Chapter 5: Boundaries Are for the Weak.

The air in Nexus Wealth Management felt heavier today.

Maybe it was the tension that had lingered after my last conversation with Rakan. Or maybe it was the fact that I was now officially tangled in something I didn't fully understand.

I had left his office yesterday knowing one thing—I wasn't just an assistant anymore.

Whatever this was between us, whatever game he was playing, it wasn't going to end anytime soon.

I took a slow sip of my coffee, my fingers drumming against my desk as I reread the encrypted email he had sent me late last night.

Confidential files. Restricted access. Offshore accounts.

This was my first real look into the underbelly of his empire.

And I had two choices—do the work and pretend I didn't see the red flags… or walk away before I got in too deep.

A shadow passed near my desk, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I looked up, my stomach tensing as Camila walked by, her sharp heels clicking against the marble.

Her hazel eyes flickered toward me, just for a second.

Cold. Calculated. Knowing.

I straightened, refusing to let her see that she had unsettled me.

But the way she smiled—**tight, too perfect—**told me that she already had.

I had a bad feeling about today.

And I was rarely wrong.

I forced myself to focus, shifting my gaze back to the confidential files Rakan had sent me.

Hidden transactions. Offshore movements. Numbers that didn't quite add up.

The deeper I went, the more I realized… this wasn't just money. This was power.

"Careful, Quinn. Staring too long at the abyss, and it might stare back at you."

I jolted slightly at the voice, sharp yet smooth, like silk over steel.

Atlas.

He was leaning against the edge of my desk, one hand in his pocket, the other swirling a tumbler of whiskey he definitely wasn't supposed to have at work.

His suit was impeccable, dark and tailored to perfection. Classy. Collected. But there was something else. Something lurking beneath his smirk.

Something dangerous.

I arched a brow. "Day drinking now?"

He chuckled, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down. "It's after noon somewhere."

I exhaled, crossing my arms. "Do you need something?"

Atlas tilted his head, his sharp gray eyes flicking to my screen for just a fraction of a second.

Too fast. But I knew he had already memorized what I was working on.

His smirk deepened. "So, it's true then."

I frowned. "What is?"

He leaned in slightly, voice low, casual. "You're in."

A cold prickle ran up my spine. Not because of what he said—but because of how he said it.

Vague. Loaded. Like he knew exactly what Rakan had given me access to.

I held his gaze, refusing to blink. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Atlas smiled. Slow. Amused. Unconvinced.

"Of course you don't," he murmured.

Then, just as effortlessly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Leaving behind nothing but the scent of expensive cologne and a lingering sense of unease.

RAKAN'S POV.

I wasn't in the mood for this.

The second I saw Camila step into my office, her stride sharp, deliberate, a woman on a mission—I already knew how this conversation was going to go.

She closed the door behind her, crossing her arms. Waiting. Watching.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "What is it, Camila?"

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "That's all I get? After last night?"

I took a slow sip of my coffee, ignoring the heat that flickered at the edges of my mind. Last night had been intense, but it hadn't been about her.

She knew it. I knew it.

Camila exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "You left without a word, Rakan."

I looked up at her, my expression unreadable. "I had work."

Her jaw clenched. "You always have work."

Silence stretched between us, heavy and charged.

Then, in a quieter voice, she said, "You're different."

I set my cup down, my fingers tapping once against the desk. "You're imagining things."

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You forget how well I know you."

I leaned back in my chair, watching her. Calculating. Measuring.

Camila wasn't stupid. She felt the shift, the widening distance between us, the way I wasn't fully there even when I was with her.

Her voice dipped lower. "Is there someone else?"

The question hung between us like a loaded gun.

I could have lied. I could have told her what she wanted to hear.

But instead, I only exhaled, standing up. "Go home, Camila."

Her eyes darkened.

"You didn't answer me."

I met her gaze, my expression unwavering. "Because you already know the answer."

Something flickered in her face—hurt, anger, something close to desperation.

Then, she turned on her heels and walked out.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.

I had no interest in fighting battles I had already lost.

But the problem with unfinished wars?

They always found a way to start again.

The door slammed behind Camila, but I didn't flinch.

I leaned against my desk, fingers pressing into the polished wood, my mind somewhere else.

She had asked if there was someone else.

And I hadn't answered.

Because there was no point in lying. Camila wasn't a fool. She saw the shift, felt the space between us growing wider.

I exhaled sharply, grabbing my phone, scrolling through unread messages. None of them held my attention. Except one.

From Zaphyra Quinn.

Subject: Updated Reports

Message: Attached are the files you requested. Let me know if anything needs clarification.

Efficient. Direct. No wasted words.

I clicked on the attachment, skimming through the financial summaries, but I wasn't really reading.

My mind wasn't on the numbers.

It was on her.

How quickly she had adapted to my expectations. How effortlessly she had stepped into my world—calculating, precise, unfazed.

She should be afraid. She should have run by now.

And yet, she was still here. Still challenging me. Still resisting in the smallest, most infuriating ways.

I leaned back, staring at my screen, my jaw tightening.

This was a problem.

A problem I should fix before it got worse. Before she got too deep. Before I did.

Instead, I found myself typing a reply.

"My office. Now."

I hit send.

And as I waited for her to walk through my doors, a dangerous realization settled in my chest.

CAMILA POV.

