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Chapter 33 — This Is a Mistake

Author: ChupiCha
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-06-13 11:35:33

-POV Derby

The heavy mahogany doors of the forty-second floor suite didn't just feel shut; they felt locked. The slice of amber light from his desk threw long, sharp shadows across the dark floorboards, cutting us off from the rest of the corporate tower. Outside those glass windows, the city grid was still moving, but inside this room, the air was hot, thick, and completely ruined by the space we had just crossed.

Jordan’s fingers were still wrapped around the back of my neck, his palm a heav
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  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 43 — Too Comfortable

    -POV Derby The take-out cartons from the Thai place on 45th Street were scattered across the low glass coffee table, alongside three different printouts of the revised shipping manifests. It was almost ten at night. The cleaning crew down the hall had already finished their pass on the executive wing, leaving the forty-second floor in that deep, absolute quiet that usually signaled it was time to leave. Instead, I was sitting on the edge of the plush leather sofa, my legs tucked under me, laughing so hard my chest actually ached. "You did not say that to a federal auditor," I gasped, holding the paper cup of iced tea like a shield as I looked across the table at him. "Tell me you didn’t." Jordan was leaning back against the armrest of the heavy chair opposite me, his charcoal suit jacket draped over the back of his desk chair and his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had his glass of whiskey resting against his knee, the ice long melted, and for the first time since I’d kn

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 42 — Routine That Isn’t Normal

    -POV Derby The three-week mark of the Vanguard integration phase arrived without a corporate announcement, but my life had already quietly restructured itself around a brand-new set of coordinates. By mid-November, the frantic, high-stakes panic of our first few encounters had settled into something far more terrifying: a routine. It didn't start with a formal agreement, and we definitely didn't sit down to draft a memo about it. It just happened, sliding into the cracks of the daily office grind until the boundaries between my actual job and my secret life became completely blurred. Every Tuesday and Thursday night, the pattern was exactly the same. The digital clock on my twenty-fourth-floor monitor would click past 7:30 PM, the fluorescent lights overhead shifting into the automated evening energy-saving mode. The rest of the operations pool would be long gone, their chairs neatly tucked into their particle-board partitions. Then, my private inbox would chime with a single, une

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 41 — Stay

    -POV Derby The raw taste of the whiskey on his tongue was still burning in the back of my throat long after he pulled away. Jordan’s forearm stayed pressed flat against the painted concrete wall right above my shoulder, his massive frame creating a shadow that completely blocked out the pale fluorescent lighting of the utility corridor. His breathing was heavy, the fabric of his white shirt rising and falling against my chest with a slow, disciplined rhythm that felt entirely too loud in the narrow hallway. I kept my hands flat against his chest, feeling the hard, steady thud of his heart beneath my fingers. Every single self-preserving instinct I had left was screaming at me to use this exact pocket of air to push him back, to grab my cardboard box of compliance logs, and to finally take the exit door behind him. The boundary lines hadn't changed. Tamara was still out there in the light of the conservatory, and the multi-billion-dollar pre-nuptial agreements were still sitting on

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 40 — He Still Chooses to Stay

    -POV Derby The industrial copier in the restricted alcove finally went quiet, its cooling fan letting out a long, mechanical sigh that felt entirely too relatable. I stacked the freshly printed compliance sheets into the cardboard file box, my hands functioning on pure muscle memory while my brain remained completely numb. *You don't belong here.* The phrase had settled into the marrow of my bones, heavy, cold, and irrefutable. I looked down at the box in my arms. This was my boundary line. These white pages, the cheap toner scent, the stiff fabric of my mass-market blazer—this was my actual coordinates on the map. Jordan could talk about wanting the glitch when the doors were locked on the forty-second floor, but the second the sun came up, his life belonged to a shipping heiress who wore emerald silk like a birthright. I was done playing the hidden anomaly in his perfect system. I was going to deliver these files to the administrative drop box, take the service elevator down to

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 39 — The Difference Between Them

    -POV Derby The double doors of the east terrace stayed open just enough for the afternoon breeze to cut through the heavy scent of white orchids. I stood near the secondary service station, my clipboard held flat against my ribs as I watched the VIP tables fill up with the principal shareholders of the Vanguard merger. I had delivered the menus, checked the seating rows, and verified the digital logistics badges for the executive assistants. My job for the noon hour was technically done. I should have walked back down to the lower-level staff lounge where the coffee was cheap and the fluorescent lights didn't make my fifty-dollar blazer look like a discount item. Instead, my feet wouldn't move. I was trapped near the edge of the terrace, my eyes tracking the movement of a single emerald silk dress across the polished floor. Tamara was sitting at the center table, right next to Jordan’s father. She didn't look like she was participating in a corporate luncheon; she looked like she

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 38 — Tamara Steps In

    -POV Derby The dining pavilion at the Grand Horizon was designed to look like an indoor conservatory, full of glass panels, massive white orchids, and enough sunlight to make everyone look like they had never worked a forty-hour week in their lives. By twelve-thirty, the room was packed. The noise was a polished blend of clinking crystal, expensive silverware, and the hushed, intense chatter of directors arguing over the merger's secondary phase. I stood near the entrance of the catering terrace, a stack of printed menus for the executive tables tucked under my arm. My neck was still tingling, my skin hot where Jordan’s breath had brushed against it in the empty seminar hall just twenty minutes ago. *Stay close.* The words kept looping in my head like a bad song I couldn't shut off. He hadn't said it like a request; he’d said it like a rule. He had stepped right between me and a senior director in front of a hundred people, throwing his entire multi-billion-dollar authority over m

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 34 — Not Just Physical

    -POV Derby The silence that settled after my question didn't feel cold. It felt heavy, like the air right before a bad summer storm hits the city. Jordan didn't pull away from me, but his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, the rigid corporate posture completely vanishing. His hand slid from

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 31 — The Question

    -POV Derby The thing about old money is that it doesn’t scream. It whispers. It takes its time, sits back in a leather-bound chair, and lets the silence do the heavy lifting. Up on the forty-second floor, the chaos of the afternoon integration brief had finally cleared out. The heavy mahogany doo

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 30 — Tamara Notices

    -POV DerbyThe afternoon integration brief didn't happen in a cramped office suite. It happened in the glass-walled VIP lounge overlooking the main atrium, a space designed specifically to make lower-level employees feel like ants while the top-tier executives decided their fates over espresso.I

  • One Night, Wrong Man   Chapter 29 — But I Do

    -POV DerbyHis words hung in the cramped space of the service corridor like a physical weight, pressing the oxygen straight out of my lungs.*Who you belong to in the dark.*I hated the word. *Belong.* It sounded heavy, archaic, and terrifyingly permanent. It sounded like something a man like Jord

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