Damien
The boardroom was cold this morning. But it wasn't the air conditioning—it was the tension.
Even now, hours later, I couldn't shake the scene from my mind.
I tugged at my tie, loosening it as I walked down the hallway of Wolfe Enterprises, every word, every glance, every accusation from that meeting playing on a loop in my head.
Why did I defend her?
The question wouldn't stop circling, pounding behind my eyes like a war drum.
Eva Sinclair.
The intern. The alleged spy. The woman whose name was now tangled in whispers and suspicion.
And yet, when Arthur Lowell slammed that thick file on the table, when the so-called evidence—emails, system logs—was laid out for everyone to see, my instincts still pushed against it.
Everything screamed 'guilty.' But something didn't sit right.
I kept seeing her face in my head—the nervous flicker in her eyes, the steady voice she forced even as her hands shook slightly.
If she's guilty… she's the best liar I've ever met.
Or… someone's setting her up.
And the one thing I hate more than betrayal? Being manipulated.
I turned the corner, deep in thought—and there she was.
Eva.
She stood by the filing room, flipping through a folder, her brow furrowed in quiet concentration.
For a second, I just… watched her.
The way the soft waves of her hair brushed her cheek. The way her lips pressed together as she read, biting them ever so slightly. The guarded storm brewing behind those dark eyes.
Stay away, I told myself.
But I didn't.
My feet carried me across the hall before I could stop them, my steps quiet against the marble floor.
"Working through lunch again?" I asked, voice low, steady.
She jumped slightly, startled, but turned to face me.
Her eyes met mine—and my chest tightened.
"Couldn't sleep last night," she replied, trying to sound casual, but I heard the cracks beneath her words. Exhaustion… fear? Maybe both.
I held out a file—the finance reports the board asked for—but when she reached for it, my hand brushed hers.
A spark shot up my arm.
Her breath caught, just for a second. Our eyes locked, the space between us charged with something neither of us could name… or escape.
"Stay sharp," I murmured, leaning in slightly, my voice dipping lower. "Wolves don't always howl before they bite."
Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something—but the words never came. Instead, she nodded and glanced away, her lashes low, her shoulders tight.
I stayed there longer than I should've, watching her, reading her… then finally turned and walked away.
This has to stop, I told myself.
One way or another.
Later — Katherine's OfficeMy knuckles hit the polished wooden door with force, sharp and deliberate.
"Come in," Katherine's voice called from the other side.
I stepped in, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The room smelled like coffee and control—everything neat, her blazer crisp, her hair tucked perfectly behind her ears. Her smile was in place, but I've known Katherine long enough to see through polished smiles.
I didn't waste time.
Leaning against the edge of her desk, I folded my arms, steadying my voice. "We need to talk."
She tilted her head, eyes curious. "About the investigation?"
"About Eva," I corrected, my words clipped but calm.
Her expression didn't crack, but a flicker of unease slipped past her eyes. Brief, but I saw it.
"What about her?" she asked lightly, spinning a pen between her fingers like she wasn't worried.
I didn't move. My gaze stayed locked on hers.
"The evidence," I said. "It feels off."
Katherine laughed softly, like I'd made some silly observation. "Off? Damien, we have system logs, flagged emails, timestamps—"
"Footprints can be faked," I cut in, my voice sharper now. "You know that. I know that."
Her pen froze mid-spin.
I leaned in slightly, keeping my tone controlled. "You've always protected this company. You'd do anything to shield it."
"I do my job," she replied, cool and professional.
"I know," I nodded, my eyes narrowing. "But this feels personal."
Katherine set the pen down gently and stood, smoothing her blazer as she stepped closer, matching my height with her chin raised.
"Are you accusing me of framing an intern?" Her voice dipped lower, offended, sharp.
"I'm asking questions," I shot back. "Because nothing about Eva adds up… except the fact that someone wants her gone."
Her lips pressed into a tight line, her eyes scanning my face.
"Damien," she sighed after a moment, circling around her desk, moving closer. "I get it. You're concerned. But your… attachment to her is clouding your judgment."
I stiffened at that, my jaw flexing. "My judgment is the reason this company's still standing."
Her eyes flickered, but her polished smile returned like clockwork.
"You're right," she said softly, her hand landing lightly on my arm, a familiar, practiced gesture. "And I want to protect you. Eva? She's dangerous. Maybe not intentionally, but if she's leaking information, even by accident, she compromises everything."
I pulled my arm back, the space between us growing colder.
"I'll find the truth," I stated, voice firm, steady. "With or without your help."
Her eyes darkened, but she didn't fight me. She only nodded and stepped aside.
"Of course," she replied smoothly, her smile never faltering. "You always do."
But the truth? The truth was messier than either of us wanted to admit. And no amount of polished words or fake evidence was going to stop me from finding it.