I wasn't sure if I was testing her anymore.

Or if I was testing myself.

I walked out of Rakan's office, my heels clicking against the marble floor, my hands curled into fists.

He didn't deny it.

He didn't say the words, but I felt it. I saw it in his eyes, in the way he barely looked at me.

Something had shifted.

Someone else was in his head.

I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression composed as I passed through the executive level. People were watching—subtly, but watching.

Rakan Malik's fiancée storming out of his office was bound to raise eyebrows.

I wouldn't give them a reason to whisper. Not yet.

I reached the elevator, pressing the button, my heart pounding with a quiet, simmering rage.

I had been in Rakan's life for years. I had stood by him, understood him better than anyone. I knew what kind of man he was—what kind of power he held.

And I knew one thing for certain.

Men like Rakan didn't leave women like me.

Not for an assistant.

Not for a girl who had only just stepped into his world.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside, my pulse steadying. Fine. If he wanted to play this game, I would play it better.

But first—I needed to know exactly who I was dealing with.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers moving fast.

Camila: Find out everything you can on Zaphyra Quinn. Where she's from. Who she knows. What she's hiding.

I hit send.

Because if Rakan thought I would just step aside, he was wrong.

I read the email twice.

"My office. Now."

No explanation. No details. Just another command.

I exhaled, closing my laptop before grabbing my notepad and walking toward his office. This was becoming a pattern—him summoning me like I was at his beck and call.

But what bothered me more?

I kept going.

I pushed open the door, stepping inside—only to halt mid-step.

I wasn't alone with him.

Atlas was there, leaning against the desk with his usual air of ease, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

And across from him stood a woman I hadn't met before.

She was beautiful—polished, elegant, effortlessly poised. Dressed in a fitted navy dress, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder, her features sharp but softened by a deceptive kind of warmth.

She glanced at me, her lips tilting slightly. Assessing.

Rakan stood behind his desk, expression unreadable, his gaze flicking toward me only briefly before shifting back to Atlas.

"Ah," Atlas drawled, straightening. "The infamous Zaphyra Quinn."

My eyes narrowed. "Infamous?"

He chuckled. "You have a habit of making an impression."

I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

The woman stepped forward, extending a manicured hand. "Emily Carter. Head of Risk Management."

I shook it, keeping my grip firm. "Zaphyra Quinn."

She smiled, but there was something behind it. A quiet calculation. Like she was filing away information about me before I even spoke.

I glanced at Rakan, but he was already watching me, his gaze heavy with something I couldn't place.

I lifted my chin. "You asked for me, sir?"

Something flickered in his expression. Approval? Amusement? A challenge?

Then, in that deep, commanding voice, he said, "Close the door."

I shut the door behind me, the quiet click echoing in the tense atmosphere.

Emily shifted slightly, crossing her arms, while Atlas remained relaxed, as if this meeting was nothing more than a casual conversation.

Rakan motioned toward the large screen on the wall. "Sit."

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before moving toward the seat opposite Emily. Something felt different about this meeting. He wasn't just testing me this time.

This was something else.

Atlas took his time, pouring himself a drink before finally stepping forward. "Let's start with the accounts," he said smoothly, setting down his glass and pressing a button on the remote.

The screen lit up with a series of offshore bank statements, wire transfers, and coded transactions.

Numbers flashed before me, but they weren't ordinary figures.

Billions. Not millions. Billions.

"These accounts are strictly off-record," Emily explained, her voice level, professional. "Used for asset movements, political contributions, and… more delicate transactions."

I swallowed. "Delicate?"

Atlas smirked, but Rakan cut in before he could speak. "Do you understand what you're looking at, Quinn?"

I did.

Money that moved outside of regulated banks. Funds that could buy elections, wars, people.

And now, I was expected to manage them.

My hands tightened around my notepad. "This isn't exactly what I signed up for."

Rakan exhaled slowly, his gaze never wavering. "You're still here, aren't you?"

Before I could respond, Atlas clicked another button.

The screen changed.

The room fell into a deeper silence.

At first, I didn't understand what I was looking at.

Then—my stomach twisted.

A man. Tied to a chair. His face bruised, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. The dim light in the room cast eerie shadows over his swollen features.

His eyes were wide—terrified.

I sucked in a sharp breath. "What the hell is this?"

Atlas tucked his hands in his pockets, watching me carefully. "An example of what happens when someone gets greedy."

My skin turned cold. "This is real?"

Emily gave me a look. "Everything in this world is real, Miss Quinn."

The man on screen flinched as someone off-camera grabbed his hair, forcing his head back. A deep voice spoke, but the audio was muffled.

I didn't need to hear it to know it wasn't a pleasant conversation.

My pulse hammered. "You're showing me this because…?"

Rakan leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Because this is what you're walking into."

The room felt suffocating. The air thick with something dark and unspoken.

I had known Nexus Wealth Management was powerful. I had known Rakan Malik wasn't just a businessman.

But I hadn't expected this.

Atlas clicked off the video, plunging the room into silence once more.

I swallowed hard, gripping my notepad like it could anchor me.

Rakan's gaze burned into me, unrelenting. "Still think this is just a job, Miss Quinn?"

I should have stood up and walked out.

I should have said no.

But I didn't.

Because deep down, some twisted part of me knew—I wasn't leaving.