29. Exposure

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clara didn’t look up from the screen in front of her. The glow of the tablet reflected faintly in her eyes, calm where everything else felt sharp.

“Because I didn’t know it mattered yet,” she said.

Adrian stood a few feet away, jacket still on, tie loosened, the tension in his posture unmistakable. The room—one of the smaller private lounges off the executive floor—felt too enclosed for the kind of conversation pressing against its walls.

“It mattered the moment your access was restricted,” he said. “You don’t lose system clearance quietly.”

Clara finally lifted her gaze to him. “I didn’t lose it. It was paused.”

“That’s corporate language for frozen.”

“That’s corporate language for watching,” she corrected.

He exhaled, slow and controlled, but frustration bled through anyway. “You’re telling me this like it’s a chess move.”

“It is.”

Adrian took a step closer. “You’re not supposed to be playing this game alone.”

She shut the tablet down with a soft click. “I’m not alone. I’m just not hiding behind you.”

The words weren’t cruel, but they landed hard.

“I’m not asking you to hide,” he said. “I’m asking you to let me stand next to you.”

“That’s the problem,” Clara replied quietly. “Standing next to you is what put a target on my back in the first place.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

Outside the glass walls, the city pulsed—unaware, indifferent.

Adrian ran a hand through his hair. “The audit request came from compliance, but it wasn’t standard. Someone escalated it.”

“I know.”

“You already looked into it.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Clara hesitated. Just a beat too long.

Adrian caught it immediately. “What did you find?”

“That the escalation didn’t originate here,” she said carefully. “It was routed.”

“Through where?”

She met his gaze fully now. “Through one of our external advisory partners.”

His jaw tightened. “Serena.”

“Not directly,” Clara said. “Which makes it worse.”

Adrian swore under his breath. “She’s setting a perimeter.”

“She’s setting a story,” Clara corrected. “One where I’m positioned close enough to matter, but distant enough to discredit.”

“And you?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

Clara stood, stepping past him toward the window. “I’m figuring out who benefits if I disappear.”

Adrian turned to face her. “That’s not how this ends.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s how it begins.”

⸻

The next morning, the shift was immediate.

Clara felt it the second she walked into the building.

Eyes lingered longer. Conversations softened when she passed. Her name moved through the space without her permission—reshaped, repackaged.

She didn’t slow.

She walked with purpose, heels steady against the marble floor, posture unyielding.

At her desk, an envelope waited.

No return address.

Just her name.

Inside was a printed program from the gala—last night’s event. Folded neatly. Annotated.

Circles around names.

Arrows connecting faces.

And in the margin, written in precise handwriting:

Visibility has a cost.

Clara stared at it for a long moment, then folded it carefully and slid it into her bag.

She didn’t show Adrian.

Not yet.

⸻

By midday, the rumors had sharpened.

A delayed deal.

A paused audit.

A consultant with too much influence.

And Adrian—choosing, visibly, not to distance himself.

He halted a negotiation that afternoon. Stopped it cold.

“Until Clara Evans signs off,” he said evenly to a room full of executives, “we don’t proceed.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Serena heard about it within minutes.

She arrived an hour later.

Unannounced.

Perfectly composed.

She found Adrian alone in his office, standing near the window, phone in hand.

“You’re making this difficult,” she said lightly.

He didn’t turn. “I’m making it clear.”

Serena smiled. “You’re making her indispensable.”

“She already is.”

“To you,” Serena corrected. “That’s the issue.”

He faced her then. “Say what you came to say.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You’re tying your credibility to hers.”

“I’m trusting my judgment.”

“You’re inviting scrutiny.”

“I’m already under it.”

Serena took a step closer. “You’re protecting her publicly now.”

“Yes.”

“That’s new,” she observed.

“So is the game you’re playing,” he replied.

She laughed softly. “Careful. You’re starting to sound emotional.”

“Careful,” he echoed. “You’re starting to look threatened.”

The smile slipped—just slightly.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Serena said. “Not in this space. Not at this altitude.”

Adrian’s voice dropped. “She belongs wherever she chooses to stand.”

Serena studied him, then nodded slowly. “Interesting.”

She turned to leave, then paused. “You should ask her who she trusts.”

The door closed behind her.

The words lingered.

⸻

Clara didn’t hear about Serena’s visit until later.

She was in a quiet café across the street, laptop open, coffee cooling untouched, when Adrian found her.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her.

“I’m working.”

“On what?”

“Control.”

He watched her closely. “You got something this morning.”

She stilled.

“You’re not as subtle as you think,” he added.

She leaned back slightly. “And you’re not as patient as you pretend.”

“Clara.”

She met his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“You’re being targeted.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think to burden you,” she replied. “There’s a difference.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get to decide that alone.”

She softened, just a fraction. “I needed to see how far it went.”

“And?”

“And it goes further than Serena.”

That caught him.

“What does that mean?”

“It means someone helped her,” Clara said quietly. “Not recently. Not impulsively. This was seeded.”

His chest tightened. “By who?”

She hesitated again.

This time, longer.

“Someone who had access before I did,” she said. “Someone who knew my work before you did.”

Adrian’s expression shifted—from concern to something sharper.

“Do you know who it is?”

“I have a suspicion.”

“Tell me.”

“Not yet,” Clara said. “I need proof.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You’re asking me to wait while you stand in the line of fire.”

“I’m asking you to trust me.”

Their eyes locked.

The air between them thickened—charged with fear, with desire, with something dangerously close to need.

“Clara,” he said softly, “this isn’t just professional anymore.”

She swallowed. “I know.”

“You feel it too.”

“Yes.”

The admission sat between them, bare and undeniable.

For a moment, neither moved.

The café faded. The world narrowed.

His hand hovered near hers on the table—close enough that she felt the warmth, the restraint.

Then her phone vibrated.

She looked down.

A message. Unknown number.

You’re closer than you think. Check your past contracts.

Her breath caught.

Adrian saw it instantly. “What is it?”

She looked up at him, pulse racing. “Someone just confirmed my suspicion.”

“Who?”

Clara stood, already gathering her things. “The last person I ever expected.”

“Clara—”

She paused, meeting his gaze, something fierce and resolute burning behind her calm.

“If I’m right,” she said, “then this didn’t start with Serena.”

“And?”

“It started with someone who watched me long before you ever noticed me.”

The implication hit hard.

Adrian rose with her. “You’re not doing this alone.”

She didn’t argue this time.

But as she walked out of the café, phone clutched tightly in her hand, one truth settled heavy in her chest—

The fracture wasn’t just in the narrative.

It was in the past.

And whatever waited there was about to surfac