The rain fell in a steady rhythm, soaking through the shoulders of my trench coat as I stood at the entrance of Damien Grayson's towering penthouse. The building stretched into the sky like a dagger, its glass walls catching flashes of lightning. A black limo had pulled up precisely ten minutes earlier to collect me. No driver name. No instructions. Just a door swinging open and a nod toward the back seat.
A message in itself: he's watching, and he's in control.
But not for long.
I adjusted the coat's collar and pressed my fingers against my chest, feeling the firm edge of the wire beneath my blouse. It scratched against my skin like a second heartbeat—sharp and ever-present. Brian's voice crackled softly in my ear through the receiver, calm but focused. "We've got audio. You're live. Stay sharp."
I took a breath and rang the bell.
The door opened seconds later, revealing Damien. He wore a charcoal-gray suit that clung to his frame with tailored arrogance. Behind him, the penthouse loomed—cold, cavernous, and soulless, much like the man who stood before me.
"You came," he said smoothly, his smile as thin as the blade I imagined beneath his words.
"I always keep my appointments," I replied, stepping inside.
The penthouse was pristine and expensive, a sterile kind of elegance that screamed control. Black marble floors. Chrome fixtures. Floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the storm like a living painting. But there were no signs of life. No warmth. No photos. No clutter. Just power on display.
Damien moved to the bar with practiced ease, pouring amber liquid into two tumblers. "I figured you'd come to your senses," he said, handing one to me.
I took it but didn't sip. "Let's skip the foreplay."
His brow rose. "Shame. I was looking forward to it."
"Save it. You said you had an offer."
He slid a folder across the glass coffee table. "One you'd be a fool to refuse."
I opened it. Inside was a contract, printed on thick cream paper. Buyout terms. Ten million dollars. Immediate deposit into an offshore account. A property in Portugal. A guarantee of silence.
"And here," he added, tapping the final page, "is your exit clause. You walk away from Grayson Tech. From Liam. From everything. No more blood. No more war. Just freedom."
My fingers curled around the folder. "You really think I'd take this?"
He smiled again, that snake-oil grin I'd come to despise. "I think you're smart. And I think you're a mother. And we both know how easily little boys can disappear in a city like this."
Ice flooded my veins. My voice dropped. "Threatening my son is a mistake."
"I'm not threatening," he replied, tone syrupy. "I'm offering protection. Something my brother won't be able to guarantee once this company consumes him."
He took a step closer. I didn't flinch.
"You think Liam will save you?" he asked, his voice low, almost tender. "He's drowning, Ava. You're just the latest lifeboat. Come with me. Be on the winning side. I can give you everything he can't."
Brian's voice whispered through my earpiece. "Perfect. Keep him talking."
I met Damien's gaze, letting every ounce of defiance I had shine through. "You're wrong. Liam didn't forget me. He fought to remember. He lost everything—and still, he came back."
Damien scoffed. "That's not love. That's weakness."
"No," I said quietly, laying the folder back on the table. "That's why you'll lose."
His expression darkened. He moved with sudden speed, grabbing my wrist. His grip was bruising, fingers digging into my skin.
"I could ruin you," he hissed. "One press release. One leak. And you're over."
"And I could end you with a single file," I snapped. "Which, by the way, is already in the hands of the board."
Before he could react, the front door burst open.
Liam strode in like a force of nature, rage etched into every line of his face. Two security agents flanked him, silent and menacing.
"Let her go," Liam growled.
Damien's grip loosened reluctantly, but his smirk returned. "You brought backup?"
"No," Liam replied. "I brought proof."
He tossed a flash drive onto the marble bar. It slid to a stop inches from Damien's drink.
"This contains your voice. Threatening a child. Wire fraud. Off-the-books transfers. Illicit surveillance. You made the mistake of underestimating the woman you tried to ruin."
For the first time, Damien paled. Just a flicker. Then his face hardened again. "The board won't believe it."
A small speaker on the bar chirped to life with Brian's voice. "They already have. The board convened fifteen minutes ago. The vote was unanimous. You're out, Damien. Effective immediately."
Silence fell.
Then Damien snarled, "I'll sue."
Liam's smile was arctic. "Do it. But first, you'll be answering to federal charges. And you'll be doing it in handcuffs."
Security moved forward. Damien didn't fight, but the fury in his eyes burned hot enough to sear.
As they dragged him from the penthouse, he looked back at me once. No words. Just hatred.
When the door clicked shut behind him, my knees buckled. Liam was there instantly, arms around me, steady and strong.
"It's over," he whispered into my hair.
I clung to him, heart pounding. "No," I whispered. "Now it begins."
---
That night, the adrenaline still surged through me, even hours later. After putting Eli to bed, Liam and I settled on the couch, the world finally still around us.
He pulled me into his lap, his hands warm beneath the hem of my sweater. We sat like that for a long time, not needing to speak.
"You scared the hell out of me," he murmured finally, his lips brushing my temple.
"I scared myself," I admitted.
He tilted my face to his. "But you did it. You were brave. You were fierce. And I love you for it."
My breath hitched. "Then show me."
The space between us vanished.
Clothes fell away between stolen breaths and searching hands. It wasn't about dominance or power or even desire—it was about healing. About two people who had been burned by life clinging to something real, something worth fighting for.
His lips found the places I thought no one would ever see—the scars, the fears, the brokenness. My fingers mapped the solid truth of him, grounding me with every touch.
We moved together like we had nowhere else to be—slow and deliberate, then hungry and fast. Every gasp, every whisper, every kiss anchored us back to the truth of now.
When it was over, he didn't let go.
He held me like I was everything.
"Marry me," he whispered against my shoulder.
My eyes fluttered open. "We're already engaged," I teased gently.
"I mean for real," he said, pulling back to meet my gaze. "Not for the board. Not for press. Just us. You, me, and Eli. No more pretending."
Tears welled in my eyes, but they were warm this time. Full of something close to peace.
"You really want that?"
"I've never wanted anything more."
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my forehead to his. "Then yes."
We kissed, and this time, it wasn't for the cameras. It was a promise. A beginning.
But across the city, in a smoky corner of a quiet bar, something else was beginning.
A man in a hooded jacket slid a plain envelope across a scarred wooden table to a shadowed figure.
The figure opened it, pulling out the contents with gloved fingers: a photo of Eli, a birth certificate, and a thin strip of DNA results.
One name was circled in red ink, underlined twice:
Claire Borden.
And just like that, the past began to claw its way back.