Chapter Fourteen

Elena

I wake to the smell of coffee. And to the low hum of a city waking up far below.

For one soft, blissful second, I forget everything. I forget the chaos. The danger. The choices waiting for me in daylight.

Then the room reminds me.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. A skyline soaked in pale gold. Sheets that aren’t mine. A ceiling too perfect. Too high.

Damien’s apartment.

Damien’s bed.

Damien’s shirt on my body.

Shit.

I grab my phone. 5:47 AM. Early enough to disappear. Early enough to pretend I was never here.

I scramble into yesterday’s clothes, trying not to think about how wrong this looks, how much worse it will look on security footage.

Water runs somewhere. A door. Footsteps.

He’s awake.

My heart tries to bolt before I do.

Part of me wants to sneak out. Leave this behind like a secret. No eye contact. No “morning.” No chances for anything to feel too real.

The other part—God, the other part—wants to see him again. In the normal light of morning. Just once more before we walk back into our roles.

I step into the kitchen.

He’s already dressed. Grey suit, crisp, flawless. He pours coffee like this is just… life now. Two mugs. Like he expected me to stay all night.

“You’re awake,” he says, still facing the counter. “Coffee?”

“I should go.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I take the mug. He made it exactly how I drink it—oat milk, vanilla, an extra shot. He notices too much. He remembers too much.

“Did you sleep?” I ask.

“Not really. You?”

“Some.”

We stand like enemies who secretly know too much about each other—opposite sides of the island, pretending the distance helps.

He finally speaks. “I’ve been thinking. About our options.”

“And?”

“And I think we disclose.”

My stomach twists. “Damien—”

“I’m not asking for panic. Just listen.” He pushes his mug away, focus sharp. “We go to HR this morning. We tell them the truth. That there are feelings here. But nothing inappropriate since your hiring. We request approval to pursue a relationship after your probation ends.”

“You think they’ll just accept that?”

“It’s honest. And taking the power away from whoever’s stalking us is our best chance. They can’t blackmail us with something we’ve already admitted.”

“They can still spin it. Still paint me as—”

“Then we fight with facts.” He leans closer. “Your campaign’s a success. Your audit is clean. Everything you’ve earned, you earned.”

He looks like he fought with this idea all night.

“What if HR rejects it?” I whisper.

“Then we appeal. A transfer. A new supervisor. Or—” His jaw tightens. “I step back. Someone else takes over your oversight.”

The words hit hard. “You’d give up control of your own company?”

“For you?” His eyes don’t blink. “Yes.”

My breath catches.

“And now,” he asks quietly, “would you do the same for me?”

Before I can answer, my phone rings.

Marcus.

6:00 AM.

Never good.

I answer, pulse jumping. “Mr. Vale?”

“Ms. Martinez. My office. Thirty minutes.” He hangs up.

Damien’s face darkens. “What did he want?”

“Meeting. Thirty minutes. No explanation.”

“This is it,” he says. “Audit results.”

I set the coffee down before my hands drop it. “What if he found something? What if—”

“He didn’t.” Damien steps around the island and takes my shaking hands. “You did nothing wrong. Remember that. No matter what he says.”

His voice steadies me. His grip does too.

“But,” he adds, “go home first. Change. Get ahead of any rumors. You should not walk into his office looking like you slept in your clothes.”

“I can’t get home and back in time—”

“You can.” He’s already typing. “Driver is downstairs.”

“Damien—”

“You deserve to fight this with your armor on. Fresh clothes are armor.”

I whisper, “Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Just promise me you won’t let him take what you earned.”

I nod and start toward the elevator.

“Elena.”

I stop.

He stands in the doorway, holding his coffee like memories, like morning, like something he doesn’t want to lose.

“No matter what happens today,” he says, voice low and real, “I don’t regret this. Any of it.”

Warmth fills every part of me that fear forgot how to reach.

“Me neither.”

The elevator doors close. His smile stays behind.

---

Twenty-eight minutes later, I arrive at Blackwood Enterprises in clean clothes, armor fastened tight.

Claire is already perched at her desk, eyes sharp, mouth sharper.

