Chapter Eleven: Secrets Under Glass

The hush in Blackwood Tower's lobby was rare—an eerie stillness that followed the departure of a storm. Sebastian Hale had left behind more than a scandalous grin and a trail of expensive cologne. He'd left questions. Lots of them.

Zara stared at the sealed elevator doors long after they closed, her thoughts a whirlwind of unease and intrigue. Sebastian's smirk had held knowledge. Of her. Of Damian. And something else she couldn't place. He knew more than he let on.

She barely noticed Morgan approaching until the older woman gently cleared her throat.

"Mr. Blackwood asked for you," Morgan said, voice crisp. But her eyes lingered on Zara's face longer than necessary, as if cataloguing every flicker of reaction. "His private suite."

Zara blinked. "Suite?"

Morgan offered the ghost of a smile. "Top floor. There are levels to loyalty, Blake. You're being ushered into another."

---

The elevator required both a security badge and a retina scan.

When the doors slid open on the penthouse floor, Zara stepped into another world.

Gone were the cold lines and clinical minimalism of the office floors. Here, sleek marble gave way to warm hardwood, modern art adorned the walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city skyline bathed in fading gold. A fireplace flickered quietly beneath a massive flat screen, and the soft strains of classical music floated from hidden speakers.

Zara crossed the room slowly, her heels silent against the oak floor. Damian stood at the far end, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glass in hand, staring out at the horizon.

"Is this where you hide when the empire gets noisy?" she asked.

He didn't turn. "This is where I go when I need clarity. Or quiet. Today, I need both."

She waited. He said nothing.

So she crossed the final few steps and stopped beside him. "You knew he would come."

"Of course I did," Damian said coolly. "Sebastian Hale always makes an entrance when the stakes are highest. He enjoys disruption."

Zara folded her arms. "And what does he want from you?"

He turned to her now, eyes darker than usual. "It's not what he wants from me. It's what he wants from us."

There it was again—that ambiguous 'us.'

Zara took the drink from his hand and sipped without asking. His brows lifted slightly.

"He knows things," she said. "About me. About the past. About... this."

Damian took the glass back, their fingers brushing.

"He always does. Sebastian deals in secrets."

She glanced around. "And what secrets are you keeping up here, Damian?"

The air between them tightened.

He took a step closer. "Do you want the truth, Zara? Or the version that keeps you safe?"

The way he said her name—not Blake, not Assistant, not some veiled taunt—made her breath hitch.

She didn't answer. Not aloud. But her silence invited the next moment.

Damian closed the space between them. His fingers brushed her jaw, traced the edge of her face like a sculptor memorizing his favorite work.

"If you stay in this world," he murmured, voice low, "you need to understand that loyalty is a currency. And secrets are weapons."

Zara met his gaze. "Then teach me to use them."

Something unreadable flickered in his expression—pride, warning, maybe even fear.

But before he could speak, a knock shattered the moment.

Damian stepped back. "Enter."

Morgan swept in, holding a slim black folder. Her eyes flicked between them but she said nothing.

"We have an update on the Paris breach," she said. "And something... else."

Zara straightened. "What kind of something else?"

Morgan handed the folder to Damian. He flipped it open, eyes scanning quickly, then paused.

"The file you flagged," he said slowly, turning to Zara. "You said the data had a ghost trail. A remote ping from Paris."

She nodded. "Yes. A partial mirror. Someone tried to copy it remotely, but the connection was severed."

Damian laid the page flat. "That server wasn't just accessed. It was duplicated. And guess who had clearance?"

He turned the folder to face her.

At the top was a name.

Zara Blake.

Her blood ran cold.

"That's impossible," she said. "I didn't—I mean, I accessed the server, but I never authorized a transfer."

Morgan spoke gently but firmly. "Then someone used your credentials. Or your device."

Damian's jaw tightened. "We have two problems. One, there's a leak inside my inner circle. Two, someone wants Zara framed for it."

Zara's voice was a whisper. "Who would do that?"

A pause. Then Damian looked toward the city skyline again, but his words landed heavy.

"Sebastian Hale is back in New York. And he never moves without a plan."

Zara clutched the edge of the desk.

Sebastian's grin. The way he'd looked at her. Like he was already playing a game she hadn't even joined.

Morgan added, "He has the means. And if he can discredit you, he'll isolate Damian. Then pick off the rest."

Zara swallowed. "Then we need to find out what he wants."

Damian locked eyes with her. "No. We need to make sure he never gets it."

Another knock.

A junior assistant entered with wide eyes and a trembling phone in hand. "Sir, there's a live feed on our internal monitors. Someone hijacked the PR network."

He set the phone on the table and pressed play.

The screen lit up.

Sebastian Hale.

Broadcasting from a rooftop. Champagne glass in hand.

"To old friends, new enemies, and the secrets that bind them."

He smiled at the camera.

"Blackwood Enterprises, your reckoning begins now."

The screen went black.

Zara felt the chill in her bones.

Whatever game had started... it just went public.