Chapter 4

Adrien Cross’s hand wouldn’t stop shaking. The phone lit up his palm, the screen too bright in the dim office, and was stabbing at his eyes. The words stuck, twisting in his gut like glass he couldn’t spit out: Look closer, Adrien. The traitor’s already in your bed.

He read it again, like maybe he had gotten it wrong. He hadn’t.

His stomach twisted, heat crawled up his throat, his breath coming out rough like his chest had closed shut. He just stood there in the office.

 The city lights blinked at him like a thousand mocking eyes, like they already knew. The gala memories wouldn’t leave him, the gunshot, glass raining down, the sting in his ears. Over and over, the moment looped, carving itself deeper until it felt like his skull had been branded. Someone had tried to end him tonight.

Somebody close was feeding him to the wolves. And now this text is a pointed, deliberate strike aimed straight at Damien Wolfe. The man he had let in. The man who was supposed to protect him. 

That stare made his pulse kick in places he’d never admit. Adrien’s jaw locked so hard that a flash of pain shot up the side of his face. The phone nearly slipped from his hand; he then put it into his pocket before his fingers could give him away.

 He dragged in a breath, which did nothing to steady him. Damien stood by the door, he was watching him. Always watching. Like he could see every crack Adrien tried to hide.

Adrien wanted to hit him. To throw him out. To fire him, burn the contract, anything to smother the heat coiling in his chest. 

He went for the bar cart instead, took the bottle, and poured until the glass was more full than it should’ve been. The crystal was cold against his hand, grounding him for half a second then slipping, because nothing really steadied him. 

He swallowed the burn and let it scrape down his throat. “You hear anything about that burner?” he asked Isabella, his voice sharper than he meant, clipped and jagged.

She didn’t flinch. She stood at his desk, typing on her tablet, with a mean. “IT is still working on it. Whoever locked this down knew what they were doing. Military-grade encryption. Professional.” 

Her eyes flicked toward Damien just for a second and then back to Adrien. “We need to tighten your circle. Everyone. Board members. Staff. Even family.”

Adrien barked a laugh, it was bitter and hollow. “Family? Evelyn’s probably popping champagne with Theo right now, celebrating the bullet that missed.” The image of his stepmother’s perfect smile, her jeweled fingers curling around a glass while her golden son smirked beside her it made his stomach twist. Evelyn wanted his empire, wanted it for Theo, and she’d carve him open piece by piece to get it.

“Start with the board,” Adrien said, dropping into the nearest chair like the weight in his chest finally dragged him down. “One of them’s leaking. I want names.”

Isabella’s fingers didn’t pause. She nodded once, sharp. “I’ll dig. But Adrien you need to stay put. No public moves. No meetings. Not until we know how deep this runs.”

He hated the words, hated how they caught in his throat, it was tight and choking like they were cutting off air.

Adrien Cross didn’t hide. Adrien Cross didn’t cower. He emptied the glass, his tongue bitter with scotch. ‘I don’t hide,’ he bit out, the words coming out sharp, torn through with anger. His gaze flicked to Damien who still stood there as stone, not even blinking, not even a twitch. Just that stare, heavy and unreadable, pinning him where he stood.”

 Adrien’s skin prickled, every nerve in his body was alive. The traitor’s already in your bed. His body screamed to listen, to believe it. Was it Damien?

 The same man who’d yanked him out of the line of fire, shoved him hard behind cover, his grip on Adrien’s arm too firm, too sure too much.

“Something to say?” Adrien demanded, stepping into Damien’s space, his body moving before his brain caught up. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to smell the faint mix of leather and gun oil. “Or you just gonna stand there staring holes into me?”

Damien’s jaw flexed, a muscle ticking tight. His voice came out low, and rough like gravel. “You’re not making my job easy.”

Adrien scoffed, sharp. “Your job?” His words dropped, venom dripping. “What exactly is your job? Keep me breathing or report back to the highest bidder?”

For the first time, Damien’s mask cracked. His eyes sparked, hot and furious. “You think I’m the leak? Say it.”

Adrien’s throat clenched. He wanted to. Every bone in him screamed to point, to accuse, to believe the text. But Damien’s closeness was wrecking him. Broad shoulders filling his vision, the scar slicing his jawline, the way his chest rose just slightly faster, betraying the calm.

