Chapter Six: Crossing Lines
Zara should've known better than to wander the executive rooftop garden alone. But after a day buried in strategy decks, confrontational memos, and terse directives from Damian Blackwood, her nerves had frayed like overused violin strings. The city lights blinked far below, casting golden reflections on the glass walls that surrounded her.
She exhaled, closing her eyes. The wind teased loose strands of her hair, and for the first time all day, she felt like herself. Just Zara Blake. Not a chess piece in Blackwood Global's war games.
"I had a feeling I'd find you up here."
She opened her eyes and turned.
Julian Dane stood at the edge of the walkway, leaning casually against the metal railing as if he owned the skyline. The wind tousled his golden-brown hair in that annoyingly perfect way, and his blazer was slung over one shoulder. Casual, disarming—and dangerous.
Zara straightened. "Following me now?"
"Not exactly. More like…checking on a colleague. You looked like you were about to throttle someone at the last board meeting."
She rolled her eyes but allowed herself a ghost of a smile. "Just trying to avoid a lawsuit."
Julian walked closer, his gaze searching hers. "Rough day?"
"Define rough."
"Damian again?"
Zara gave a noncommittal shrug, but Julian caught it. He always did.
"You know," he said, voice quieter now, "he's not invincible. I've known him for years. Blackwood likes to play god, but even gods bleed."
She stiffened. "Careful. That sounds almost personal."
Julian's grin didn't reach his eyes. "With Damian? It always is."
The silence between them thickened. Below, the city buzzed on, oblivious to the cold war brewing on its rooftops.
"You ever think you're too good for this place?" he asked.
Zara arched a brow. "You trying to flatter me, Dane?"
"No," he said simply. "I've read your work. Seen how fast you solve problems no one else wants to touch. Most people here are playing defense. You—you're building offense. It's different."
For a second, the compliment disarmed her more than any threat could.
"I do what I have to," she murmured.
His eyes darkened, unreadable. "Just be careful not to become what you're trying to survive."
Something in his tone made her stomach tighten. She glanced away.
"I should get back to work," she said.
Julian didn't move. "Come to dinner with me."
Zara blinked. "What?"
"Just food. No pitch, no gossip, no company drama. I know a place. Quiet. Real."
She hesitated. Her instinct screamed *No*. But her heart, traitorous and curious, whispered *Maybe*.
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. A message lit up the screen: **"Report to my office. Now. — D.B."**
Of course.
Julian glanced at it, then back at her. "Guess the king summons his queen."
She pocketed the phone. "I'm no one's queen."
"You keep telling yourself that," he said, stepping back. "Offer's still open."
---
Damian's office was all shadows and steel when she entered. He stood by the window, hands in his pockets, tension radiating off him like heat.
"You were with Dane," he said without turning.
It wasn't a question.
Zara didn't flinch. "We work in the same building."
He turned slowly, eyes glinting. "He's not just being friendly. You know that, right?"
"What does it matter?" she challenged. "Unless you're making it part of my job description—who I talk to on my personal time."
A muscle in Damian's jaw twitched.
"You're too smart to play naïve."
"And you're too smart to play jealous."
The silence crackled. Damian stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
"He's not what he pretends to be," he said. "He wants leverage. You're not a prize, Zara. Don't let him treat you like one."
She held her ground, pulse thundering. "And what am I to you?"
He didn't answer. But the way his gaze dropped to her lips spoke louder than words.
Then, just as quickly, he turned away. "Go home. Tomorrow's war starts early."
Zara left, but the echo of his stare clung to her all the way to the elevator.
And somewhere in the night, a line had been crossed.
Not by Julian.
By both of them.