CHAPTER 8: That and More

It had been days since she’d said it.

Something worth killing for.

She hadn’t brought it up again, and neither had he. But the words lingered between them like smoke in a closed room, unspoken, unsettling, undeniable.

The skyline outside Killian Black’s office was blurred with rain, but he barely noticed.

His elbow rested against the edge of his desk, chin in hand, as he stared blankly at the computer screen in front of him. Behind him, Jane, his assistant, knocked once and entered.

“Mr. Black,” she said, placing a file on his desk, “The Munich accounts are ready for review.”

He didn’t respond.

“Sir?”

He looked up slowly, blinking. “Leave it.”

The door shut quietly behind her.

His fingers drummed lightly on the desk. But it wasn’t Munich on his mind. It wasn’t the merger. And definitely not the millions shifting hands.

It was her.

Calla.

The woman hadn’t screamed, hadn’t cried. She’d also refused the job, refused his protection, and refused to tell him the truth.

And that infuriated him.

But maybe… maybe that’s what made her different. Infuriating, yes, but intoxicating too.

He stood abruptly, grabbing his phone.

“Put eyes on her again,” he said to his head of security. “And no more shadowing from a distance. I want someone close.”

“But sir, she hasn’t left the premises.”

“Not yet,” Killian murmured. “But she will.”

*

*

*

In her suite, Calla stared into the burgundy swirl of brandy in her wine glass, sitting cross-legged on the velvet chair by the fireplace.

Killian had given her comfort, wine, and warmth.

But not freedom.

And that made him no different from the others.

She flinched as the memory returned like bile in her throat, the day they dragged her into court.

Three officers. There had been no warning.

“Mrs. Calloway,” one had said, “You’re under arrest for suspicion of theft and embezzlement.”

“What?” she whispered, hands trembling. “That’s insane. I didn’t–”

“You have the right to remain silent,” another recited.

She was cuffed. They read her rights as they dragged her away. Cameras flashed as she was led through the courtroom, her heels clicking against the marble floors, echoing in the sudden silence.

A reporter shouted, “Mrs. Calloway, how does it feel to be a thief?”

Another asked, “What did you do with the stolen money?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t breathe. She kept waiting for Damien to appear, to tell them it was all a mistake.

But he never came.

She was taken away, booked, and thrown into a cell without a single word from him.

And that was the beginning of the end.

The trial was a blur of lies and manipulation. They accused her of stealing millions, of laundering money through offshore accounts.

They showed forged emails, fake bank statements, and doctored phone calls.

She tried to fight. She tried to explain.

But no one listened. No one cared. She was the villain, the gold-digging wife who had married for money.

And Damien?

Damien testified against her.

He stood in court, cool and composed, and lied.

He told them she was unstable, that she had a gambling problem, that she’d stolen to feed her addiction.

He never once looked at her.

And with every lie, her world crumbled further.

The verdict came quickly, guilty on all counts.

The judge sentenced her to twenty-five years, eligible for parole in fifteen.

But she got out in five.

As they led her away in handcuffs, she caught a glimpse of Selene in the courtroom, a triumphant smirk on her face.

And Damien?

He was already gone.

Calla blinked, returning to the present, the fire’s crackle filling her ears.

She’d lost her husband, her freedom, and her life.

But not anymore. Not now.

She took a long sip of her brandy, letting it burn all the way down.

The time for silence was over.

She would rise.

And she would burn them all to the ground.

The fucking betrayal.

“Fuck,” Calla muttered now, setting the glass down a bit too hard.

“Careful,” came a voice from the doorway. “Alcohol stains silk.”

She looked up sharply.

Killian stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

“You actually don’t knock?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. “But you ignore knocks.”

She turned away from him, retrieving the glass again. “What do you want?”

He walked in, uninvited, and sat on the opposite armchair. “You.”

Calla blinked. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “I want to understand you.”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“Then why did you not agree to the job?”

“Because I'm not interested.”

“You should say yes.”

“Yes to.? helping you destroy Damien. and definitely not to parading around as your arm candy.”

He chuckled. “You’re too smart to be just candy.”

Calla stared at him. “Why do you care, Killian? Really? Is this just another power game for you?”

His jaw flexed slightly. “You think I’m playing?”

“You’re always playing,” she replied. “Everyone in your world is.”

There was a pause. Then he leaned forward.

“Then just tell me.” he said quietly. “Why did Damien really have you arrested?”

Her breath caught.

He watched her, waiting.

Calla looked away. “You’ve read the charges.”

“I don’t trust paper.”

“Then maybe you should find someone else to play detective with.”

“I don’t want someone else.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Then stop treating me like a possession. I’ve been locked up before. I know what gilded cages look like.”

He didn’t move. His voice dropped. “And what if I told you I’m not your jailer? What if I’m your only real weapon?”

Calla stood, pacing slowly. “Then let me leave. Let me act. You say you want Damien ruined , so do I. But I don’t need a leash.”

Killian smirked. “You might.”

“You don’t know what I’ve survived.”

“I know enough.”

“No,” she snapped, turning to him. “You don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to be dragged into court and called a thief. To watch people whisper and point. To see the man you once loved sit beside another woman and smile while your life crumbles.”

Killian was quiet.

Her voice softened, but not her anger. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything because you married the wrong devil.”

For the first time, Killian looked… unsettled.

He stood, walked slowly toward her. “I may not know your pain,” he said, “But I know what it’s like to want vengeance more than air.”

They stood face to face now.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she whispered.

“I don’t offer protection,” he murmured. “I offer power.”

Her chin lifted. “Then give me power. Not chains.”

He stared at her for a beat longer, then gave a short nod.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” she echoed.

“But on one condition. If you leave here, you’re fair game for Damien or whoever’s out there. But… if you want to fight, I’ll arm you. My lawyers. My security. My resources.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” he said slowly, “I believe in you, Calla.”

For a long moment, she couldn’t speak.

No one had believed her in years. No one had trusted her. Not even herself.

Now, here was this man, whom she hardly knew, offering her the one thing she needed most.

Calla swallowed. “Okay,” she finally said.

Killian smiled. “Then let’s go hunting, but Calla I can't trust you, for us to work together we have to trust each other."

“Well to let you know I can be trusted, I’ll take your offer,” she said. “Hire me, and I’ll make you a king.”

Killian’s smile was slow, wicked.

“Well, Calla,” he said, stepping forward until his chest brushed her back, “I’m already a king.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “But there’s something else you can do for me.”

She turned her head, gaze locked to his.

She raised a brow, cautious but curious. “I know. Isn’t that the offer about me being your escort or something?”

“Yes,” Killian said, reaching up to brush his fingers lightly along her jaw. “That… and more.”

She didn’t flinch. Not this time.

“More?” she asked softly.

His eyes darkened, his mouth brushing against her ear as he whispered–