CHAPTER 7

PETER POV

“Move your foot,” I whisper, tension tight in my chest.

The metal picks in my hand click sharply against the brass cylinder of the back door to Jack’s architecture firm. Anna shifts behind me in her black leggings and oversized hoodie, her breath coming in quick, shallow puffs against the back of my neck.

“How much longer?” Anna whispers, her voice trembling. “The streetlights are right above us, Peter. If security drives past, we’re dead.”

“Ten seconds,” I reply, my fingers moving with methodical precision until the lock gives way with a muted snap.

I push the heavy door open, grabbing her forearm to pull her into the dark hallway before slipping inside behind her.

“We have eighteen minutes before the night cleaning crew starts on this floor,” I say, stepping past the front desk directly toward Jack’s private office. “Search the lockbox behind the blue blueprints. I need the original consulting agreement between Jack and my father.”

“Okay,” Anna mutters, her hands shaking as she pulls open the top drawer of Jack’s desk.

I head straight for the filing cabinet in the corner, snapping off keycodes in my head as I slide my phone out to photograph every financial ledger in sight. Behind me, the sound of paper rustling stops. I turn my head sharply.

Anna stands frozen by the edge of the desk, her fingers resting on a ceramic coffee mug with Jack’s initials, her eyes fixed on a hand-drawn sketch of her own face pinned to his corkboard.

“Focus,” I snap, my voice low and cutting. “This isn’t a memorial. He sold you for a monthly retainer.”

Anna flinches, yanking her hand back as if the ceramic burned her. “I know that! I just—three years, Peter. He kept my drawing right here while taking money from your father.”

“He kept it to make himself feel less like a parasite,” I say, slamming the top cabinet drawer shut. “Find the contract or we leave empty-handed.”

“I’m looking,” she whispers, her chest heaving as she turns back to the files.

Before she can pull another folder, a metallic jingle echoes from the outer corridor.

The heavy electronic lock at the main entrance beeps twice, followed by the muffled sound of footsteps echoing across the polished concrete floor.

“Someone’s here,” Anna gasps, her eyes wide with instant panic as her body stiffens.

“Jack’s voice,” I say, my brain immediately locking onto the sound. “And Mary.”

“Oh god,” Anna breathes out, her pulse hammering visibly at her throat. “They’re right outside the door.”

“In here,” I order, grabbing her wrist and dragging her toward the narrow supply closet in the corner of the office.

The space is four feet wide, crammed with shelves of printer paper, toner cartridges, and spare cables. I shove Anna inside first, stepping directly behind her and pulling the slatted door shut until it latches with a faint click.

She backs up straight into the wall, but there isn’t enough room. My chest flattens flush against her front, my thighs pressing against hers in the cramped dark. Her body is soft, small, and completely terrified.

Outside, the office light flips on, throwing faint stripes of illumination through the closet wooden slats.

Anna’s breath catches sharply in her throat, a high, panicked gasp rising from her lungs.

Before she can make a sound, I clamp my right hand over her mouth, sealing her lips tight against my palm.

Her heart is rabbit-fast, pounding so hard against my ribs I can feel every violent thud through her hoodie. She’s hyperventilating, her ribs expanding rapidly against mine as her hands come up to grab my forearm, her nails digging into my leather jacket.

I should be calculating the distance to the fire escape. I should be planning how to neutralize Jack if the closet door opens.

Instead, my senses are flooded with her. She smells like rain, fear, and vanilla. Her body heat radiates through her clothes, filling the tiny supply closet until every breath I draw tastes like her panic.

“Stop breathing so loud,” I murmur against her ear, my voice barely a thread of sound.

“I can’t,” her voice comes out muffled and desperate against my palm. “My chest—I can’t breathe—”

“Look at me,” I command, leaning my weight closer to lock her against the wall. “Not them. Me.”

She tilts her head up in the dark. Her eyes are wide, glassy, and fixed entirely on mine.

Her warm, wet breath hitches against the skin of my palm, her lips soft and trembling under my grip. I should take my hand off her mouth. We’re hidden now. I should pull back two inches and give her space.

I don’t. My hand stays clamped over her face, my fingers cradling the soft curve of her jaw while her heart hammers against my chest.

Outside the slats, Jack’s footsteps stop right in front of the desk.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Mary,” Jack says, his voice nervous and tight. “Richard’s security team monitors my office building’s keycard logs.”

“Richard is at the club until midnight,” Mary replies, her tone smooth, arrogant, and completely composed. “And you needed your final installment.”

Through the narrow wooden slats, I watch Mary step into view. She doesn't look at Jack with passion. She looks at him like an employee who’s overstayed his usefulness.

She reaches into her designer coat, pulling out a thick manila envelope and tossing it onto Jack’s desk.

“What is this?” Jack asks, picking up the envelope.

“Fifty thousand in non-sequential corporate drafts,” Mary says flatly. “For the firm’s quarterly expansion. And for staying away from Anna at the gala tonight like you promised.”

Jack hesitates, his jaw tightening as he clutches the paper. “She looked at me like I was a stranger, Mary. She’s standing next to Peter Voss now. If Peter finds out about—”

“Peter knows nothing,” Mary interrupts sharply. “He’s a cold corporate drone who cares about nothing except his father’s shares. Keep your mouth shut, take the money, and finish the architectural designs for the IPO launch.”

She leans in, placing a brief, transactional kiss on Jack’s cheek before turning her back on him.

Against my hand, Anna lets out a tiny, wounded sound—a micro-sob that vibrates against my palm like a broken wire.

Her knees buckle slightly under her weight.

Before she can slip down the wall, my left arm moves on its own, wrapping tight around her waist and hauling her body back up flush against my chest. My grip digs into her waist, holding her weight, holding her completely together while her shoulders shake against my frame.

It’s tactical, I tell myself. If she falls, she makes noise. If she makes noise, we get caught.

My heart hits my ribs in a slow, heavy rhythm as I hold her tight against my torso, my thumb rubbing once over her cheekbone to force her tears back.

Out in the main office, the door clicks shut as Mary and Jack walk out into the hallway, their voices fading into the quiet building.

We wait three full minutes in total silence. My arm stays locked around Anna’s waist the entire time.

“They’re gone,” I whisper, releasing her jaw and shoving the closet door open.

We slip out into the office, down the rear service hallway, and through the heavy steel door into the emergency stairwell.

The stairwell is cold, lit by harsh fluorescent tubing. Anna stumbles on the top step, her hands catching the yellow handrail as her breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps. She’s shaking violently from head to toe, her face pale, tears drying in faint streaks down her cheeks.

I step down two stairs, turning around to face her.

I reach out, grabbing both of her shoulders firmly in my hands to stop her shaking.

“You did well,” I say, my voice level and steady.

Anna freezes, her wide eyes snapping up to mine. It’s the first compliment I’ve ever given her. Her lips part slightly, a soft, confused gasp escaping her throat as she stares at me.

The warmth of her shoulders under my palms suddenly burns through my leather gloves.

I drop my hands immediately, stepping back a full step onto the concrete landing.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I say, turning my back on her and heading down the stairs. “We still have the bank statements to analyze before morning.”