Chapter Three

CHERRY’S POV

The chair felt like ice. I sat as straight as I could, my spine a rigid line of desperation. I smoothed the fabric of my thrifted skirt, trying to stop the visible trembling in my hands. This mattered. It mattered more than my pride, more than my fear. It was the only ladder out of the hole Julian and my Uncle had dug for me.

“Good morning, Ms. Vane,” Ethan said. He had a polite smile, but his eyes were sharp, scanning me like I was a puzzle he was paid to solve. “Let’s begin.”

I nodded. My throat felt like it was filled with sand.

“Tell me about your previous experience.”

His tone was professional. Calm. It should have been comforting, but it felt like a trap. I chose my words like I was walking through a minefield. Not too much. Not too little. Just enough to sound competent, but not enough to invite a deeper look into the Laurent name I was trying so hard to bury.

He flipped through my file. I watched his thumb catch on the pages. “You’ve worked multiple short-term roles. A lot of them, actually.”

“Yes.”

“That suggests instability, wouldn't you say?”

I didn't blink. I couldn't afford to. I shook my head slightly. “It suggests adaptability. I take what’s available and I make it work. I don't wait for the perfect storm; I learn how to sail in whatever wind is blowing.”

He paused. For a second, the room was silent. Then, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He didn’t hate the answer.

Before he could dig deeper, the door opened.

It wasn't a loud sound. No bang against the wall. But the air in the room didn't just shift—it vanished. My lungs suddenly felt empty. I didn't even turn immediately, but I knew. I felt the heat of a predator entering the space.

I looked.

My breath caught in a way that was almost painful.

Him.

The man from the café. The man from the night I never talked about.

He didn't say a word. He didn't interrupt Ethan or look at the files. He just walked to the far end of the room and stood there. He looked like he owned the walls, the air, and everyone inside them. He was just... watching.

My fingers tightened into white-knuckled knots in my lap. Focus. Elara, focus.

I forced my eyes back to Ethan, but I could feel Adrian’s gaze on the side of my face like a physical brand.

“Confidentiality is key in this role,” Ethan continued, though even his voice seemed a little tighter now. “How do you handle sensitive information?”

“By treating everything as sensitive unless told otherwise,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “And knowing that access doesn’t mean permission. I’m there to work, not to witness.”

Ethan nodded again. “Last one. Why should we hire you?”

Because I have ten dollars in my bank account.

Because my husband is a stranger who smells like other women.

Because I am drowning.

I didn’t say any of that. I looked Ethan in the eye.

“Because I won’t be a liability,” I said quietly. “And I learn fast. Fast enough to be useful before most people have even found the coffee machine.”

Silence. It stretched until I thought I might scream.

Then—

“Continue.”

That voice. It was lower than I remembered. More controlled. More dangerous.

I turned. He had moved closer—I hadn’t even heard his footsteps. He was staring at me like I was a riddle he intended to break.

“For someone with such a... colorful history of short-term roles,” Adrian said, his eyes narrowing, “you sound very confident about your ability to adapt.”

“I’ve had to.”

A pause. His presence was overwhelming, a wall of dark energy.

“Adaptability isn’t always a strength, Ms. Vane. Sometimes it just means you’re good at running away.”

“It is a strength,” I said, finally meeting his gaze fully. I let a bit of the old Elara Laurent fire leak through. “When you don’t have the luxury of a choice, you adapt or you die. I chose to adapt.”

Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of something that wasn't coldness. Interest? Recognition?

Then he stepped back, the mask slamming back into place.

“Ethan,” he said, his voice flat. “That will be all.”

And just like that... it was over. He dismissed me like I was a flickering lightbulb he was tired of looking at.

ADRIAN’S POV

The room felt empty the second she walked out. Empty and cold.

Ethan leaned back, exhaling a long breath. “She’s good, Adrian. Sharp. A bit defensive, but she’s got a spine. Most candidates would have folded the second you walked in.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn't. I was looking at her file, my chest tight.

Elara Vane.

I flipped the page, my eyes searching for the one thing I didn't want to find. My fingers stilled.

Marital Status: Married.

The word felt like a physical blow. Married. The "Cherry" I had hunted for two years belonged to someone else? To some man who let her walk around in thrift-store blazers and work in coffee shops?

“Something wrong?” Ethan asked, his brows furrowing.

I closed the file with a snap. My jaw was so tight it ached.

“Find out who her husband is.”

Ethan blinked, startled by the sudden violence in my tone. “That was quick. You haven't even seen the other candidates.”

“I want a name, Ethan. And I want his history. I want to know what he eats for breakfast and what he does when he thinks no one is watching. Today.”

Ethan studied me for a long beat. He knew. He knew this wasn't about a job. “Alright. I’m on it.”

My grip tightened on the folder until the cardboard groaned. Married. It didn't sit right. The way she looked at me that spark of recognition she was trying so hard to hide didn't belong to a woman who was happily taken.

The door opened before I could process the rage. I didn't have to look to know who it was. The air always turned bitter when he arrived.

“Adrian,” my father said, his voice dripping with that fake, polished authority. “I heard you ended the senior analyst meeting early.”

“I finished it. There’s a difference.”

“You dismissed a man with twenty years of experience.”

“He was twenty years of mediocrity. He wasn't good enough for this company.”

My father stepped into the light, his cufflinks gleaming. “You’re letting distractions affect your judgment again.”

“I’m not distracted.”

He watched me, his eyes cold and calculating. “This company wasn't built on whims, Adrian. It was built on control. Absolute, unwavering control.”

I exhaled a jagged breath. “And that’s the only thing you’ve ever understood, isn't it? Control.”

His eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone, boy.”

I met his gaze, my blood boiling. “Or what? You’ll replace me? Good luck finding someone else to clean up your messes.”

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Ethan shifted awkwardly by the desk, trying to become invisible.

My father adjusted his sleeves, his face a mask of disappointment. “Don’t forget what you’re responsible for. The Knight legacy doesn't survive on emotion.”

“I don't forget anything,” I said quietly. “Not even the things you wish I would.”

He held my gaze for a second longer, a silent war passing between us, before he turned and walked out.

I didn't move. I stood there, the ghost of my mother’s memory and the weight of the company pressing down on me. Slowly, I opened Elara’s file again.

My eyes went back to that single, offensive line.

Married.

I felt a dark, possessive growl start in the back of my throat.

“Run a full background check,” I said, not looking up.

Ethan paused at the door. “On her?”

“On everyone. The uncle. The husband. Especially the husband.” I looked at the door she had walked through. “This time, Cherry... you aren't disappearing again. Not even if I have to burn your whole world down to keep you.”