Zara lay still in the dim hush of morning, the scent of him still lingering on her skin. She reached across the bed—cold sheets. Empty space. I'm in
Her fingers curled into the pillow, frustration rising like a slow burn. Last night hadn't been some foolish dream. His mouth had found hers. His hands had held her like she was something precious, not just a convenient placeholder. For a moment, the wall between them had cracked—and she had fallen into the opening.
But now…
Now there was nothing but a note.
Be careful who you trust. Even me.
Her throat tightened around unspoken words. What did it mean? Was the kiss a mistake? That he regretted the moment they'd shared? Or was it something deeper, something that warned of danger he hadn't yet explained?
Zara slid out of bed, wrapping the robe around herself as she padded to the window. Outside, the Cole estate shimmered with sunlight, manicured gardens flawless beneath the glass. But even beauty like this couldn't hide the truths buried underneath.
Because somewhere out there, someone was watching her.
And now she wasn't sure if Damien was protecting her—or playing his own dangerous game.
Downstairs, the staff greeted her like nothing had happened. Like she wasn't unraveling inside. But when she entered the kitchen, she froze.
Damien was there.
Alone.
Sipping black coffee, dressed in a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, he looked devastatingly sharp—and completely unreadable.
"Good morning," he said without looking up from his tablet.
She took the seat opposite him slowly. "You left early."
"I had a call with the Singapore team."
She folded her arms. "And the note?"
He didn't glance up. "I meant what I said."
"Be careful who I trust?" she scoffed. "That's all I get after last night?"
His eyes lifted to meet hers then. "What do you want me to say, Zara? That I'm sorry? I'm not. That kiss was inevitable."
Her heart thumped.
"But it doesn't mean we're safe. Not from whoever is targeting you—and not from the fallout if we start blurring the lines of this arrangement."
Zara leaned forward. "We already blurred the lines. You can pretend last night didn't happen, but I won't."
A beat of silence stretched between them.
Then, to her surprise, he set the tablet down. "I have a team looking into the letters. The surveillance picked up someone lingering near the gates last week—too far to ID. I'm taking it seriously."
"Then why do I feel like you're pushing me away again?"
His jaw worked. "Because feelings make people reckless. I can't afford to be reckless with you. Not when I still don't know everything about your past."
There it was again.
That shadow.
Later that day, Zara stood on the balcony outside her private lounge, staring at the city skyline. Her thoughts drifted backward—five years ago. The shelter. The choice that changed everything.
Back then, she hadn't been Zara Sinclair.
She had been Zara Okon.
A Nigerian-American scholarship student working as a volunteer in one of L.A.'s toughest neighborhoods. She believed in change. In second chances. Until a man she helped put behind bars walked free—and came looking for revenge.
He found her. He hurt someone close to her. And when she tried to testify, the system turned on her.
She disappeared. Changed her identity. Left behind everything and everyone—including the one person who could have cleared her name.
Her older brother, Abdul.
But she hadn't heard from him in years.
And now… now someone knew the truth.
She could feel the past breathing down her neck.
And she wasn't sure if she had the strength to face it again.
Scene 4: The Dinner That Wasn't a Date
That night, Damien surprised her with something she didn't expect.
A private dinner.
Just the two of them.
No media. No assistants. No photographers lurking in the shadows.
The dining room was dimly lit, the table set with candles and silverware that looked too expensive to touch.
"What's this?" she asked as she stepped in.
He stood at the head of the table, wine glass in hand. "A peace offering."
She arched a brow. "I didn't know we were at war."
"Not war," he said quietly. "But maybe... confusion."
She took the seat he pulled out for her, still wary. Still guarded.
But as the food came—lobster bisque, rosemary chicken, creamy truffle risotto—Zara let herself soften just enough to enjoy the way his eyes lingered on her lips, the way his fingers brushed hers when pouring the wine.
They didn't talk about business. Or threats. Or the past.
They talked about music. About childhood. About dreams.
"I used to want to be a dancer," Zara said between bites.
Damien blinked. "Really?"
She smiled. "I know, hard to imagine in heels and a boardroom, but yes. Until life got in the way."
He stared at her for a moment too long. "You still move like one."
She laughed, surprised by the compliment. "And what about you? Did you always want to be a cold CEO?"
He didn't smile. "No. I wanted to be a pilot. Fly far away from everything."
Zara tilted her head. "What stopped you?"
"My father."
Of course. The infamous Elijah Cole. Ruthless tycoon. Control freak. The man whose death had left Damien with everything—and nothing.
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Damien reached across the table, his voice low. "Zara, I know I'm not easy to be with. But you… You make me feel things I thought I buried a long time ago."
Her heart thudded in her chest.
Was this it?
Was he finally breaking down the wall?
Then the phone rang.
His expression darkened.
He stood. "I have to take this."
And just like that, the moment was gone.
After Damien stepped out, Zara wandered the library aimlessly. She wasn't used to moments like this—almost-romance, almost-truth.
She should've been floating.
Instead, her chest ached.
She ran her fingers along the spine of a thick leather-bound novel when a soft chime echoed behind her.
Another message.
This one wasn't handwritten.
It was a photo—on her phone.
She stared at it, her blood turning to ice.
It was a picture of Damien… standing with her at the charity gala rooftop.
Taken from a distance. A sniper's distance.
Attached was one line:
"How close are you willing to get, Zara, before someone pulls the trigger?"
Zara's fingers trembled as she clutched the phone, her breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob. The picture haunted her—Damien's figure in the frame, unaware he was being watched. Targeted. Because of her?
