So, you keep saying? She kissed him again hard and fast, then pulled away before he could respond. Saturday, she said. We leave at 4 in the morning. Ethan nodded, his heart pounding. He went home and spent the next two days trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

On Saturday morning, he woke Kloe at 3:30 and drove her to his neighbor’s house. “Mrs. Chen was in her 70s and asked exactly zero questions when Ethan showed up with a sleepy 8-year-old and a promise to be back by dinner. “You in trouble?” she asked, taking Khloe’s overnight bag. “Not yet, but you will be.” Probably. Mrs. Chen nodded. Be careful. I will.

Aurora picked him up at 4 in a black SUV that looked exactly like the ones that had shown up the night she moved in. She was wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. “You look like you’re about to rob a bank,” Ethan said, climbing into the passenger seat. “Close enough.” They drove to Manhattan in near silence.

The highway empty except for longhaul truckers and people who had nowhere better to be at dawn on a Saturday. The city skyline appeared on the horizon as the sun started to rise. All glass and steel and money. Ethan had been to New York exactly once for his honeymoon. He’d hated it then and he hated it now. Too loud, too crowded, too many people living on top of each other like rats in a cage. “You okay?” Aurora asked. Fine.

You look tense. I am tense. Second thoughts. About a hundred of them. Aurora’s mouth twitched. Want to turn back? No. Good. Because we’re here. She pulled into an underground parking garage beneath a glass tower that stretched so high Ethan couldn’t see the top. Aurora parked in a spot marked reserved and turned off the engine.

Jess’s meeting us at the service entrance in 10 minutes. She said, “We’ll have maybe an hour before security cycles back through Damian’s floor. What if someone sees us? Then we run. Great plan. You have a better one?” Ethan didn’t. They got out of the SUV and walked through the garage to a plain metal door. Aurora knocked three times.

The door opened immediately. The woman on the other side was younger than Ethan expected, maybe 25, with bright red hair and sharp green eyes. She looked terrified. Aurora, she breathed. Jessa Aurora pulled her into a hug. Thank you for this. Are you sure about this? If Damen finds out I helped you, he won’t. I promise.

Jessa looked at Ethan. Who’s this? A friend. Does your friend know what he’s getting into? Ethan met her eyes. Yeah, I do. Jessa studied him for a moment, then nodded. Okay, follow me. She led them through a maze of hallways and service elevators, using key cards to bypass security checkpoints. The building was eerily quiet, just the hum of ventilation systems and the distant echo of their footsteps.

They took an elevator to the 42nd floor. When the doors opened, Ethan’s stomach dropped. Damen Cross’s office took up the entire floor. Floor to ceiling windows overlook the city. Leather furniture, abstract art that probably costs more than Ethan’s house. Everything sleek and expensive and designed to intimidate. His personal files are in the back office, Jessa whispered. I’ll keep watch.

You have 45 minutes. Aurora nodded and grabbed Ethan’s hand, pulling him toward a door at the far end of the room. The back office was smaller, but no less intimidating. File cabinets lined one wall. A massive desk sat in the center covered in papers and a laptop that was probably worth more than Ethan made in a year.

Aurora went straight to the file cabinets. “Help me look,” she said, pulling open drawers. “Anything dated between 2019 and 2023. Anything with my name on it.” They tore through the files, hands shaking, adrenaline screaming through Ethan’s veins. He found contracts, memos, financial statements, none of it useful. Then Aurora made a sound. Ethan.

He turned. She was holding a manila folder, her face pale. I found them. Inside were the original contracts, the forge signatures, the backdated agreements that gave Damen control of patents. He had no right to. All of it. Proof. Aurora’s hand shook as she pulled out her phone and started photographing every page.

We need to take the originals, Ethan said. We can’t. If they go missing, Damen will know someone was here. Then what’s the point? The photographs are enough for Diane to authenticate. We just need The door slammed open. Ethan spun around. Damen Cross stood in the doorway. He was taller than Ethan expected, mid-40s, with the kind of symmetrical face that looked good in magazine spreads.

He wore a suit that probably cost $5,000 and an expression that could freeze fire. Aurora, he said, his voice smooth as glass. Breaking and entering. How delightfully desperate. Aurora didn’t move. Damian. And you brought a friend. How cute. Damian’s eyes shifted to Ethan. You must be the mechanic. Ethan’s blood went cold.

How do you I make it my business to know who Aurora associates with. Ethan Vale, 32, divorced. One daughter, bankruptcy filed three years ago. Currently living in a rental property in Silver Creek, New York, surviving on motorcycle restorations and desperation. Damen smiled. Did I miss anything? Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. A roar stepped between them.

Let us leave, Damian. Why would I do that? You just handed me everything I need to destroy you. He pulled out his phone. Security will be here in 3 minutes. The police in 5. By Monday, you’ll be facing criminal charges for corporate espionage and theft. We didn’t steal anything. No? Then what’s in your hand? Aurora looked down at the folder she was still holding. Damen’s smile widened.

👉 [Tap here for Next Part] 👈