Elena's POV
I make it through my second day at Vertex by sheer willpower.
Victoria's impossible project? I finished it. Stayed until 3 AM, survived on vending machine coffee and spite, but I delivered that report at 8:59 AM sharp.
The look on Victoria's face when I handed it over was almost worth the exhaustion.
Almost.
Now it's day three, and I'm running on fumes. My desk is buried in new assignments—each one harder than the last. Victoria's testing me, pushing to see where I'll break.
I won't give her the satisfaction.
Ms. Ashford.
I look up. One of the team members—a guy named Ryan—stands awkwardly by my desk.
Mr. Cross wants to see you. His office. Now.
My stomach drops. Did he say why?
Ryan shrugs. He just said now.
I save my work and stand, smoothing down my skirt. Around me, the rest of the team exchanges knowing glances. They think I'm about to get fired.
Maybe I am.
I knock on Damien's office door.
Come in.
He's standing by the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city. He doesn't turn when I enter.
Close the door, he says.
I do, my heart hammering.
Silence stretches between us. Outside the window, the city sparkles in afternoon sunlight. Inside this office, the air feels heavy with unspoken things.
Your report this morning, Damien finally says. The market analysis for Victoria.
Here it comes. He's going to tell me it wasn't good enough, that I failed—
It was exceptional.
I blink. What?
Exceptional. He turns to face me, and the look in his eyes is complicated. The projections were accurate, the risk assessments thorough, the recommendations sound. Victoria assigned you that project expecting you to fail. You didn't.
I don't know what to say. A compliment from Damien feels dangerous—like a trap I can't see.
Thank you, Mr. Cross.
You've always been brilliant. He moves toward his desk, toward me. Even when we were together, you were the smartest person in any room. I used to love watching you work—the way you'd get so focused, you'd forget to eat, forget everything except solving the problem in front of you.
The past tense—used to love—cuts like a knife.
That was a long time ago, I say quietly.
Three years. He stops in front of me, too close. Do you know what I did for three years, Elena?
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
I built an empire. His voice is soft, dangerous. Made millions. Destroyed competitors. Became the man everyone warned their daughters about. He leans against his desk, arms crossed. But do you know what I thought about every single day?
Mr. Cross
You. The word hangs in the air between us. I thought about you. Where you were. What you were doing. If you ever thought about me. If you ever regretted— He stops, jaw clenched.
I should get back to work, I whisper.
No. His hand shoots out, catching my wrist. Not hard—just enough to stop me. We're not done.
What do you want from me? The question bursts out, frustration breaking through my fear. You want me to suffer? Fine, I'm suffering. You want me to quit? Then just fire me already instead of this—this torture!
Fire you? His eyes flash with something intense. You think I want you gone?
Yes! You hate me. You've made that very clear.
I should hate you. He pulls me closer—not roughly, but deliberately. Until there's barely a foot between us. You stole from me. Destroyed my company. Broke my heart and disappeared without a word.
Tears burn behind my eyes. I know. I'm sorry.
Are you? His free hand comes up, fingers gentle on my chin, tilting my face toward his. Because I look at you and I see guilt. I see fear. I see someone carrying a weight so heavy it's crushing you. But I don't see the cold, calculating thief everyone said you were.
My breath catches.
So I'm asking you one more time, Elena. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, the touch achingly familiar. Did you ever love me? Or was I just the fool who gave you everything—my trust, my company, my heart—and you used it all for your own gain?
I want to scream the truth. That I loved him more than breathing. That I still do. That I sacrificed everything to protect his family because losing him was better than watching him destroy his brother.
But I can't say any of that without revealing Marcus's secret.
It doesn't matter now, I whisper.
It matters to me. His voice is rough, pained. It's the only thing that matters.
His thumb traces my lip again, and my eyes flutter closed. For one moment, I let myself remember what it felt like to be loved by this man. To be his partner, his equal, his everything.
Then cold air replaces his warmth.
I open my eyes. Damien has stepped back, his expression shuttered once again.
Get back to work, Ms. Ashford, he says, his voice professional, distant. I expect your next project completed by Friday. Don't disappoint me.
