The penthouse smelled like coffee and cedar. Evening light pooled across the hardwood in a soft rectangle; the city beyond the windows was a quiet sprawl of glass and traffic, indifferent and far away. I'd barricaded myself on the couch with my laptop and three thick folders — Westland invoices, subcontractor lists, endless numbers that didn't quite make sense.
Somewhere along the way, I'd forgotten what time it was.
When the door opened, I didn't look up until I heard him.
"You missed dinner," Kaelen said, his voice carrying that mixture of patience and amusement that only he could manage.
"Said the person who just came out from his study," I smiled as I glanced over my shoulder. He stood in the doorway, tie undone, hair slightly mussed, looking dangerously handsome.
"Dinner?" I asked."What do you feel like eating?"
"Maybe just something simple."He gave a small nod and walked to the kitchen to give instructions.
The low murmur of his voice drifted through the open space while I turned back to my files. The numbers were wrong — not outrageously so, but in the subtle way that meant someone thought no one would look closely. A missing half-percent here, an inflated subcontract there. Enough to vanish in noise, unless you knew what to look for.
By the time Kaelen came back, the smell of sautéed garlic and butter had started to thread through the air. He sat beside me, leaning close enough that the warmth of his arm brushed mine.
"What are you working on this time?" he asked.
"Westland's financials," I said, half under my breath. "Some vendor payments don't line up with the project schedule."
He took the file I offered, scanning it with the kind of focus that made the world feel narrower. I watched his eyes move, the slight tightening around them.
"Helios Development," he read aloud.
"Yeah," I said. "One of the contractors. They're getting payments far above their listed scope."
He looked up, expression sharpening. "I know that name."
I frowned. "From where?"
"Remember the documents I took from David's office when we were doing the Vision Campaign? It's one of the companies in there." he said slowly. "David used Helios as a logistics front. Said it was for overseas operations, but I checked once — it was a dead trail."
A chill slipped down my spine. "Then what was it?"
He exhaled. "A shell company. No real establishment."
That information hit like static in the air. "A shell company," I repeated. "What is it doing here, on Westland project's vendor list?"
Kaelen leaned back slightly, the file still open in his hand, his jaw tightening as he flipped through the pages."Who approved these transfers?" he asked.
"Diana," I said quietly. "Her signature's on all of them. Every major expense under Westland runs through her since she pushed for control of that project when my father appointed me interim CEO."
Kaelen's gaze flicked up, sharp and focused. "And somehow, Helios is involved."
"Which shouldn't make sense," I murmured.
I took up another file with a list of what the Vendors were appointed for. "Helios... They're listed as a logistics subcontractor for the period of February through April. But..." I took up another paper which documented the project status. "We didn't have any shipments during that period."
Kaelen looked at me, "Which means-"
"Diana's using one of David's shell companies to move Westland money out."
Kaelen's expression hardened. "They're working together."
The idea shouldn't have surprised me, but it still landed like a punch. Diana had always been ambitious — ruthless, even — but colluding with David meant this wasn't just greed. It was strategy.
"How much do you think they've taken?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. His eyes scanned the ledger, flipping through line after line until he stopped midway down a page. "Enough to make it worth the risk. But it's not about the money."
"What do you mean?"
He looked at me, the edge of calculation already settling in his tone. "David's been quiet since the Vision Campaign collapsed. He must know I'm preparing to move against him. If he's funding something through Diana—"
"—then she's helping him build whatever comes next," I finished for him.
Kaelen's mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. "Exactly."
Silence stretched between us again, heavy but alive. The kind that buzzed with unspoken plans. I reached for another folder, but he caught my hand mid-motion, his thumb brushing over my knuckles — a small, grounding gesture that made me pause.
"Not tonight," he said gently. "You've been at this for hours."
"I'm fine," I murmured.
His eyes softened. "You always say that right before you pass out at your desk."
That earned a faint smile from me, but I didn't close the file. "I just need to understand why. If Diana's been siphoning from Westland, what are they building toward? It's not just sabotage. There's intent behind this."
He leaned in, his voice low. "Then we find out quietly. No confrontation. Not yet."
"Quietly," I echoed. "Right."
