Leo Westbrook's office tower rose like a blade of glass over downtown Los Angeles, cutting through the morning haze. Claire stared up at it from the curb, her stomach knotted tight. She had seen the building in photographs, had written half a dozen speculative pieces about the empire it housed, but standing before it now felt different. Too personal.
She tightened her grip on her bag and forced herself through the revolving doors. The lobby gleamed with marble floors and silver accents. A fountain whispered softly in the corner, but the sound did nothing to ease her pulse.
The receptionist looked up with a polished smile. "Good morning. Do you have an appointment?"
"Claire Sullivan. He's expecting me."
The smile faltered ever so slightly before the woman tapped her headset. A pause, a nod, then: "Thirty-eighth floor. The elevator will take you directly."
Claire exhaled as she stepped into the mirrored elevator. Her reflection stared back at her poised, professional, but with eyes that betrayed the storm inside.
By the time the doors slid open on the thirty-eighth floor, she had forced her mask back in place.
Leo's office was at the far end of a corridor lined with abstract art. Two men in dark suits lingered by the doors, the kind who radiated quiet menace. They didn't stop her; they didn't need to. Their presence was warning enough.
She pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped inside.
The space was enormous, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a sweeping view of the city. Sunlight pooled across a sleek desk, behind which Leo Westbrook sat, immaculate in a navy suit. He didn't rise, but his gaze locked onto hers with unnerving intensity.
"You're early," he said.
"You sounded busy," she replied, keeping her voice steady. "I didn't want to waste time."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her as though she were another asset to be evaluated. "You called me. That makes this your agenda, not mine."
Claire dropped her bag on the chair opposite his desk. "You have people working for you. Dangerous people. They've been leaning on someone I care about."
His expression didn't shift, but his eyes sharpened. "Names."
She hesitated. Revealing Danny outright felt like handing Leo a loaded weapon. "A man named Trent. Security detail. Connected to one of your firms."
Leo's fingers tapped the desk once. "I know Trent."
Her chest tightened. "Then you know what he's doing."
"What I know," Leo said smoothly, "is that Trent isn't in the habit of making moves without direction. And I don't recall giving any."
Claire leaned forward. "So you're telling me you run an empire this large and don't know what your men are doing in your name?"
A flicker of amusement crossed his mouth. "Careful, Claire. You're accusing me of negligence. That's almost more insulting than accusing me of corruption."
Her jaw clenched. "My brother's life is at risk. This isn't a joke."
For the first time, something shifted in his gaze. The humor drained, replaced by a quiet steel.
"Your brother," he repeated softly. "Interesting."
Claire cursed herself silently. She hadn't meant to reveal that much.
Leo rose from his chair, moving around the desk with deliberate calm. He came to stand a breath away from her, the faint scent of his cologne cutting through her defenses.
"Tell me," he murmured, "why would a woman as sharp as you risk everything to shield someone else's mistakes? Unless those mistakes lead back to you."
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself not to step back. "Because loyalty means something to me. I wouldn't expect you to understand."
His smile returned, faint and dangerous. "On the contrary. Loyalty is the currency I value most. But loyalty without power? That's suicide."
Their eyes locked, a battle neither wanted to lose.
Claire broke it first, snatching up her bag. "I don't need philosophy. I need you to call off your man."
Leo didn't move, but his voice followed her as she strode toward the door. "You came here because you don't know how else to protect him. That means you need me more than you want to admit."
She stopped, hand on the doorframe. "And what would your help cost me?"
Silence stretched, heavy as thunder. Then Leo said quietly: "Everything."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She didn't look back as she walked out, but his words clung to her, sinking deep.
By the time Claire reached the street, her hands were shaking. She hated it. She hated that he could push her, unsettle her, strip her composure in minutes.
But she hated it more that he wasn't wrong.
If Danny was truly entangled in Westbrook's shadow network, then only Leo himself could unravel it. And if Leo saw her desperation, he would use it.
Her phone buzzed again. Maggie.
Claire answered.
"Tell me you didn't," Maggie's voice snapped through the line.
Claire swallowed hard. "Did what?"
"Walk into the wolf's den without so much as a plan."
Claire closed her eyes, leaning against the cold stone wall of the tower. "I had to, Maggie.
Danny doesn't have time."
"You're not hearing me. Leo Westbrook doesn't give without taking. If he even lifts a finger for Danny, he'll demand something you can't afford to give."
Claire's voice shook with frustration. "Then tell me what choice I have!"
There was silence, then Maggie's tone softened. "Be smarter. Don't let him write the rules. If you play this way, he'll eat you alive."
Claire ended the call without replying. Her reflection in the tower's glass met her gaze tired, furious, but burning with resolve.
She might need Leo Westbrook, but that didn't mean she had to surrender to him.
If this was a game, then she would learn to play.