Damien's POV
The woman sitting across from me is pregnant.
I can tell because her hand keeps moving to her stomach in that protective way. Small movements. Unconscious. Like she's checking to make sure something precious is still there.
And she's the woman from the airport.
The one I spent one perfect night with three weeks ago. The one who made me feel human for the first time in seventeen years. The one I've been thinking about every single day, even though I swore I wouldn't.
Elara Sinclair.
Of course she's a Sinclair, I think bitterly. Of course the universe would do this to me.
I bought her family's company to destroy them—to ruin the Ashford merger and take my revenge. And somehow, I ended up spending the most intimate night of my life with the daughter of the man who helped the Ashfords destroy my parents.
But she doesn't know that. She has no idea who I am or what I'm planning.
And judging by the shock on her face, she had no idea I was Damien Cross.
"Please, sit down, Miss Sinclair," I say, keeping my voice professional and cold. It's the only way I can survive this. If I let myself feel anything—if I let myself remember how she felt in my arms, how she laughed in that diner, how she looked at me like I mattered—I'll fall apart.
She sits slowly, like her legs might give out. Her face is pale. Her hands are shaking.
"Mr. Cross," she whispers. "I didn't know—I mean, that night—"
"Was three weeks ago," I interrupt, my voice sharp as a knife. "And according to our agreement, it never happened. We're strangers meeting for the first time. Isn't that right?"
I watch her face crumble. But she nods. "Right. Strangers."
Good. This is better. Safer. I can't afford to care about her. Not when her family is connected to the Ashfords. Not when I'm so close to finally getting my revenge.
"I called you here because my team did research on Sinclair Hotels' previous leadership," I continue, pulling out a folder. "Your performance metrics are impressive. You turned around three failing properties in two years. Your employee satisfaction scores are the highest in the company. You speak six languages and have hospitality degrees from two universities."
She blinks, surprised. "You... researched me?"
"I research all potential hires." I slide the folder across the table. "I'm offering you a position as Director of Hotel Acquisitions, reporting directly to me. Salary is three hundred thousand a year plus bonuses and full benefits. You'll travel frequently, evaluate properties for purchase, and help integrate new acquisitions into our portfolio."
She stares at the contract like it might bite her. "Why me?"
"Because you're good at your job. Because your father was an idiot to let you go. And because—" I pause, choosing my words carefully. "Your grandmother spoke highly of you when I met with her last week. I respect Margaret Sinclair. She built an empire from nothing. That takes real strength."
Elara's eyes fill with tears at the mention of her grandmother. "You met with Grandma?"
"She still owns thirty percent of Sinclair Hotels through a personal trust. I wanted her blessing before making changes." I lean back in my chair. "She said you were the best thing about that company. The only one with real integrity."
A tear rolls down Elara's cheek. She wipes it away quickly. "I'm sorry. It's been a difficult few weeks."
You have no idea, I think. But I can't say that. Can't acknowledge that I know about Trevor and Celeste and her father's betrayal. Can't let her know that I want to cross this table and hold her until the pain goes away.
"So?" I ask. "Do you want the job?"
She looks at me for a long moment. I can see her trying to figure me out. Trying to understand if I'm the same man who held her in that hotel room or if that person was just an act.
Both, I want to tell her. I'm both. And I don't know which one is real anymore.
"I need this job," she says quietly. "I'm broke. My father cut me off completely. I'm living with my grandmother. So yes, I'll take it."
"Good." I push the contract toward her. "Sign here."
She picks up the pen. Her hand hovers over the signature line. Then she looks up at me with those sad, beautiful eyes.
"Can I ask you something?" she whispers.
"No."
"Did that night mean anything to you? Or was I just another woman you picked up in an airport?"
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I should lie. Should tell her it meant nothing. That's the smart move. The safe move.
But I've never been good at lying to her.
"It meant everything," I say roughly. "And that's exactly why we can't talk about it. What happened between us was a mistake, Elara. You're connected to people who—" I stop myself. Almost said too much. "You're my employee now. There are rules. Boundaries. We crossed them once. We can't do it again."
"Even though we—"
"Especially because of that." I stand up, needing distance. "Sign the contract. Start Monday. And Miss Sinclair? What happened that night stays buried. Understood?"
She flinches like I slapped her. But she nods and signs the contract with shaking hands.
"Understood, Mr. Cross."
She stands to leave. Gets all the way to the door before I can't stop myself.
"Elara."
She turns. Hope flickers in her eyes.
"Welcome to Cross International," I say coldly.
The hope dies. She leaves without another word.
When the door closes, I collapse into my chair and press my hands against my eyes. This is a disaster. The woman I can't stop thinking about is now working for me. She's carrying someone's baby—probably that bastard Trevor's, if the timeline matches her engagement.
And I want her so badly it physically hurts.
My phone buzzes. Marcus Chen, my CFO and only friend.
"How'd the meeting go?" he asks.
"She took the job."
"That's good, right? Margaret said Elara's brilliant. She'll be an asset."
"She's the woman from the airport, Marcus."
Silence. Then: "Oh, shit."
"Yeah."
"Does she know about your plan? About the Ashfords?"
"No. And she can't know. If she finds out I'm using her family's company as a weapon against her ex-fiancé's family, she'll quit. Or worse, warn them."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Keep her close. Keep her working. And try not to think about how she looked at me that night like I was someone worth loving."
