"She's panicking," Kaelen said as he cleaned up the table.
"She's desperate," I corrected, my mind already racing through the implications. "A public threat means she doesn't have a private solution. She's trying to scare us off the trail because we're getting too close."
I moved to the floor, kneeling amidst the sea of papers. "We need to map this. All of it. Every payment, every date."
Without a word, Kaelen joined me, his large frame settling opposite me. For the next hour, the only sounds were the rustle of paper and our low, focused voices cross-referencing dates and amounts. We were a team, a single unit operating with a shared mind. The connection was electric, a potent mix of intellectual synergy and simmering rage against those who sought to break us.
At one point, I stretched my back, a weary sigh escaping me. "I feel like these numbers are starting to blur into one giant conspiracy."
Kaelen looked up from a vendor list, his intense gaze softening. "You're pushing too hard. You need to rest."
A faint, tired smile touched my lips. "You sound like a broken record. And since when did you become the voice of caution? You, who practically lives in your office."
He didn't smile back. Instead, his eyes held mine with a startling intensity. "You're different. You need someone to take care of you."
"How so?"
"Well," Kaelen smiled at me, "remember the other night?"
I looked away, feigning interest in a financial statement to break the intensity of his gaze. "I don't know what you mean," I mumbled, trying to not think about it.
A slow, devastating smile curved his lips, the kind that reached his eyes and lit them with a predatory warmth. He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the floor beside my knee, invading my space. "Is that so?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that vibrated through me. "I remembered that night with perfect clarity. Every detail. I'll remind you."
A hot flush crept up my neck, warming my cheeks. "Kaelen…"
"In fact," he continued, shifting closer until his breath ghosted across my skin, "I recall you being quite… satisfied then."
My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. "We are working," I managed, my protest weak even to my own ears as I gestured vaguely at the scattered papers.
"We're done working for tonight," he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. His other hand came to my waist, pulling me gently from my kneeling position until I was flush against him, seated on the rug between his legs.
His lips found mine, not with demand, but with a devastating question. All the stress, the fear, the constant vigilance of the day melted under that single, searing touch. I kissed him back, my hands coming up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. The careful control we both wore like armor shattered.
"The papers," I gasped, breaking away for a second.
In one swift, decisive motion, he swept his arm across the coffee table, sending the meticulously organized files fluttering to the floor in a chaotic white cascade.
"To hell with the papers," he growled against my neck, his breath hot on my skin.
The world had narrowed to the feel of his skin against mine, the scent of his cologne, and the low, possessive sound rumbling in his chest. My fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, when the first insistent buzz came from his phone on the floor. We both ignored it, lost in the taste and feel of each other.
Then the phone buzzed on the floor — soft at first, an insect in our quiet.
We ignored it.
It buzzed again, louder, impatient. I felt it more than heard it; a small, bright intrusion at the corner of things. I opened my eyes enough to see the glow on the rug.
"Your phone," I breathed, reaching for it without meaning to.
He intercepted my hand with a lazy, crooked grin, and held it above my head as he dived into the nape of my neck, his breath hot and his lips warm. The protest in my hand turned into an answering moan as he shifted, the earlier insistence folding into something that tasted like surrender.
We continued — slow, reckless — the second ring turning into something else entirely.
The third buzz came like a slap.
"Kaelen," I murmured, not even opening my eyes. The vibration came again, closer to the floor, a steady pulse that wouldn't stop. I sighed, reached for it without thinking — the cool glass brushing my fingertips. That's when I saw the name flashing on the screen.
"It's Mark," I said, the syllable cutting clean through the haze.
Kaelen's breath hitched against my ear. "Don't," he half-laughed, the word a plea and a dare.
I pushed lightly against his chest — not to stop him, just to remind him. "Kaelen," I said quietly. "He wouldn't call three times if it wasn't urgent."
For a heartbeat, the air between us tightened — a battle between want and reason. Then he exhaled, low and rough, like a man giving up a fight he already knew he'd lose.
"This better be really urgent, Mark," he muttered as he swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear. His voice had dropped several octaves — still gravel, but the kind laced with warning.
