007

The Pursuit 1

~LUNA POV~

I woke up on my couch still squeezing the necklace.

The morning light hit the rubies and scattered red across my palm like a warning I was already choosing to ignore. I stared at it for a long moment, doing the mental math on what a smart woman would do right now.

A smart woman would drop it in the trash, shower, and never think about Draven Craven again.

I set it carefully on the coffee table and went to shower.

Twenty minutes later I was standing in front of my mirror in a black suit that cost more than most people's rent, looking exactly like the version of myself I had spent years building from scratch — controlled, untouchable, expensive. Hair perfect. Makeup sharp. Posture like I owned the floor I was standing on.

Except for the hollow at the base of my throat that wouldn't stop bothering me.

My hand moved before I could talk it out of it. I picked up the necklace. Just to see how it looked. Just for a second.

The ruby settled against my skin… heavy, warm, like it had always belonged there…and I stood there staring at my reflection like it might offer me some kind of moral intervention.

It didn't.

"It's just jewelry," I told myself out loud.

My reflection looked deeply unconvinced.

I grabbed my briefcase and left, telling myself I'd take it off later when I had a spare moment, which I absolutely would not have, because that's just how mornings go.

******************

The second I walked into Phantom Industries, I felt the change.

Heads turned. Eyes dropped to my throat. Whispers broke out like wildfire in dry grass, following me all the way to the elevator.

‘Is that new?’

‘I've never seen her wear jewelry before.’

‘That stone is huge.’

I kept my face uninterested and my steps even and gave them absolutely nothing, which is honestly the most powerful thing you can do when people are staring — just walk like you planned it.

Maya was waiting outside my office, tablet in hand, eyes already fixed on the necklace like it had personally offended her ability to stay professional.

"Ms. Ashford, that's absolutely stunning…. is it new?"

"It's just jewelry, Maya." I kept my voice flat and cold. "The Henderson file?"

"On your desk, but Ms. Ashford, you hav…."

"Later." I closed the office door before she could finish the sentence.

I had barely sat down when someone knocked.

A delivery person came in carrying a single black calla lily in a crystal vase, the kind of flower that looks like it was designed specifically for people with tricky intentions.

The card read: ‘One flower for every hour until I see you again. — D’

I set it on the corner of my desk and went back to work.

Fifteen minutes later, another knock. Another lily.

I frowned at it.

Fifteen minutes after that, another one, and another.

And another, until by ten in the morning my office looked like a crime scene at a very expensive funeral, black calla lilies covering every surface — my desk, the conference table, the windowsills, the floor, every flat inch of real estate I owned between these four walls.

Maya cracked the door and peered in with the expression of someone who very much did not sign up for this.

"Ms. Ashford….. should I tell them to stop?"

"Yes."

"I tried. Everything's already paid for." She winced slightly. "Two hundred flowers. One every fifteen minutes until eight PM tonight."

I put my pen down very slowly. "Who authorized this?"

The final delivery came with a different card: ‘Black for the darkness we both carry. Beautiful, rare, and impossible to ignore. Like you. — D’

I sat with that card in my hand for longer than I should have, which already told me more than I wanted to know about where my head was at.

I picked up my phone to call him. To tell him this was insane and he needed to stop immediately and I was not impressed.

I didn't dial.

Instead I walked to my floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out at the city spread below me, trying to get my bearings, and that's when I saw hi….across the street, on the roof of the Meridian Tower, a figure standing completely still, looking directly at my building.

Draven.

My phone rang before I could decide what to feel about that.

"This is harassment," I said when I picked up.

"This is romance." His voice was low, a little amused, the voice of a man who had decided how this story ended and was simply waiting for me to catch up. "There's a meaningful difference."

"Romance is dinner and a movie."

"That's boring, and you know it, and you would hate it." A beat. "You're wearing my necklace."

My hand went to my throat on instinct. "How do you know that?"

"Because I can see you from here. And you look like a queen standing in front of those windows." His voice dropped half a register. "Which is exactly what you are."

My breath did something embarrassing in my chest that I immediately decided not to acknowledge.

"I have a proposition," he said.

"I don't mix business with pleasure."

"Good thing this is both." He paused, casual as anything. "I'm buying the Meridian Tower."

I stared across at his distant figure. "What?"

"The building I'm standing on right now. Fifty floors, prime Manhattan real estate. I wired the funds about an hour ago so I can see you from my office window every morning." His voice softened into something that felt genuinely dangerous. "You're worth it."

He hung up.

I stood there staring at the building across the street, processing the fact that a man had just purchased two hundred million dollars worth of commercial real estate because he wanted a better view of me at work.

My phone buzzed. An email.

From: ‘Draven Craven’ Subject: ‘Partnership Proposal’ Body: ‘Dinner tonight. 8 PM. My yacht. We discuss terms. Wear the necklace. — D’

I typed back: ‘I'm busy.’

His response came in under ten seconds: ‘I already cleared your schedule. Maya confirmed.’

I was out of my chair before I had finished reading it.

"MAYA."

My assistant appeared from behind her monitor with the look of someone who had already accepted her fate. "I'm so sorry, he called and he was very persuasive, and also kind of terrifying, and I genuinely didn't know how to say no to him…."

I went back into my office and closed the door with more force than strictly necessary.

Another email was already waiting: ‘P.S. — If you don't come willingly, I'll come get you. Your choice: walk onto my yacht like a queen, or be carried onto it like precious cargo. Either way, you're having dinner with me tonight.’

I sat there staring at those words and felt something warm move through my chest that had absolutely no business being there.

My phone rang again. PR director.

"Ms. Ashford, we have a situation."

I pulled up my tablet and there it was — #LunaAshfordEXPOSED trending worldwide, old photos of me flooding every platform, side-by-side comparisons, headlines calling me a fraud, a fake, a social climber who'd clawed her way up from nothing and lied about every inch of it.

The comments were the kind of cruel that people write when they want to feel powerful and have nothing real to destroy.

I read through all of it with a completely blank face, while inside something cold and controlled burned very, very quietly.

"Don't respond," I told my PR team. "Document everything. We wait, and then we strike." I hung up and — without fully meaning to — I dialed Draven.

"Changed your mind about dinner already?" He sounded genuinely pleased with himself.

"I need everything you have on Aria Thornwood."

"Already compiled. I will bring the files tonight."

I went still. "How did you know I would need them?"

"Because I know everything." His breathing even. "Including the fact that the Blackwood women have been running this campaign against you for the last three hours." His voice shifted, quieter, more serious. "I've been watching them, Luna. I've been watching anyone who might come for you."

My grip tightened on the phone. "That's not your job."

"No," he agreed. "It's not. But I'm doing it anyway." A pause that carried more weight than it should have. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Not anymore."

Something in my chest cracked — small, hairline, the kind of fracture you can almost pretend isn't there.

I hung up without answering because I didn't trust what might come out of my mouth.