Chapter Thirteen

ELENA

The address Damien sends is in the most expensive part of the city. The kind of neighborhood where doormen wear actual uniforms. Where buildings have names instead of numbers.

I stand outside The Cartwright for five whole minutes. Questioning every decision that led me here.

Going to his apartment crosses every professional line we’ve tried to keep. If someone sees me walk in… If Marcus has someone watching… If—

My phone buzzes.

You've been standing outside for four minutes. Either come up or go home. Penthouse. Doorman knows you’re expected. —DB

I look up at the tall glass tower. No idea which window is his. But I know he’s there. Watching.

The doorman’s name tag says Raymond. He greets me with a polite smile like he’s used to beautiful women arriving for Mr. Blackwood.

I shouldn’t care.

I do.

The elevator to the penthouse needs a key. Raymond hands it to me. “Have a good evening, Ms. Martinez.”

He knows my name. Damien told him. He planned this. Not impulsive.

That somehow makes it worse.

The elevator opens straight into the apartment. No hallway. No waiting. Just—bam—glass walls, steel, expensive furniture. The city glowing behind everything like a movie set.

Damien stands by the windows. Hands in his pockets. Shirt sleeves rolled. No jacket. No tie. He looks powerful without trying.

It works.

“You came,” he says.

“You knew I would.”

“I hoped.” His eyes soften. “There’s a difference.” He nods toward the kitchen island. Wine. Takeout in neat containers. “Thai okay? I didn’t know if you’d eaten.”

The normalness of it hits me too hard. Like this is a date. Not a crisis.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat. You’ve lost weight.”

“You’ve been watching me that closely?”

“I’ve been watching you since you walked into my office three weeks ago.” His mouth twitches. “Don’t act surprised.”

Fair.

I drop my bag. Accept the wine. It tastes expensive. Because of course it does.

“Nice place,” I say, just to fill air.

“It’s too big for one person.” He looks around like he hates it. “I’ve thought about moving. Then I think… maybe someone will be here someday. Someone who makes it feel less empty. So I stay.”

The meaning is right there. Loud. Heavy.

“Damien—”

He cuts me off gently. “The envelope. Someone’s building a case.” He pulls out his phone. Shows me the same evidence. “I got this an hour ago.”

My stomach sinks. “Who sent it?”

“Anonymous. Untraceable. But the message is clear. Someone knows we’ve been meeting privately. And they want us to know they’re watching.”

“Marcus?”

“Maybe. Or Claire. Or Brian Chen. He’s been after a promotion and sees you as competition.” He sets the phone down. “Or someone we haven’t even thought of. Point is, we’re compromised.”

I swallow half the wine in one breath. “So what do we do?”

“Three options.” He lifts a finger. “One: We disclose everything to HR tomorrow. Get ahead of the accusation.”

“And I become the woman who slept with her boss to get promoted.”

“You didn’t sleep with me. We kissed—”

“Do you think that matters? People will make the story they want. I’ll be the girl who used her body to move up.”

He doesn’t argue. Because he knows it’s true.

“Option two.” Second finger. “We wait. Stay quiet. Hope the audit clears you and whoever sent this has nothing more.”

“That’s a terrible plan.”

“I agree. Which brings us to option three.”

“And that is?”

He meets my eyes. His voice quiet. “I fire you.”

It hits like a punch. “What?”

“Not real firing. We stage it. It looks like probation didn’t work out. You leave with a generous severance. Glowing recommendations. Then when you’re not my employee anymore… we can—”

“No.” I slam my glass down. “Absolutely not.”

“Elena—”

“You want me to run away? Let whoever is doing this win? They’ll think they chased me out.”

“I’m trying to protect you—”

“By destroying my career?” I pace, blood hot. “If I leave in two weeks, everyone will assume the worst. And I lose everything I’ve worked for.”

“You still have me.”

“There is no us, Damien.” My voice cracks. “Not officially. Not in a way that breaks any rules.”

“Not yet.” He steps closer. “But we both know where this is going.”

“If it happens,” I correct.

A flicker crosses his face. Hurt. Annoyance.

“You’re right,” he says, distant now. “My mistake.”

“Damien—”

“Sounds like you’re saying this… whatever it is… isn’t worth risking anything.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” His voice sharpens. “I’m trying to protect you. And you’re pretending you don’t care.”

“I earned my job. I won’t let someone erase that. There’s a difference!”

We’re both out of breath. Staring across the island like it’s a battlefield.

“So what do you want?” His voice is low. “Tell me.”

“I want to keep my job,” I say. “I want to prove I deserve it. And I want—” The words stick. My heart fights them.

“What do you want?” he repeats.

“You.” It bursts out. “I want you. I hate that I want you. It’s messy and dangerous and stupid. But I can’t stop thinking about you. About that night. About everything.”

Silence slams into us.

Then he’s moving. Fast. Around the island. Standing in front of me.

“Say that again.”

“Which part?”

“The part where you want me.”

“I want you.”

His hand lifts. Fingers warm on my cheek. “Elena Martinez… you are going to ruin me.”

“Pretty sure you’re going to ruin me first.”

He kisses me.

Not rushed. Not needy.

Certain.

Like we both know this is the moment everything changes.

When we break apart, we’re shaking.

“This solves nothing,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“We still have to tell HR something.”

“I know.”

“And someone is still watching.”

“I know.” His forehead rests against mine. “But right now… can we just be two people who want each other? Without the complications?”

I should run. Grab my bag. Protect everything.

Instead, quietly: “Yes.”

He leads me to the couch. I sit between his arms, my back against him. The city glows beneath us.

“Tell me something true,” he says. “Something you’ve never said out loud.”

I breathe. Then: “Sometimes I’m scared I’m not good at my job. That I just got lucky. That one day everyone will know I’m a fraud.”

His arms tighten around me. “You’re not a fraud. You’re brilliant. The campaign proves it.”

“One successful campaign doesn’t—”

“It’s how you think,” he says. “How you challenge everyone. Even me.”

“It scares people,” I mutter.

“It scares me,” he admits. “But I like it.”

I look up. “Should I be scared of you?”

“Probably,” he says. “I’m not known for being warm.”

“You were warm that night.”

“That night… I was drowning. And you were the first person who saw me. Not the CEO. Just a man.”

My chest aches. “I see both. And I want both.”

His lips brush my hair. “You’re going to break my heart.”

“Not if you break mine first.”

We sit there. Breathing the same air. Pretending the world outside doesn’t exist.

My phone vibrates. Sophia: Where are you? Marcus is looking for you. He has questions about the influencer contracts.

The world returns.

“I should go.”

“Stay.”

“Damien…”

“Just tonight. I sleep in the guest room. You take the bed. Professional.” His eyes search mine. “I just don’t want you to leave yet.”

Every logical voice in my head says no.

My heart whispers yes.

“…Okay. But I leave before sunrise.”

“Deal.”

He shows me his bedroom. Huge bed. Too many pillows. City lights pouring in. He gives me a t-shirt that smells like him.

“Bathroom there. Towels in the closet.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Guest room. Door stays closed.” He stops at the doorway. “Thank you. For staying.”

“Thank you for asking.”

He leaves. I change. Slide under the heavy covers. Try not to think about how right it feels.

How safe.

How much I want this to be the start of something real.

But tomorrow will bring Marcus. Accusations. Shadows watching us.

Tonight?

Tonight I pretend complicated things can still work out.

That a girl who kissed a stranger in a bar might actually end up with the CEO.

That love—because yes, I’m starting to believe this is love—might survive office politics and fear and rules.

I fall asleep in Damien’s bed. Wearing his shirt.

And I dream of mornings that might never come.