Page 54 of Claimed By the Boss

She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then gives a brief nod and leaves without another word.

The second the door clicks shut behind her, I sink back into my chair and stare at it. Something’s not right. I’m not stupid enough to think it’s all about the boss-employee dynamic. That ship sailed the second we kissed for the first time, and it was obliterated when we slept together. The shift in her energy isn’t just about professionalism. It’s something deeper. And maybe that’s why it bothers me so much.

I thought I had her figured out, but she’s thrown me a curveball. I need more insight, so I pull out my phone and hit Alek’s contact.

He picks up after the first ring. “Hey, boss.”

“I need you to keep an eye on Lyra,” I tell him without any preamble.

He pauses for a moment.

“Okay,” he answers slowly. “Do you think she’s in trouble or something?”

“I think something’s bothering her, and I don’t know what it is. She’s been distant. Off. I want to make sure she’s not getting pulled into something.”

“Do you think one of Rurik’s men approached her?”

“I don’t know,” I say. Honestly, that thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. “Maybe she’s doing something stupid on her own, but she’s definitely keeping something from me. Whatever it is, I need to know.”

Alek sighs softly on the other end. “Not to overstep, but are you sure you want to do that? It would erode all of her trust if she finds out.”

“I’m not doing it to spy on her,” I say. “I’m doing it to keep her safe.”

He pauses again, considering.

“All right,” he finally says. “I’ll pull someone to follow her discreetly. I’ll keep it low-key for now until you say otherwise.”

“Thank you,” I answer.

I hang up and stare out the window, contemplating what I’ve just asked of Alek. Maybe this is too far. Maybe I’m breaching a line of trust. But something in my gut tells me that whatever she’s hiding is big.

17

LYRA

Isit in front of the monitor, fingers hovering over the keyboard, watching lines of code blur into unreadable patterns. I’ve been staring at the same function for the past ten minutes, trying to decide whether to rewrite it or leave it as is. I know what the code needs to do. That isn’t the problem. The problem is why it needs to do it at all.

I’m not stupid. Ever since Becca told me who Damien really is, I’ve started looking at everything our company does through a new lens.

Damien has been careful with his words, tossing out phrases like “high-priority client” and “secure environments,” but this is military-level anti-jamming technology. No average business is asking for a custom override protocol capable of hijacking encrypted frequencies. This is not about fixing bugs or helping someone improve their Bluetooth connectivity. This is surveillance. Full-blown, illegal, invasive surveillance.

My hands finally settle on the keys, muscle memory taking over as I begin modifying the database signature layer. I know Ishouldn’t do this. I could report it to the authorities. But even as the thought forms, I already know I won’t.

I have his baby growing inside me. No matter who he is or what he does, we are linked together in a way that can’t ever be untangled.

My stomach twists as the weight of that truth settles in again. I still haven’t told him. I’ve barely come to terms with it myself. It’s been a month since my doctor’s appointment, and every day since, I’ve told myself I’ll figure out what to do tomorrow. But tomorrow keeps coming and going, and the truth is, I don’t have a plan. I’m just floating in this in-between space, hoping the right answer will show up if I wait long enough.

It hasn’t yet.

And now, with the truth of who Damien is hanging heavy over me, I’m not sure how to tell him. Maybe it would be better to run the other way and pray he doesn’t come looking for me.

I exhale and shake my head, saving the current version of the program and pulling up the next module.

A quiet knock on my cubicle wall breaks my concentration. I turn and find one of my coworkers, Kara, standing there.

“Hey,” she says, eyes flicking to my monitor. “You’ve been buried in that file for hours. Need a break?”

I click the screen off and shrug.