The rain didn't stop when the van rolled to a halt outside Damien's headquarters. It came down harder, streaking the windows, blurring the glow of the streetlamps. Serena didn't mind. Rain made it harder to see who was watching from the shadows.
Damien exited first, scanning the area before motioning her inside. His building loomed like a fortress—sleek glass and steel by day, an unyielding monolith by night.
"Stay close," he murmured, though the lobby was empty save for a lone security guard.
The elevator ride was silent, the air between them thick. Serena had learned enough about Damien to recognize when his silence wasn't just focus—it was restraint.
When they stepped into his private office, the mask cracked.
---
Damien's Demand
"How the hell did Victor Hale get your direct number?" Damien's voice was low, but sharp enough to cut.
Serena shrugged off her coat, tossing it over a chair. "You tell me. He didn't pull it out of thin air."
"That's exactly my point," Damien snapped. "Only a handful of people have your number—and one of them is Daniel Cross."
---
Calling in Cross
Damien hit the intercom. "Get Cross up here. Now."
Serena arched a brow. "You're going to accuse him in front of me?"
"I'm going to watch how he reacts in front of you," Damien corrected.
Minutes later, the door opened. Daniel Cross stepped in, his expression unreadable. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly pressed suit, he looked every bit the loyal security chief.
"You wanted to see me?" Cross asked.
"Yes," Damien said, leaning back in his chair. "We have a problem."
---
The Accusation
Damien slid a photo across the desk—one of Hale, captured by a street cam earlier that night, timestamped.
"He met with Serena tonight. Privately. He had her direct number. That information doesn't leak unless someone in my circle makes it happen."
Cross's gaze flicked to Serena, then back to Damien. "You think I gave it to him?"
"I think you're in the best position to have done it," Damien said.
Cross's jaw tightened. "And what exactly would I gain from that?"
---
The Test
Serena spoke before Damien could. "Depends. Are you already working with him?"
Cross met her eyes without flinching. "If I was, you wouldn't be standing here."
Damien's fingers tapped the armrest. "Then prove it. Tell me how Hale got that number."
Cross's reply was steady, but something flickered beneath the surface. "I don't know. But if you give me twenty-four hours, I'll find out."
---
A Calculated Concession
Damien studied him for several beats, then gave a short nod. "You've got twelve."
Cross inclined his head slightly, then turned to leave. Serena watched the way his shoulders moved—tense but measured, not the stride of a man rattled, but of one calculating.
When the door shut, Damien exhaled, slow and controlled.
"He's hiding something," Damien said.
"They usually are," Serena replied. "Question is whether it's dangerous to you, to me, or to both of us."
---
Serena's Hidden Move
They didn't speak again until Damien was buried in a phone call, barking orders to his tech team. That was Serena's cue.
She slipped out of the office, her heels muffled against the carpeted hall, and took the stairs down two floors to one of the guest conference rooms. She locked the door, pulled out her own phone, and dialed a secure line.
"It's me," she said when the other end clicked. "I need you to run a shadow trace on Daniel Cross. Banking, travel, off-the-grid comms. If he sneezes in the wrong timezone, I want to know about it."
The voice on the line chuckled. "Going behind Damien's back already?"
"I'm not behind his back," she said. "I'm just making sure I'm not standing blindfolded in front of a firing squad."
---
Cross's Parallel Game
At the same time, Cross wasn't going home. He was in an unmarked sedan three blocks from the building, phone in hand.
"He suspects," Cross said quietly.
The voice that replied was Hale's. "Of course he does. But what matters is who you make believe you're loyal to when the pieces start falling."
"And Serena Langford?" Cross asked.
There was a pause before Hale answered. "She's not the opponent. She's the prize. Keep her talking."
---
Back in Damien's Office
When Serena returned, Damien was off the phone, his gaze flicking to her with that unnerving awareness he had. "Where did you go?"
"Clearing my head," she said smoothly.
His eyes lingered on her a second longer than necessary, as though weighing the truth in her voice, but he let it go. "We'll have Cross's answer by morning. Until then, I want you off the radar."
"Meaning?" she asked.
"Meaning you're staying here tonight. Upstairs. Secure floor."
Serena arched a brow. "That sounds more like a prison than a safehouse."
"Call it what you want," Damien said. "But I'm not giving Hale another opportunity to get near you without me knowing."
---
The Quiet Between Them
The tension eased slightly once they moved upstairs. Damien poured two glasses of wine in his penthouse suite, handing her one without a word.
"You handled Hale better than I expected," he said finally.
"I didn't know you had expectations," she replied.
"I do," he said. "And most people don't meet them."
Serena smiled faintly. "Flattery, Mr. Blackwood? Be careful. People might start to think you like me."
Damien's gaze was steady. "Like has nothing to do with it. I trust very few people. Tonight, you earned more than most."