The shift was instant. The man who'd been mine two heartbeats ago folded away like a page, and the other man — precise, exquisite with control — took over. He listened, every line of him pulled taut. His eyes flicked to me once, the look saying Go on, breathe, I'll be back.
"When?" he asked.
There was a pause, and he turned to me, the lust in his eyes gone. "Helios has just filed for winding up."
The words hit like cold water. My breath stilled. Helios — the same shell company I'd seen in the Westland accounts. The same one that shouldn't have existed.
Kaelen's eyes found mine, the shared understanding cutting through whatever was left of the heat between us.
"They're moving," I said quietly. "Diana and David — they're cleaning house."
"Freeze everything you can," Kaelen said, the command compressing the room. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
He ended the call and set the phone down with a sound too loud in the sudden quiet. For a beat we sat, the scattered papers around us like evidence at a crime scene.
I watched him stand, the movement efficient and dangerous—like a man who kept a map of every exit in his head. He buttoned up his shirt and shrugged into his jacket with the same casual ruthlessness he used in meetings.
"You should rest," he said, voice rough around the edges. "You've been up all day. I've got to go to the office—talk to Mark, lock down what I can."
I wanted to let him. The part of me that listened to reason — to exhaustion and to the polite voice that said let the professionals handle it — folded toward sleep like a tired bird. But the other part, the part that had been digging through other people's lies, pulled taut like a wire.
He paused by the couch and looked at me, something almost like fragility in the way he searched my face. "Promise me you'll take a nap if I'm not back in an hour."
I used my hand like a comb, smoothing the hair from my face with the small ritual that always made me feel more composed than I was. The motion steadied me. I could feel the thrum of adrenaline in my limbs, an ache that felt less like tiredness and more like charge.
"I'm going to Sterling Group," I said. My voice was quiet but resolute. "Before they scrub anything. I want to collect every ledger, every vendor contract, every email that mentions Helios."
He blinked, a flash of something like disbelief — then a grin that didn't reach the edges of his jaw. "You mean you want to march into your own company at two in the morning and start an archaeological dig?"
"You mean I want to make sure no one buries evidence that will burn us later." I met his eyes. "I'll be quick. If there's one thing I learned from my father — and from Diana — it's that timing is everything."
Kaelen exhaled, a breath that carried both warning and something warmer. "You don't have to do this alone."
"I know," I said. "But I can't wait for permission."
He stood for a heartbeat, then crossed the small distance and took my hands in his. His palms were steady, callused in the places that mattered. "Promise me you'll text the second you get in. If anything looks off—leave. I'll get my driver to drop you off."
I smiled and nodded, "Thanks babe. I'll text. And I'll be careful."
He kissed my forehead once, then my mouth, quick and fierce, like a seal on a vow. "Okay. I'll be there if you need me to be."
I watched him go—out the door, down the hall, the sound of his steps swallowed by the hush of the building. The apartment felt both enormous and exposed when the click of his car door echoed away.
I dressed with a focused, mechanical calm: blazer, tailored trousers, shoes that didn't announce my arrival but made an impression when I moved. I gathered the files I could carry, tucking the most damning printouts into a slim folder beneath my arm. The click of the front door was a punctuation mark; I paused with my hand on the handle and checked my reflection in the darkened hallway glass. My hair lay in a small ridge from where I'd slept against the couch; I smoothed it with the same hand I'd used as a comb, aligning a stray lock behind my ear.
The lobby was dark when I arrived — the kind of sleep-dark that made marble and glass look like stage props. It was 2 a.m.; Sterling Group's heartbeat slowed to a low, regulated thrum. The security desk was staffed by one man whose eyes were more familiar with overnight CCTV than with boardroom drama. He recognized me, offered a curt nod, and waved me through without comment. Nobody asked questions at this hour.
I slipped into the elevator, the building's night hum rising around me. Outside, the city held its breath — anonymous lights winking, cars flowing like slow veins. I texted Kaelen: At Sterling.
His reply came almost immediately: I've called Mark. He's pulling everything we have on Helios. Be careful.
I folded the phone into my palm and felt the folder's edge press into my hip like a promise. Whatever Helios had been built to hide, I intended to find it before they finished erasing it.