Chapter 29

David’s POV

“David.”

“….”

“DAVID.”

I snapped out of my thoughts. “Yes, Mr. Reynolds—sorry. What did you just say?”

Ethan glared at me from behind his desk, arms crossed, that familiar scowl tightening across his face. “I said, if you’re this distracted, maybe I should send you to shoot clay pigeons with my grandfather.”

I winced.

“At this point, are you trying to avoid it—or auditioning for it?”

“I’ll find her,” I said quickly.

“Good. Because if I don’t get results soon…” He leaned forward, voice low and lethal. “I’m taking Riley Bennett to meet him instead.”

“What?! Ethan—!”

“I mean it.”

My jaw clenched. He wasn’t bluffing. If Riley got dragged into this? She’d have my head.

I forced out a stiff nod and left his office, heart pounding. I didn’t have much time left.

Ethan’s POV

I was pacing the eighth floor when I saw a figure turn a corner down the hall. My steps slowed.

‘What the hell...?’ The person was short, in sunglasses, overly peppy—moving like they were trying too hard not to get caught.

I held my phone to my ear. “Tell Director Smith I need him in my office by ten,” I muttered and hung up.

Then I turned and followed.

Harper’s POV

‘Yes! Floor’s clear! No sign of the boss!’

I peeked around corners like a spy, breezing down the hallway in full “sun protection chic”—sunglasses, blazer, fake confidence.

“Please take care of your eyes, everyone~” I waved dramatically at my coworkers, dodging curious stares.

“Haper’s definitely lost it,” I heard Julie whisper behind me.

“Let her vibe,” Connor replied, less concerned.

I was thriving. For a week, I’d avoided Ethan Reynolds. Ghosted him. Lived a double life as a shadow in sunglasses. And now? I was nearly at the elevator when—

“STOP.”

I froze.

“RIGHT THERE.”

Oh no.

Oh God, no.

I turned.

There he was.

Ethan Reynolds. In a white suit. Looking like a nightmare sent to punish liars.

And he was walking straight toward me. I bolted.

“HEY!”

I mashed the elevator button, chanting, “Close close close close—”

The doors began to slide shut. Then—

THUD.

A shoe jammed between the doors.

His shoe.

Ethan pushed them open like he’d ripped the gates of hell wide. I backed into the wall.

“Why the hell are you wearing sunglasses in the office?” he asked flatly.

I gave a squeaky laugh. “T-Totally trending! Like—Paris Fashion Week level. Everyone’s doing it.”

“Did you get surgery?”

“No!”

“Is the lighting bothering you?”

“No.”

“…Are you cosplaying as an undercover agent?”

“No—sir.”

“Did someone hit you?”

That one made me pause.

He stepped forward. “Did you?”

I panicked.

“It’s nothing! Just… a bump!”

He reached out to take my glasses off.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” I yelled, trying to hold them on.

“Take them off.”

“No!”

“I’m your boss.”

“You’re violating employee rights!”

We wrestled like children in a tug-of-war.

Then—

VRRT VRRT.

His phone buzzed.

“Sir—call. You’ve got a call!”

He groaned and let go, turning away to answer it.

I crumpled to the elevator floor. My sunglasses slipped off.

I didn’t move.

“Mr. Reynolds, Director Smith says he’s flying out by ten—”

Ethan was halfway through responding when he turned to face me again—and stopped.

I froze under his stare.

His eyes narrowed. Locked onto the purple bruise blooming over my right eye.

Something in his stare shifted—sharpened. Oh god. No, no, no. He was connecting the dots. We were too close. I’d used makeup to mute the bruise, but I’d chosen the wrong concealer—the exact same muted plum shade the mystery woman from that night had worn. Jessica’s bruised-glam look. The one he clearly hadn’t forgotten.

“Sir?” his assistant asked through the phone.

“I’m here,” he replied, but his voice was tight.

“I assume we’re still searching for Miss Jessica?”

“…No,” Ethan said. “I’ve found her.”

My blood ran cold. That tone—low, quiet, certain. Like he’d been playing chess while I was panicking through checkers. The game was over. I didn’t even know I was the prize.

‘’So you do wear costumes for a hobby’’

I scrambled to pick up my glasses as he ended the call.

Ethan’s POV

She was still scrambling to hide. Still pretending.

But the mask had cracked.

And I never forget a face. Especially not one that lies to mine.

Later That Night

I sat at my desk, the office long emptied out, save for the glow of my screen. Her profile stared back at me.

Harper Adams.

Strategy & Finance, Department Two.

Twenty-seven.

Loan recipient.

The photo was plain—work-appropriate, borderline forgettable. But I remembered her now. Every word. Every excuse. Every half-smile meant to deflect.

No criminal record. No formal complaints. Just a mountain of debt and the nerve to freelance her way out of it. Or maybe into it.

I leaned back, lacing my fingers behind my head.

“The act wasn’t bad,” I muttered to myself. “I’ll give her that.”

But it was aimed at the wrong man.

My jaw tightened.

“Harper Adams…” I said her name like a sentence.

There are going to be consequences.

And this time, I won’t be so polite.

Let’s see how she handles a real negotiation.