Truths and Consequences

CHAPTER 24

I didn’t sleep well that night.

Not because of work. Not because of Ivy. Not even because of Reign.

It was everything. The storm of yesterday. The danger, the pull, the heat between us. It followed me into my apartment, settling on my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake.

I tossed and turned. Staring at the ceiling, replaying every glance, every word. That moment in the conference room—Reign’s hand brushing mine, the grounding warmth of his presence.

And Ivy.

Ivy, like a shadow stretching across everything we’d built. Her warnings were calculated and precise. Dangerous. And I knew—she wasn’t done.

By the time I arrived at the office, my nerves were raw.

The building buzzed with its usual energy. Phones ringing, keyboards clacking, low murmur of voices. But it felt hollow. I was on high alert. Every shadow a threat. Every whisper a trap.

I made my way to my desk. Laptop open, coffee in hand. Ready. Waiting.

Reign appeared beside me before I could sit.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “I will be.”

His gaze lingered. Concern. And something else. Something unspoken. Desire. Tension.

“We need to talk,” he said.

I froze. “Now?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “And alone.”

I followed him to the lounge. Empty, quiet. The perfect arena for dangerous conversations.

He turned to face me. “Yesterday… what Ivy did was bigger than we thought.”

I swallowed. “I know. The HR incident. The logs. The ghost key. She’s… escalating.”

He nodded. “And that’s why we need to be honest with each other. No more half-truths. No more holding back.”

I blinked. “Honest about what?”

“About us,” he said, voice low. “About how close this is getting. About how much it could hurt—professionally, emotionally, everything—if we’re not careful.”

I wanted to argue. To tell him I could handle it. That I didn’t care about risk. But the truth was—he was right.

“I know,” I admitted. “And… I’m scared.”

He stepped closer. Not touching. Just… close enough to feel the heat radiating from him. “Good,” he said quietly. “Scared means you care. This means this matters. And it should. Because I—” His voice caught slightly. Vulnerable. Dangerous. Human. “I don’t want to lose this. You. Us. But Ivy… she’s going to try. She will. And she’s clever.”

I nodded. “I’m not afraid of her. Not with you.”

He gave me a sharp look. “I didn’t say I’d protect you. I said we’d handle it. Together. But that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. Or get messy.”

I held his gaze. “I can handle messy.”

He smirked faintly. That dangerous, almost cruel smirk that made my pulse spike. “We’ll see.”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.

A text. No name. No number. Just a single line:

“I see everything. Always. Don’t get too comfortable, Maya.”

I froze.

Reign saw it immediately. His jaw tightened. “Ivy,” he said flatly. “She’s testing us.”

I nodded. “I know. But what’s her angle?”

He leaned back, thoughtful. “She wants leverage. Information. Control. She’s trying to destabilise us. Make us second-guess ourselves. Make you doubt your own instincts.”

“I won’t let her,” I said firmly.

“Good,” he replied. “Because doubt is her weapon. And she’s dangerous with it.”

We spent the next few hours tracking Ivy’s moves. Emails flagged, access logs double-checked, meetings rescheduled to monitor suspicious activity. It was exhausting. Mind-numbing. And yet, I couldn’t stop stealing glances at him. Reign. Always calm. Always strategic. Always… magnetic.

At one point, he leaned over my shoulder to look at a spreadsheet.

“See here?” he said, pointing at a series of entries.

“Yes,” I murmured. “They’re subtle, but the pattern’s clear. Ivy’s trying to create errors that look like mine.”

He nodded, and for a heartbeat, our faces were close. Too close. I could feel his breath. Smell the faint cologne he wore. My heart skipped.

“Careful,” he murmured.

I blinked. “Careful?”

“Yes,” he said. “Because lines are blurring. And once they’re blurred…”

His words trailed off.

I swallowed. “I know.”

It was dangerous. Tempting. Infuriating. Perfectly impossible.

By late afternoon, Ivy’s scheme began to unravel. We had evidence. Logs. Screenshots. A clear chain of access she hadn’t anticipated.

“Got it,” I said, voice shaking slightly with adrenaline.

Reign leaned back, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Nice work.”

I looked up at him. “Thanks… for trusting me.”

“There’s never been a question,” he said softly. And just like that, my chest tightened. That moment—small, human, charged—was ours alone.

Then came the board meeting.

Ivy was there, poised, professional, lethal. She smiled at me. Sweet. Fake. Venomous.

“Ms. Renner,” she said, almost innocent. “I hope you’re ready to explain…”

I stood, heart hammering. But Reign was beside me. His hand brushed mine briefly. A silent promise.

I took a deep breath. “Everything you’re questioning,” I said, holding the logs, the evidence. “Everything points back to someone trying to frame me. And I have the proof.”

Reign’s presence gave me courage. Ivy’s smile faltered. Just slightly.

Minutes later, the board was convinced. Ivy’s influence weakened. Her attempt to destabilise me had failed.

I exhaled. Relief, tension, and adrenaline all mixed together.

Reign stepped close once more when the meeting was over. “You did brilliantly,” he whispered.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I murmured.

He smirked. “Sure. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And then—before I could think, before I could breathe—he brushed a strand of hair from my face. Not a casual gesture. Intentional. Charged. Dangerous.

My stomach flipped. My pulse raced.

“You’re reckless,” I whispered.

“And you like it,” he countered, voice low, teasing.

I wanted to argue. To pull back. To maintain some shred of professionalism. But I couldn’t. Not when he was this close. Not when everything between us was screaming to cross the line.

We stared at each other. Close. Electric. Tension thick, heavy, inescapable.

Then my phone buzzed. A reminder. Another project. Another task. Reality intruded. Harsh.

Ivy wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

But I didn’t care, not entirely. Because right then, with Reign so close, so aware, I felt… unstoppable.

For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered. Not Ivy. Not the board. Not the stakes.

Just him. And me. And the dangerous pull between us.

Lines blurred.

Boundaries shattered.

And the consequences… well, we’d deal with those later.

Because right now, in this charged, impossible, exhilarating moment… we were alive.

Together.

And maybe, just maybe, that made us dangerous too.