Page 11

CHAPTER 11

CLAIRE

T he key turns in the lock, and I push open the door to my apartment, already kicking off my heels. My feet ache, my shoulders are tight, and all I can think about is collapsing into bed. Simon—no, Shomun—and I have been grinding through this merger proposal for what feels like a lifetime. Eighteen hours straight, and I’m running on caffeine and the memory of his hands on my waist when he leaned over my chair earlier.

I flip on the light, and the scream rips out of me. Silas. Sitting in my damn living room chair like he owns the place.

“Read your lease,” he says before I can even demand an explanation. His voice is smooth, like he’s been waiting for this moment. “I own this building. I’ve got copies of all the keys.”

“That’s illegal,” I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. My heart is still racing, but anger is quicker than fear. “You can’t just let yourself into my apartment.”

He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, his too-perfect face smirking at me. “So is corporate espionage.” His tone is casual, like we’re discussing the weather instead of the fact that he’s sitting in my living room uninvited. “You’ve been avoiding me, Clarice. I’m here because I need to know—have you found proof that Simon was in my office or not?”

I clutch my bag tighter, my mind racing. I can’t tell him the truth about Simon. Not just because of the contract or the job, but because… well, because. The thought of betraying Shomun like that makes me ill. But Silas doesn’t care about my feelings. He’s staring at me like he’s already won, like he knows I’ll cave.

“I’m working on it,” I say, my voice clipped. “These things take time. You can’t just waltz into someone’s life and expect them to hand over secrets on a silver platter.”

“Time is money, Claire.” He stands, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to intimidate me. “And you’ve had plenty of time. So tell me—what do you have for me?”

I square my shoulders, refusing to let him see how much he’s rattling me. “You’ll get your information when I have it. Not a second sooner.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Careful, Claire. I’m not a patient man. And you’re not exactly in a position to keep me waiting.”

He steps closer, and I force myself not to flinch. His cologne is too strong, too sharp, and it makes me want to step back. But I don’t. I won’t give him that satisfaction.

“You’re dismissed,” I say, my voice cold. “Get out of my apartment.”

He laughs, but it’s not a friendly sound. “You’re feisty tonight. I like it. But don’t forget who’s paying the bills here, sweetheart. You work for me, whether you like it or not.”

He brushes past me, and I swear I can feel the weight of his gaze on me as he walks out the door.

“Lock up behind me,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery. “Wouldn’t want anyone breaking in.”

The door clicks shut, and I let out a shaky breath. My hands are trembling, and I hate that he has this effect on me. But I don’t have time to fall apart. Not when Silas is breathing down my neck.

I grab my phone and pull up Shomun’s number. My thumb hovers over the screen, but I don’t hit send. Not yet.

First, I need to think. And maybe pour myself a drink.

I pour myself a glass of wine, the red liquid swirling in the glass as I sit at my kitchen table. The room is quiet, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence. I take a sip, letting the cool, bitter tang of the wine coat my tongue. My mind races, trying to untangle the knot of lies and half-truths I’ve been weaving since this whole mess began.

I could just ask Shomun. Straight up. Did you break into Silas’s server room? It’s simple. Direct. But the thought of saying it out loud makes my stomach twist. If I ask him, I’ll have to explain why I want to know. And that means telling him the truth—that I’m not just a secretary with a sharp eye for numbers. I’m a corporate spy. A liar. Someone who’s been deceiving him from the very beginning.

The wine glass trembles in my hand as I set it down. I don’t want to lose what we have. It’s not just the sex—though, let’s be honest, that’s been… transformative. It’s the way he looks at me, like I’m something rare and valuable. The way he trusts me, even if he doesn’t say it outright. The way he pushes me to be better, to demand more from myself than I ever thought I could give.

I run a hand through my hair, pulling it back from my face. What if I tell him and he walks away? What if this thing between us—this thing I’m not even sure how to define yet—just evaporates? The idea of it makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.

“Okay, Redding,” I mutter to myself. “Think this through.”

I take another sip of wine, forcing myself to focus. Asking Shomun directly is out. That much is clear. But how else can I find out what I need to know? I’ve been digging through files, cross-referencing reports, and eavesdropping on conversations when I can, but so far, nothing concrete. Just hints and whispers. And Silas breathing down my neck, demanding answers I don’t have.

I glance at the clock. It’s late, but Shomun’s probably still awake. He never sleeps much, always working, always planning. I could call him. Not to ask about Silas, but just… to hear his voice. Maybe it’ll help clear my head. But even as I reach for my phone, I hesitate. What would I even say? Hey, just calling to make sure you’re not secretly a corporate saboteur. Also, I think I might be falling for you. Talk soon.

I snort, leaning back in my chair. This is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. I’m sitting here, freaking out over a man who’s literally an alien from the future, and I’m worried about feelings . Feelings I’m not even sure I’m ready to admit I have.

“Get it together, Claire,” I say, pressing my palms into my eyes. “You’re smarter than this.”

But the truth is, I’m not sure I am. Because right now, all I can think about is the way his scales feel under my fingers, and the way he says my name, like it’s something precious. And I’m terrified—terrified that if I keep digging, I’ll ruin the best thing I’ve ever had.

I sit at my desk, fingers drumming on the edge of my keyboard. The glow of the monitor casts a pale blue light over the room, and my thoughts are a tangled mess. Silas’s visit left me with a knot of dread in my stomach, and I know I need to figure out what Shomun was doing the night of the break-in. My eyes flick to the clock. It’s late, but he’s probably still awake. Simon doesn’t sleep much. Thinking about him tugs at something in my chest, but I push the feeling aside. This isn’t about us . This is about survival.

I pull up his schedule on my computer. As his personal assistant, I have full access—past and present. My fingers hesitate over the keys, then I start scrolling back. Week after week, meeting after meeting, until I land on the date Silas gave me. The night of the break-in. My heart pounds as I click on the day.

And there it is. A single letter, bold and unapologetic, taking up a three-hour block. V .

“V?” I mutter under my breath, leaning closer to the screen like it might explain itself if I stare hard enough. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

My mind races. V for Veritas? Shomun’s mentioned Veritas before, but only in broad strokes. Something about protecting the timeline, something big and important. But this? A three-hour gap with no details, no notes, just a cryptic letter—it doesn’t sit right.

I grab my phone and pull up Silas’s number. My thumb hovers over the screen, and I hammer out a quick message.

Claire: Found something. Shomun’s schedule for the night in question has a block marked “V.” No details. Could be Veritas-related. Still digging.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. The reply comes almost instantly.

Silas: V? That’s it? No location? No contacts? You’re going to have to do better than that, Claire.

I roll my eyes. Of course he’s not satisfied.

Claire: It’s a start. Give me time.

Silas: Time’s up. I need answers, not riddles.

I toss my phone onto the desk and scrub a hand over my face. He’s not going to back off, and I don’t blame him. But “V” isn’t enough—not for Silas, and not for me.

I need solid evidence.

I open a new browser tab and start digging into Veritas. The search results are sparse, mostly conspiracy theories and obscure references. Nothing concrete. Frustration bubbles up in my chest, and I slam my laptop shut.

“What are you hiding, Shomun?” I whisper to the empty room.