“Early meeting?” she asks, tone like a trap.

“Yes. With Mr. Vale.”

“Hm. He’s been here since five.” A thin blade of a smile. “Focused morning.”

I walk past without giving her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Marcus’s door is open. Files spread like evidence in a courtroom.

My stomach knows this room is where things break.

“Close the door,” he says. “Sit.”

I sit.

He stares. Long. Slow. A predator waiting for pressure to make me foolish.

I stare back.

Finally: “I’ve completed my audit.”

“And?”

“And your work is impeccable. Contracts clean. Budget clean. ROI up. Impressive numbers.”

I exhale. Relief. For two seconds.

“However,” he adds. Of course. “Your conduct is not.”

And there it is.

“What kind of conduct?”

He slides photographs across the desk.

Me entering Damien’s office after hours. Leaving too late. Timestamps glowing like guilt.

Me on the rooftop. Damien’s hand almost on my face.

Security footage. Someone dug deep.

“These were sent to me,” Marcus says, “by an anonymous source.”

He watches my reaction like a scientist studying a flaw.

I try to keep breathing.

“Those meetings were work,” I say. “Strategy sessions.”

“Past midnight?” He arches one disbelieving brow. “Repeatedly?”

“It was necessary.”

“So was dinner? Alone? In his office?”

“It was work.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his smirk.

“And this?” He shows the last photo.

Me entering The Cartwright. Damien’s building.

Timestamp: last night.

“And you did not leave,” he says. “The doorman confirmed.”

Blood leaves my body in a rush. My voice feels thin.

“He needed to review materials. Hard copies.”

“For five hours.” Marcus leans in, voice lowering to something dangerous. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, sir.”

“Then don’t lie.” His tone cuts like a locked door. “I know Damien. I know when he can’t think. And right now, he can’t think. Not when you’re involved.”

My breath shakes, even though I try to still it.

“Mr. Vale, it’s not like th—”

“Don’t.” He snaps the word. Ice. “I have eyes. I have evidence. And I have a duty to assess whether you manipulated your way into this company.”

“I have never slept with Mr. Blackwood.”

“Yet.” His mouth tightens. “Semantics.”

He sits back. Watching me suffer.

“The company has policies,” he says. “Policies you have clearly violated or are very close to violating.”

“Policies require disclosure only when a relationship exists,” I counter. “We have not—”

“Oh, a relationship exists.” He taps the final photo. “You might not have admitted it, but it’s there.”

The walls close in around me. Fight or flight.

I choose fight.

“Who sent you those photos?” I ask.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Someone broke into private spaces. Someone is tracking us.”

“To expose the truth,” he says.

“The truth is that I earned my job,” I say, heat rising. “With or without Damien.”

His expression flickers—almost pity.

“What do you want from me?” I ask.

“I want honesty.” He folds his hands. “I want to know whether this company’s CEO is making decisions based on skill… or infatuation.”

“And if he is?” I choke. “What then?”

“Then,” Marcus says, rising to full height, “I have two options.”

He holds up two fingers.

“One: You resign today. Mutually agreed departure. Severance. A clean exit.”

My heart stutters.

“Or?” I force out.

“Or I take this to the board. And the investigation will devour both of you before lunchtime.”

A cold wind moves through my bones.

“I need time,” I manage.

“You have until five PM,” he says. “After that, I make the decision for you.”

Breathe. Don’t break. Not here.

I stand on legs that barely work.

“That all?”

“One more thing.” His voice softens. Just a little. “You are talented. Very. But talent isn’t enough when judgment collapses. And yours has.”

That one hurts, because it’s true.

I leave his office. I make it to the bathroom. The tears hit before I lock the door.

This is the end.

Either I walk away quietly… or I stay and watch him fall with me.

My phone buzzes.

Damien: How did it go?

I stare.

I could tell him. Let him fight. Let him burn the world down for me.

Or—

I can save him.

Even if it destroys me.

My fingers tremble as I type:

Fine. Just routine questions. All clear.

Send.

The lie tastes like ashes in my mouth.

But it’s the only way I know how to protect him.