No Way Out

Celeste's POV

I didn't cry.

Not even when the ache in my chest tightened like a vise or when my trembling hand pressed over my wrist where his fingers had bruised more than just skin. I didn't let the tears fall.

But I did break.

For a few, breathless minutes after he left that office, I collapsed into the nearest chair and stared blankly at the wall. The adrenaline drained, leaving me with nothing but exhaustion and humiliation. I wanted to scream. Hit something. Hit him.

Instead, I stood up, adjusted my scarf with shaking fingers, and walked with forced calm toward Taissa's desk.

"I need to resign," I said flatly.

Taissa blinked up at me, her fingers stilling on her keyboard. "I—Miss Sinclair, I'm sorry, but... you signed a contract."

"I don't care," I snapped. "I want out."

She hesitated, biting her lip. "There's a one-year bond. It's... it was added because we were operating without a legal advisor for months and the last one disappeared without notice. It's enforceable. And... Aaron made sure it's airtight."

Of course he did.

I took a sharp breath and stormed past her.

"Wait, Miss Sinclair—he's in a meeting!" she called after me, but I was already pushing open the damn door.

Inside, four suited men turned to me in alarm. Aaron was seated at the head of the long glass table, impassive, hands steepled under his chin. That same cold glint in his eyes met mine.

"What now?" he said, voice deceptively calm.

"I need to speak to you. Alone."

He didn't move for a heartbeat.

Then, he leaned back in his chair. "Gentlemen, give us the room. Lock the door behind you."

They filed out silently, awkwardly, and the moment the click of the lock echoed, I rounded the table.

"I want to resign," I snapped.

He blinked. Once. A small tilt of his head. "Why?"

"You know why. This is absurd. You can't keep me here."

"Actually," he stood, slowly walking toward me, hands in pockets, that godforsaken smug look painting his face, "I can."

He was enjoying this.

"There's a bond," he continued. "You signed a contract binding you for one year. Any attempt to leave can be challenged legally. You of all people should know how binding this is."

"You planned this?"

"I didn't even know you'd be walking into my office, Sinclair," he said with a shrug. "But now that you have, you're staying."

"You're doing this to punish me," I accused.

"No. I'm doing this because you barged into my meeting, undermined protocol, and made it personal. I'm giving you the chance to prove you're worth the inconvenience."

I stared at him, fuming.

"There's another meeting in half an hour," he continued, walking back to the table and flipping open a file. "It's about the attack scandal. Our client has filed a case against us. Find a legal solution. And make it convincing."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm dead serious. And next time you burst in, make sure you have something more valuable to say than your resignation."

He didn't even look at me as he waved a hand toward the door. Dismissed.

I left before I could throw something.

Taissa was hovering near the door. "Miss Sinclair—"

I walked right past her without a glance.

When the meeting began, I was already seated, documents arranged, arguments rehearsed in my head. My heart still beat too fast, my pride still clawed at my throat, but I wasn't going to be the coward this time.

Aaron entered last.

Every step he took was calculated. Every glance was pressure. And he didn't look away from me.

I started the meeting with a brief analysis of the case, outlined the clauses that could potentially protect Thorne Security Solutions from direct accountability, and referenced a similar 2018 precedent in California.

"Technically," I continued, flipping to the next page, "as per clause 6.1, the company is responsible only until the client enters private property. The attack occurred in an unlisted location where surveillance was declined. That, and the client's refusal of full surveillance protocol, gives us leverage."

Aaron leaned back in his chair, watching.

"If we highlight the refusal and submit recorded communications that show we offered extended security options, the lawsuit weakens."

"And PR?" one board member asked.

"We release a statement clarifying our policies, emphasize the offered protection declined by the client, and show our track record. We let the press say it all before we have to."

Several nods.

Aaron just arched a brow.

Eye contact.

Brief.

But thick with something I didn't want to name.

Sarcasm, most likely.

He interrupted only once. "And if the client leaks confidential data?"

"Then we counter-sue under breach of agreement," I replied without flinching. "The non-disclosure was signed."

He nodded.

The meeting ended twenty minutes later. A few smiles. Some compliments. People left.

Only he stayed.

He walked over slowly, hands in pockets, stopping just across the table.

"Not bad," he said, tilting his head. "You almost looked like you belonged."

I rolled my eyes.

He smiled. Mocking. "Don't roll your eyes at me, Sinclair. You're not in a courtroom yet."

"You should try not provoking your employees."

"You should try not running from responsibilities."

We stared.

Then, he tossed a file onto the table. "My dad's been informed. He knows you're here."

My blood ran cold.

He smirked.

"Better come up with arguments as good as the ones you just gave. He's arriving tomorrow."

And with that, he turned and walked out.

Leaving me with panic gnawing its way through my stomach and one terrifying, undeniable truth:

There was no way out now.