He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, his thumb lingering for a second longer than it needed to. "Eat something first," he said. "Then we'll talk strategy."
He went to the kitchen again, and reappeared with two plates of garlic butter poached lobster.
"That's not 'something simple'." I teased.
He smiled faintly as he set the plates down on the coffee table, the steam curling between us. "You say that every time," he said. "And every time, you still finish it."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at my mouth. "That's because you know I'm a sucker for seafood."
"Relationship takes effort," he said lightly, handing me a fork.
The first bite melted—garlic, butter, lemon, perfectly balanced. For a while, neither of us spoke. The world felt smaller in that moment—soft light, quiet city, the easy rhythm of forks against porcelain. Kaelen leaned back, watching me instead of eating, one arm slung along the back of the couch.
"What?" I asked, mouth half full.
"Nothing," he said, his tone gentle, almost amused. "You just look… less like the woman trying to hold a company together, and more like... your age. I sometimes forget how young you are."
I tried to swallow around the sudden warmth in my chest. "Well you sure didn't think about that the other night. Anyway," I said, quickly changing the subject. "Not all eighteen year olds have a mountain of financial fraud sitting around her."
"She still deserves to eat," he murmured.
The line between affection and tension blurred—his words landing somewhere deeper than they should. I looked down, pretended to fuss with my fork, because it was easier than meeting his eyes.
And then—my phone buzzed on the table, the sound sharp against the calm.
Both our gazes fell to it. Diana.
I sighed, reaching for it. "Guess dinner's over."
I answered. "Hi Diana."
"Working late?" Diana's voice came through, smooth as satin over steel. She sounded perfectly composed—like someone who'd practiced casual menace in a mirror.
I set the phone on speaker mode, put it on the table and kept chewing, buying myself time. "What do you want?"
There was the faintest click of glass, the little domestic sound she used to hide intent. "I hope I'm not interrupting dinner," she said. "You do seem very… occupied these days."
Kaelen's eyes lifted to me. I made the smallest, almost imperceptible shake of the head—I'll handle this.
"Are you still looking into the Westland project?" she went on, the kindness in her voice calibrated, neutral. "You sure are a curious kitten. Admirable."
"Part of the job," I said. My fork stilled halfway to my mouth.
She made a small laugh, again like a petal falling. "Of course. But sometimes the wrong kind of curiosity invites a great deal of attention. Regulators notice patterns. Investors notice delays. The press notices anything that smells like scandal."
"I don't follow," I said. "Are you suggesting an audit?"
"I'm suggesting restraint." She sounded almost sorry. "Consider the optics, Elara. Imagine the public receiving an anonymous tip about irregular transfers. Imagine the headlines—how quickly a competent-sounding rumor becomes a full investigation. You've worked so hard to build your credibility. I only want to spare you the discomfort of watching it unravel."
Kaelen set down his fork then, all eyes now on me. I could feel him there—ready, a presence that both steadied and sharpened me.
"I won't be intimidated," I said.
"Oh, I'm not trying to intimidate." Her voice flattened, the civility folding into something harder. "I'm trying to be practical. You should be careful who you decide to investigate. Not everyone likes being looked at."
"If you bring anonymous complaints, I'll respond," I said plainly. "Publicly. With the paper trail. You understand how audits work. They leave records."
A pause. Then Diana's tone smoothed, as if closing a book. "You always were your father's daughter. Do think on what I said. For all our sakes."
She hung up before I could answer. The line died; the apartment felt a degree colder.
Kaelen reached for the phone reflexively, but I put a hand over his. "Not yet," I said. "Let's be sure what we're dealing with first."
He nodded, eyes hard. "And if she tries anything between now and then?"
"We make her prove it publicly," I said. "We don't run from the light—we throw it."
We finished dinner in a companionable silence that tasted of strategy more than food. The folders waited for us—open, patient, accusatory. The night had tightened into focus: whatever Diana was hiding, she'd chosen to whisper warnings rather than act outright. That choice told me two things—she believed she could still control how this played out, and she was afraid of the documents she'd made.
I cleaned my plate, stacked the folders, and began to sketch the next moves on a fresh sheet of paper—names, dates, transfer amounts.