She stormed out of the library, phone clutched like a lifeline, and found Damien pacing in the hallway near the study, still on the call.
He turned, startled by the fury in her eyes.
She shoved the phone into his hands. "Look."
He studied the image. His expression didn't change, but his jaw tightened visibly.
"Where did this come from?" he asked quietly.
"My phone. Just now."
He pressed a few buttons, checked the metadata, then muttered something under his breath. "Encrypted number. Untraceable."
Her voice cracked. "They're watching us. You. They could've—Damien, that photo is from the gala. They were right there."
"I know."
"That doesn't terrify you?"
"It infuriates me," he snapped. "But I can't lose control. That's exactly what they want."
Zara turned away, arms wrapped tightly around herself. "Why me? Why now? I thought I escaped all of this."
Damien's voice softened. "We'll find out. I promise."
She turned back to face him, eyes wide with something between fear and faith. "You said not to trust you. But right now, you're the only person I can."
The air between them changed. Again. He took a step closer, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"I'll keep you safe," he said, voice hoarse. "Even if it means going through hell to do it."
And for the first time, Zara let herself believe him.
Scene 7: The Private Investigator
The next morning, Damien introduced Zara to someone she hadn't expected to meet.
"Zara, this is Morgan Hayes. Private security. Ex-military. She's the best."
Morgan, a tall woman with sharp eyes and a calm presence, extended her hand. "I've been briefed. I'll be discreet, but thorough. We'll figure out who's behind the messages."
Zara nodded. "Thank you."
"We're not taking any chances," Damien added. "You'll have protection wherever you go. We're installing new sensors on the property and setting up a trace team on any future communications."
Zara glanced at Damien. "And what about whoever took that photo?"
He frowned. "They won't get close again."
Morgan's eyes flickered. "Unless they're already closer than we think."
Zara's stomach dropped. That thought had crossed her mind more than once.
Was there someone inside the estate?
Two days later, the headlines hit.
Zara Sinclair: The New Queen of Cole Corp.
Beauty and Brains—Damien Cole's Secret Weapon?
Photos from the gala littered the front pages. Zara in her emerald gown, Damien's arm around her waist. The world now saw what they had carefully staged—only they hadn't expected their chemistry to become so… real.
She stood in front of the mirror, staring at one of the magazines.
"Zara Cole," she whispered. It sounded strange on her tongue.
She didn't hear Damien approach until he stood behind her, hands slipping around her waist.
"You look like you belong there," he murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"In a magazine?" she asked with a weak smile.
"In my world."
She met his eyes in the mirror. "It's still not mine, Damien."
"It can be. If you want it."
Zara turned, looking up at him. "And what about what I want beyond business? Beyond image?"
He didn't answer. Just kissed her forehead and walked away.
That silence hurt more than a thousand words.
Late that night, Zara received a phone call from a number she hadn't seen in years.
Her breath caught.
She stepped onto the terrace and answered. "Hello?"
A male voice, low and strained. "Zara?"
She froze. "Abdul?"
"Oh my God," he breathed. "I thought you were dead."
Her throat closed. "How—how did you get this number?"
"Someone contacted me. Said you were in danger. I needed to reach you. I didn't believe them until I saw your picture in the papers."
Tears filled her eyes. " I-I wanted to find you. I just… I couldn't risk it. After what happened…"
"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I should've protected you. But I couldn't. I was scared."
She closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek. "You left me, Abdul."
"I know. But I'm here now. And I think whoever's targeting you—they're connected to what happened five years ago."
Zara clutched the phone tightly. "You think it's him?"
"I'm not sure. But I've been digging. You're not the only one they're after."
Her voice trembled. "Where are you?"
"In Lagos. But I can be in New York by tomorrow night."
She hesitated. "I'm not alone. I'm married… sort of."
There was a pause. "The Cole guy?"
"Yeah."
"Is he protecting you?"
She didn't answer immediately. "Yes. More than I expected."
"Then don't trust anyone but him. Not even me. Because if it's who I think it is… they'll do anything to finish what they started."
Zara didn't sleep that night.
She lay beside Damien, staring at the ceiling, her mind spinning with questions. Her brother. The past. The threat. The growing feelings she had no control over.
She turned, studying the lines of Damien's face in the dark. His guard never dropped. Even in sleep, he looked like he was fighting something.
She reached out, tracing his jaw gently.
His eyes opened.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low and rough.
She nodded. "No. But I will be."
A pause.
"Talk to me."
She did.
She told him everything. About Abdul. About the call. About the name she hadn't dared utter in five years—Emeka.
Damien listened silently, his expression darkening as she spoke.
"You think he's behind this?" he asked.
"I don't know. But if he is… this won't end with threats."
Damien leaned closer, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Then we'll finish it before he gets close."
Zara's heart thundered. "We?"
His voice was steel. "You're not alone in this. Not anymore."
The next morning, Damien held a press conference. It was meant to be about the merger. Instead, it became something else.
"I want to address the recent speculation," he said, his voice calm and commanding. "Yes, Zara and I are married. Yes, it began as an arrangement to protect the company. But it's become something more."
Zara's heart stopped as she watched the broadcast from the lounge.
Damien continued, "She is not just my wife on paper. She's a woman I admire, a business partner, and someone who's reminded me that loyalty still means something."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Zara blinked at the screen, unable to breathe.
Morgan smirked. "Well damn. That was bold."
Zara whispered, "He didn't tell me he was going to say that."
Morgan handed her a phone. "You should probably tell him how you feel about it."
But Zara already knew.
This wasn't just strategy anymore.
This was war—with love as the first casualty.