Adrien hated the way it pulled at him. Hated how much he wanted what he shouldn’t. His voice dropped, more growl than words. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone.”

Damien didn’t step back. He didn’t even blink. He leaned in, barely an inch, his voice dropping low, softer, but honed sharp, and dangerous. ‘‘You don’t have to trust me. Just let me do my job.” Let me keep you alive.”

The air pressed hot between them, sharp and burning. Adrien’s heart was beating very fast. He jerked back like the distance might save him, turning to Isabella instead. “Get me a list of everyone who had my schedule tonight. Every name. I want it before morning.”

Her eyes flicked between them lingering on Damien a heartbeat too long before she nodded. “I’ll have it.” She hesitated at the door, her voice soft but edged. “Adrien, whoever this is, they’re already close. Be careful.”

When she was gone, silence swallowed the room whole. Adrien felt it pressing on his skin, his lungs, heavier with Damien still standing there, immovable. Adrien’s chest tightened. 

“You can go,” he muttered, not looking. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

Damien's boots dragged soft over the polished floor. “I’m not leaving.” His voice was certain, final. “Not until I know this place is clean.”

Adrien’s temper snapped. He spun, slamming a hand into Damien’s chest, shoving him hard. “I said get out.”

Damien didn’t move. He didn’t even sway. His body was a wall. His eyes locked onto Adrien’s, unflinching, searing.

For a split second, Adrien thought he would shove him back. Or worse touch him. Instead Damien’s voice came low, almost gentle, which somehow landed harder. “You’re scared. I get it. But pushing me away won’t stop the next bullet.”

Adrien balled his hands into a fist angrily, his nails digging deep into his palms. It wasn’t fear. At least, that’s what he told himself. He was furious. Furious at the shooter, at Lucian, at Evelyn, at whoever was whispering behind closed doors. 

He hated Damien for standing there, for knocking down the walls Adrien had built and rebuilt until they were all that he had left after his previous love showed him pepper.

“You don’t know me,” he said, but it sounded weaker than it should have. Damien didn’t blink. Does this man blink at all Adrien thought.

“I know you’re not untouchable. Not as much as you pretend.”

It hit like a slap, sharp and raw. Adrien’s throat tightened, fury rising within him, but under it was the sting he couldn’t shake it was the truth. He turned away, chest heaving too quick, and grabbed his phone off the desk like it was the only thing that was keeping him steady.

 He needed out, he needed something else to hold. He got a new notification. It was from Evelyn. His stomach twisted as he opened it.

So sorry about the gala, darling. Come to dinner tomorrow. We need to talk.

Sorry keh. Evelyn didn’t do sorry. Evelyn did strategies, bargains, poisoned kisses disguised as kindness. Was she behind the bullet? The burner phone? Or was she just circling, waiting for the cracks to split? Adrien’s mind spun, his walls closing in tighter and tighter.

“Problem?” Damien’s voice broke through, steady but cutting.

Adrien didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The texts. The bullet. Evelyn’s nails, Lucian’s grin, Damien’s stare, everything slammed through his skull at once. Adrien pushed off the desk and then went to the window, staring out at the city he had broken himself to build brick by brick. Tonight it didn’t even feel like it was his. It felt like glass was already cracking.

The phone buzzed in his hand again. Adrien went still, dread knotting hard in his gut, before he forced himself to glance at the screen. 

This time, it wasn't words but a photo. Grainy but sharp enough to gut him. It was a photo of himself, caught mid-speech at the gala. The exact moment the bullet tore past. Whoever sent it had been close. Close enough to watch him bleed.

Beneath the photo, a single line: Check your desk, Adrien. The truth’s waiting.

His chest locked. He turned fast, nerves buzzing, and tore open the top drawer. He saw nothing but a folded piece of paper inside it. 

His stomach dropped as he unfolded it. Four words, scrawled in a hand he didn’t recognize. You trusted the wrong man once. Don’t do it again.

His gaze shot up, too fast, locking on Damien who was standing close. Too steady. Too calm. Watching him. Always watching.

The world lurched, air cutting rough through his chest. The truth landed like a blow, The traitor was already here.