might shield her, the defiant set of her jaw against the weight of his words. He had seen that look before, in boardrooms, across negotiating tables, on the faces of men twice her age who thought they could outmaneuver him. But with her, it was different. Sharper. Personal. And it pulled at him in ways he did not like. She thought he cornered her. In truth, Damon was the one who felt cornered, caged
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