"Damien—"
"I have to go. Board meeting in ten minutes." I hang up before Marcus can lecture me about feelings.
But he's right. This is complicated. Dangerous. I'm playing with fire.
And I'm about to get burned.
Elara's POV
I make it to the elevator before I start crying.
The doors close and I collapse against the wall, sobbing so hard I can barely breathe. He was so cold. So distant. Like that night never happened. Like I imagined the way he held me and whispered that I was beautiful and made me feel safe for the first time in my life.
It was all fake, I tell myself. He was just using you. Men always do.
But that's not true. I felt his heart racing when we kissed. Saw the vulnerability in his eyes when he told me about losing his parents. That wasn't fake. I know it wasn't.
So why is he acting like I'm nothing?
The elevator reaches the lobby. I wipe my face and walk out into the sunshine. My phone rings. Sophie.
"How'd it go?" she asks.
"I got the job."
"That's amazing! Elara, this is perfect! You can—"
"Sophie, he's the guy from the airport."
Dead silence.
"The stranger?" she finally says. "The father of your baby?"
"Yes."
"And he doesn't know you're pregnant?"
"No. And I can't tell him. He made it very clear that night was a mistake. That we can never talk about it." My voice breaks. "He looked at me like I was nobody, Sophie. Like I didn't matter."
"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."
"What am I going to do? I'm pregnant with my boss's baby. He hates me. I start Monday. This is a nightmare."
"You're going to do what you always do," Sophie says firmly. "You're going to be strong. You're going to take that job and prove you're more than what Trevor and your father think. And when the time is right, you'll figure out how to tell him about the baby."
"And if he fires me?"
"Then we'll figure that out too. But Elara? You're not alone. You have me. You have your grandmother. And you have a little person growing inside you who's going to love you more than anyone ever has."
I touch my stomach gently. "I'm so scared, Sophie."
"I know. But you've got this. I promise."
After we hang up, I start walking. I don't know where I'm going. I just need to move. Need to think.
That's when I see her.
Celeste. Walking down Fifth Avenue with shopping bags, laughing on her phone. Probably talking to Trevor. Probably planning their wedding with my father's money and my job and my life.
Something inside me snaps.
I march up to her. "Celeste!"
She turns, and when she sees me, her smile gets bigger. Meaner. "Elara! Oh my God, you look terrible. Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" I laugh, but it sounds crazy. "You slept with my fiancé at my engagement party and you're asking if I'm okay?"
People are staring. Celeste's smile falters. "Elara, don't make a scene."
"Why not? You made my life a scene. You took everything from me."
"I didn't take anything," she hisses, stepping closer. "You gave it away. Trevor told me you were terrible in bed. That you were more interested in your spreadsheets than him. He came to me because I actually made him happy."
The words are designed to hurt. And they work. But I'm done being hurt.
"You know what, Celeste? You can have him. You can have Dad. You can have the company. Because I finally figured something out."
"What's that?"
"None of it was ever mine to lose. Dad never loved me. Trevor never loved me. I spent twenty-seven years begging for scraps of affection from people who saw me as a tool." I smile, and I actually mean it. "But I'm done begging. I have a new job. A new life. And you? You're stuck with a cheater and a father-in-law who'll betray you the second it's convenient. Enjoy."
I turn and walk away, leaving Celeste speechless on the sidewalk.
And for the first time in three weeks, I feel something other than pain.
I feel power.
That night, I'm lying in bed at Grandmother's house when my phone buzzes. Unknown number.
Against my better judgment, I answer. "Hello?"
"Elara Sinclair?" A woman's voice. Professional. Crisp.
"Yes?"
"This is Catherine Wells from Ashford Hotels. I'm calling because we've received some concerning information about your recent termination from Sinclair Hotels. We'd like to schedule a meeting to discuss potential legal action against you for breach of contract and theft of proprietary information."
My blood goes cold. "What? I didn't steal anything!"
"That's not what our records show. We have evidence that you accessed confidential files about the Ashford-Sinclair merger and shared them with competitors. Specifically, Cross International."
"That's insane! I never—"
"We'll be in touch with formal charges within forty-eight hours. Have a good evening, Miss Sinclair."
She hangs up.
I stare at my phone in horror.
They're framing me. Trevor and Celeste are framing me for corporate espionage.
And if they succeed, I'll go to prison.
Pregnant. Alone. Destroyed.
I need help. I need someone who understands how powerful families work. Someone who can fight back.
I need Damien Cross.
But after today, I'm the last person he wants to help.
My hands shake as I pull up Cross International's main number. It's 11 PM. No one will answer.
But I have to try.
The phone rings. And rings. And—
"Cross International, this is night security."
"I need to speak to Damien Cross. It's an emergency."
"Mr. Cross doesn't take calls after—"
"Tell him it's Elara Sinclair. Tell him the Ashfords are coming after me. Tell him—" My voice breaks. "Tell him I need him. Please."
There's a long pause. Then: "Hold, please."
Silence. One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes.
Then a different voice. Deep. Familiar. Worried.
"Elara? What happened?"
And just hearing him say my name breaks something open inside me.
"Damien," I sob. "I'm in trouble. Real trouble. And I don't know what to do.