The dismissal stings worse than any insult.
I turn and walk to the door on shaking legs.
Elena.
I pause, hand on the doorknob.
You still do that thing, he says softly, where you bite your lip when you're trying not to cry. You did it three years ago when we fought. You're doing it now.
I don't turn around. Can't let him see my face.
Some habits are hard to break, I manage.
Yes. His voice is barely audible. They are.
I escape into the hallway, pressing my back against the wall outside his office.
My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. And the worst part?
I want to go back in there. Want to tell him everything. Want to feel his hands on my face again, his thumb on my lip, his eyes looking at me like I matter.
But I can't.
Because the moment I tell the truth, everything explodes. Marcus gets exposed. Damien has to choose between justice and family. And I become the person who destroyed his brother.
So I push off the wall and walk back to my desk.
Victoria is waiting by my chair, her smile sharp.
Productive meeting? she asks sweetly.
Very, I lie.
Good. Because I have your next assignment. She drops a folder on my desk. Complete financial audit of our Helix Corp partnership. I need recommendations on whether we should expand or terminate the relationship.
My blood runs cold. Helix Corp—the company that bought the stolen code three years ago. The company everyone thinks paid me to betray Damien.
Is there a problem? Victoria's eyes gleam with malicious satisfaction.
No problem. I open the folder with steady hands, refusing to let her see my panic.
Excellent. Damien wants this by Friday. She leans close, her voice dropping. And Elena? I'll be reviewing your work personally. One mistake, one hint that you're feeding information to Helix again, and I'll make sure Damien knows exactly what you are.
She walks away, heels clicking like a countdown.
I stare at the Helix Corp documents, my stomach churning.
This is a setup. Either I refuse and look guilty, or I complete it and risk Victoria sabotaging my work to make it look like I'm helping the enemy.
There's no winning.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Maya: How's work? You surviving?
I type back: Barely. This place is hell.
Maya: Come over tonight. Wine and bad movies. Doctor's orders.
I smile despite everything. Can't. Have to finish this project.
Maya: Girl, you're working too hard. Take care of yourself.
If only she knew.
I dive into the Helix Corp audit, determined to make this report so thorough, so professional, that Victoria can't find a single thing to criticize.
Hours pass. The office empties around me. Six PM becomes seven becomes eight.
At 8:30, my vision blurs from staring at spreadsheets. I lean back, rubbing my eyes.
A shadow falls across my desk.
Still here?
I jump. Damien stands there, jacket off, tie loosened, looking tired and unfairly attractive.
Working on the Helix audit, I say.
His expression darkens. Victoria assigned you that?
Yes.
Of course she did. He runs a hand through his hair. She's testing you. Trying to prove you're still connected to Helix.
I know.
And you're doing it anyway?
I don't have a choice. I meet his eyes. I need this job.
Why? He moves closer. You never told me why you need this job so desperately. Why you're living in that terrible neighborhood. Why you look like you haven't eaten a proper meal in months.
That's none of your business.
Everything about you is my business. He sits on the edge of my desk, too close, too familiar. You work for me now. I need to know if my employees are
I'm fine, I interrupt. Just let it go.
I can't. His voice is quiet, intense. I've tried. For three years, I tried to let you go. To move on. To forget. He looks at me, and the raw pain in his eyes makes my chest ache. But you're here now, and I can't—I don't—
He stops, standing abruptly.
Go home, Elena. Finish this tomorrow. You look exhausted.
I'm fine.
That's an order, not a suggestion.
He walks away before I can argue, disappearing into his office.
I sit alone in the dark office, surrounded by documents about the company that ruined us both.
And I realize something terrifying:
Damien still cares.
Beneath the anger and the cold professionalism and the need for answers, he still cares about me.
Which makes everything so much worse.
Because when he finds out the truth about Marcus—and he will find out eventually—it won't just be his brother he loses.
It'll be the last shred of his ability to trust anyone.
I pack up my things and head for the elevator, my heart heavy.
The doors open.
And my entire world stops.
Because standing in the elevator, swaying slightly, eyes bloodshot and reeking of alcohol, is Marcus Cross.