Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Eliora’s POV

“The board members are ready and waiting, ma’am,”my assistant, Clara, whispered, trying to match my quick steps.

“Good,” I replied. Even though nothing was good about the meeting that was about to be held. It was a meeting about him. Kian.

The elevator chimed and opened. I stepped out, Clara following behind, her face down on the work tablet clutched tightly in her hands.

As we reached the boardroom, I swiped my sweaty palm on my blazer. If he joins, everything I’ve built could unravel. I took a deep breath while Clara pushed the door open.

I walked in, straight to my chair at the head of the table, greeted by a few tight nods which I returned with a small smile.

The moment I took my seat and straightened my spine, one of the investors spoke.

“We have a promising new investor who's shown serious interest—”

I cut him off, not wanting to hear any more. “I’m aware. And I strongly object.”

The room fell silent, each investor passing confused glances to each other.

I rose from my seat, drawing down my blazer. “We’re a publishing firm. His background is tech. He’s a mogul, yes—but he knows nothing about the literary world.”

I paused and glanced around the not-so-pleased faces in the room, but I still continued. “This is a delicate ecosystem. It’s not just about money. It’s about legacy.”

“With all due respect, Ms. Monroe, I understand where you're coming from,” Mr. Larson spoke—my long-term business partner.

Do you?

He leaned forward from his seat, hand resting on the table. “But his investment is substantial—he’s offering resources we can’t ignore.”

The rest of the investors nodded, muttering in agreement, while I had to keep myself from boiling over.

Why can’t they see where I’m coming from?

Of course they can’t. They weren’t the ones once trapped in a loveless marriage. They didn’t bear the weight of betrayal, of wounds still barely stitched together.

My heart dropped at the next statement.

“Plus,” Mr. Larson added carefully, “we’ve already signed preliminary papers.

I blinked unconsciously, jaw tightening. “Without consulting me?”

I placed both hands on the table, trying to keep my voice under control. “Isn't it weird that he’s choosing to invest in a firm that has nothing to do with him?”

They all fell quiet, each one deep in thought. This was the last card I had, and I honestly hoped it would work.

“Ms. Monroe, I think it will be a plus for us. Moreover, I don’t see any reason why you can’t accept,” a female investor said.

Of course you don’t.

Another investor added, “If he’s not on board, we may have to reconsider our own involvement.” And the others agreed.

I slowly sat in my seat, keeping my expression neutral. The investors and board members continued talking about how Kian’s involvement could help the firm grow, but their words faded into the background.

I nodded along like I was still present in the conversation, but inside, my thoughts were spiraling.

He did this on purpose. Of course he did. Strategic bastard.

I clenched my hands beneath the table, nails digging into my palm as I smiled tightly at nothing in particular.

What happens if the press finds out?

Popular Tech Mogul Invests in Budding Literary Firm.

The headline already made me sick to my stomach. They’d spin it. They always did. They’d sniff around, dig up things—things I’ve tried so hard to keep buried.

They’d ask questions. Too many questions.

And all it takes is one curious journalist.

Ezra...

Just the thought of his name in the same sentence as Kian’s sent a cold chill through my spine.

I forced myself to sit straighter, to breathe. One slow inhale. One steady exhale.

But my hands were still trembling under the table.

And then—

The door opened.

I didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

The room went still for a split second, and then came the polite clearing of throats and chairs being adjusted as he strolled in, crisp gray suit fitting him like it was made just for him.

Of course it was.

He moved with calm precision, like someone who belonged in every room he walked into. And he greeted the board like he’d been doing it for years.

“Good afternoon, everyone. It’s a pleasure to be here. Thank you for having me.”

A chorus of welcomes followed. A few even smiled. Smiled.

I stayed still, back straight, jaw locked.

He took his seat casually across the table—far, but not far enough. Not for someone like him.

He spoke again, his voice smooth and laced with that same old dangerous charm. “I’ve admired your firm for a long time. Your commitment to amplifying new voices is commendable. It’s why I chose to invest.”

His eyes found mine then—just briefly. Not too obvious. Just enough to throw me off balance.

And then he turned fully toward me.

“Ms. Monroe,”he said, voice even, “It’s good to finally meet the face behind such a powerful brand.”

My lips tightened. I said nothing.

Because if I opened my mouth now, I wasn’t sure what would come out.

I stayed through the rest of the meeting, even though every word felt like sandpaper against my skin.

Kian spoke like he belonged—calm, articulate, smooth. His words were wrapped in corporate professionalism, but I knew better. I knew what lived behind that voice.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said toward the end of the meeting, locking eyes with me, “about telling my story. Everything from the ground up—my life, the company, the brand, the truth.”

The investors murmured their interest. One even smiled like it was the greatest idea in the world.

“And I want her,” Kian added, tilting his chin toward me, “to write it.”

I blinked.

“You mean a biography?” someone asked.

“Autobiography,” he corrected. “Written by her. In her voice. Her style. That’s the only way I’ll agree to the full investment.”

The room turned toward me.

I could feel my pulse pounding in my neck.

Was this a joke?

But no—he was serious. He was offering the firm millions and turning it into my problem. My choice. And he knew I couldn’t say no.

I gave him a long, unreadable look. Every nerve in my body screamed no.

But instead, I said:

“If this is about professionalism, then I’ll do it.”

My voice was steady. I didn’t flinch. I gave them the only answer I could give with that many eyes on me.

“This won’t interfere with our work.”

I saw the flicker of satisfaction in Kian’s eyes before I looked away.

…..

Clara tried her best to keep up with my steps, her heels clicking fast behind me.

“Ma’am—are you okay?” she whispered carefully, clearly reading the storm brewing behind my eyes.

I didn’t answer. I just kept walking, clutching my tablet like a lifeline.

My mind raced. My chest felt tight. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble—not in there, and definitely not now.

We reached the elevator just as the boardroom doors closed behind us. I pressed the button and exhaled, letting the silence swallow me whole for one brief second.

Then— “Rora.”

I froze.

I didn’t need to turn around. Clara didn’t either.

I felt her tense beside me, eyes wide, body going still like she’d sensed a predator behind us.

Kian’s hand curled gently but firmly around my wrist. Not tight, but enough to make a statement.

My jaw clenched tightly, “Let go of my arm, Mr. Donovan.” I said, trying to control the storm raging in me.

Clara’s eyes darted to the contact, then up to my face, but she didn’t say a word.

“We’ve talked about personal space before,” I said coolly, my voice razor-sharp. “I would appreciate it if you let go of my arm.”

He didn’t budge.

I drew in a slow breath, then turned to him, calm as ever—even if my stomach had twisted into knots.

“What do you want?”

His eyes locked with mine. His voice was low, quiet… deadly serious.

“We need to talk.”