The next morning, I walked into the building like a woman marching to her own execution.
No sleep again. Just hours of staring at the ceiling, replaying the photo, the almost-confession, the way Dominic's voice had cracked when he told me to get out.
I kept waiting for the transfer to be reversed. For HR to call and say it was a mistake. For him to realize he didn't want me this close after all.
None of it happened.
The top floor greeted me with the same sterile silence. His gray-haired assistant nodded once, eyes flicking over me with something close to pity.
"He's in the boardroom," she said. "You're expected."
I found the boardroom easily—glass walls, long obsidian table, twenty executives already seated and sweating.
Dominic sat at the head.
He didn't look up when I entered.
A single chair had been placed against the wall, behind him and to the side. Not at the table. Not part of the meeting. Observer status. Servant status.
I sat.
The room smelled of expensive cologne and fear.
Dominic started without preamble.
"Revenue is down eight percent in the Asian markets," he said, voice calm, lethal. "Someone explain."
Silence.
Then the CFO—a man I'd once respected—started stammering about supply chains, currency fluctuations, global unrest.
Dominic let him talk for thirty seconds. Then cut him off.
"Wrong answer."
He tapped his tablet. A spreadsheet appeared on the main screen—detailed, damning.
"You approved three contracts with suppliers linked to Harlan Enterprises," Dominic said quietly. "All overpriced. All under-delivered. All funneling kickbacks straight into your offshore account."
The CFO went white.
"I—I can explain—"
"You can resign," Dominic corrected. "Effective immediately. Security will escort you out."
Two men in suits appeared at the door as if summoned by magic.
The CFO begged. Pleaded. Promised to repay.
Dominic didn't blink. He waited until the man was dragged out—literally—before turning to the next executive.
One by one, he dismantled them. Every mistake, every hidden deal, every lie—exposed with surgical precision.
And every time someone tried to shift blame, his gaze flicked to me. Just for a second. A silent message: This is what I do to people who betray me.
I sat frozen, notebook untouched in my lap, heart pounding so hard I was sure the entire room could hear it.
When Victor Harlan's name came up again—this time from the VP of Operations—something in the air shifted.
"Harlan's been pushing for a partnership," the VP said nervously. "He's influential. Refusing him could—"
Dominic's hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his pen.
"Harlan," he repeated, voice deceptively soft.
The VP nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir. Victor Harlan. He's got connections everywhere. Government. Ports. Even some of our competitors roll over for him."
Dominic leaned back. His eyes found mine across the room. Held. I couldn't breathe.
He knew. Or he suspected. Because the way he said the name—like it tasted like ash—told me everything. He'd heard it before. Maybe even looked into it.
"Schedule a meeting," Dominic said finally, still watching me. "I want to speak to Victor Harlan personally."
My blood turned to ice.
The VP beamed, relieved. "Excellent choice, sir. He's a powerful ally."
Dominic's smile was thin. Sharp.
"Or a dangerous enemy," he murmured.
The meeting dragged on for another hour. When it ended, the executives fled like scared rabbits. I stayed seated, waiting for the axe to fall.
Dominic didn't move. Just watched the door close behind the last person. Then he turned to me.
"Stand up."
I did.
He walked over slowly, stopping inches away. Close enough that I could see the storm in his eyes.
"Harlan," he said quietly.
Just the name. I tried to keep my face blank. Failed.
His hand lifted—slow, deliberate—and cupped my jaw. Thumb brushing my lower lip. Not gentle. Not cruel. Something in between.
"You're shaking," he whispered.
I hadn't realized I was.
"Tell me why that name scares you more than I do."
I closed my eyes. Couldn't speak.
His grip tightened—just enough to remind me he could break me if he wanted.
"Aria."
The plea in his voice undid me. Not the cruelty. The plea.
I opened my eyes. Saw the boy again, for just a second. The one who used to trace constellations on my wrist with his fingertip and promise we'd leave this city someday.
I wanted to tell him everything. Instead, I lied.
"I don't know him."
His jaw clenched. He searched my face for a long, agonizing moment. Then let go.
"Liar," he said softly. Not angry. Disappointed. It hurt worse than anger ever could.
He returned to the table, gathered his things. As he passed me, he paused. One last time.
"You'll stay late tonight," he said. "We're reviewing contracts. Just you and me."
His voice dropped. "No interruptions."
He walked out. Left me standing there, heart in pieces.
I didn't move until long after he was gone. Then I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers. Opened a new message. Typed a number I hadn't touched in six years. Hovered over send.
The message was simple: He knows your name.
I stared at it. Thumb shaking. Finally, I deleted it. Because if I sent it, Harlan would come for Dominic. And if I didn't, Dominic would come for the truth. Either way, someone I loved was going to bleed. And I had no idea how to stop it.
But as I slipped the phone back into my pocket, I made a decision. Tonight. When we were alone. I'd tell him part of it. Just enough to warn him. Just enough to keep him alive.
Even if it meant he'd never forgive me. Even if it meant losing him all over again.
Because some debts... You pay with blood. Or with the truth. And I was done running from both.
End of chapter 4