Chapter 2

Chloe's POV

The security guards stepped closer, their polite smiles not masking the threat in their eyes. My heart hammered against my ribs as panic clawed at my throat, but I forced myself to stay calm. Think, Chloe. Think.

"Wait." I kept my voice steady even as my pulse raced. "Before you do anything you'll regret, you should know the video's already uploaded to cloud storage. If anything happens to me tonight, my friend has instructions to send it to every media outlet in the city by morning."

The lie came out smooth as silk. I watched Julian's face carefully—his smug expression faltered, just for a second.

"You're bluffing," he said, but uncertainty crept into his voice.

"Am I?" I met his gaze, channeling every ounce of steel I'd learned in Paris. "Try me. Touch me, and by tomorrow morning you'll be trending on every platform. Your IPO will tank before the opening bell. Your investors will run. And your father will know exactly who to blame."

The silence stretched taut. One of the security guards shifted, glancing at Julian for direction.

Julian's jaw clenched, his face mottled red with rage and something else—fear. He knew I was right. In this world, reputation was everything.

"Get out," he finally spat. "Now. Before I change my mind."

I didn't need to be told twice. I turned toward the door, and this time the guards stepped aside. I walked through on legs that threatened to buckle, forcing myself to move with measured steps even as every instinct screamed at me to run.

I made it maybe twenty feet down the corridor before I heard Julian's voice behind me, low and venomous: "This isn't over, Chloe. Your uncle will hear about this."

I kept walking, my breath coming faster now. The Silver Level suddenly felt too bright, too crowded. I needed to get out. Now.

I turned the corner toward the elevators, and nearly collided with someone standing in the hallway.

"Ms. Vance."

I looked up sharply. A man in an impeccable dark suit stood before me, the kind of professional polish that screamed expensive security detail. Recognition hit me like a punch to the gut.

Marcus. Arthur's assistant.

"I'm fine," I managed, though my voice came out shakier than I'd intended. "I can find my own way out."

"I'm afraid I must insist, Ms. Vance." Marcus's expression remained neutral, but there was steel beneath the courtesy. His eyes flicked over my shoulder, and something cold crossed his face. "Mr. Sterling has requested your presence. This way, please."

Behind me, I heard footsteps—heavy, purposeful. Julian's guards, probably coming to make sure I really left. Or worse, to search me for the phone with the video.

Marcus didn't wait for my response. He placed a light hand on my elbow and guided me toward a different elevator—not the main one I'd used earlier, but a smaller, private one tucked into an alcove. The kind that required a key card.

"Wait—" I started, but Marcus had already swiped his card. The doors opened immediately.

"This way is safer," he said quietly, ushering me inside. The doors slid shut, cutting off Julian's guards who'd just rounded the corner.

I sagged against the wall as my carefully constructed composure finally cracked. My hands were shaking so badly I had to clasp them together. "Where are we going?"

"The Obsidian Level," Marcus said calmly, watching the floor numbers climb. "Mr. Sterling is waiting."

No. Panic surged through me. "I didn't agree to this. Take me to the lobby."

"I'm afraid Mr. Russo's security team has already been alerted to watch the main exits." Marcus's tone was professional, almost apologetic. "If you exit through the lobby, there will be complications."

They'd confiscate my phone, delete the evidence, and discover I'd been bluffing about the cloud backup all along.

The elevator chimed softly as we reached the top floor.

The doors opened onto a world I'd tried so hard to forget.

The Obsidian Level was nothing like the flashy excess of the Silver Floor. Here, everything was muted elegance—dark wood paneling, soft lighting that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, thick carpet that swallowed sound. The air itself felt heavier, like the weight of old money pressing down.

Marcus stepped out, and after a moment's hesitation, I followed. What choice did I have?

We walked down a hallway lined with abstract art. Private rooms branched off on either side, their doors closed, hiding whatever deals or secrets lay beyond.

Marcus stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall—larger than the others, made of dark wood with brass fixtures. He knocked once, then opened it.

"Ms. Vance, sir."

He stepped aside, and I had no choice but to walk through.

The room was stunning in its simplicity. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, Manhattan's lights spreading out like a carpet of stars. The furniture was all clean lines and dark leather, expensive but understated. A bar cart held crystal decanters filled with amber liquid.

And standing by the window, silhouetted against the city lights, was Arthur Sterling.

He didn't turn around immediately. Just stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of scotch. Even from behind, his presence filled the room—that same overwhelming force that had always made me feel small and protected and terrified all at once.

"Thank you, Marcus," he said quietly. "That will be all."

I heard the door close behind me with a soft click.

We were alone.

My pulse hammered in my ears as Arthur finally turned to face me. The city lights behind him cast his features in shadow, but I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and assessing.

He looked exactly as I remembered—sharp jawline, cold gray eyes, that mouth that could be cruel or tender depending on his mood. His black suit was perfectly tailored, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone, tie loosened. The posture of a man who'd been in meetings all day and couldn't be bothered to maintain appearances anymore.

I lifted my chin, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "What am I doing here, Arthur?"

"Saving you from your own recklessness." He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. "Did you really think you could walk into Julian Russo's territory alone, threaten him in front of his men, and walk out unscathed?"

"I had it under control."

"Did you?" He set his glass down on a side table with deliberate precision. "From where I stood, it looked like you were about to be cornered by security."

Heat flooded my cheeks—anger and embarrassment mixing into something toxic. He'd been watching. Of course he'd been watching. Arthur always watched, always knew, always had to be in control.

"I didn't ask for your help."

He studied me for a long moment, and I fought the urge to look away. To run. To do anything except stand here under the weight of his attention. Those gray eyes saw too much, stripped away every defense I'd built in two years.

"We need to talk about your spectacularly stupid engagement to Julian Russo." He picked up his glass again, swirling the amber liquid. "When were you planning to tell me you were getting married?"

My heart stuttered. How long has he known?

"I don't owe you an explanation about my life."

"Chloe." His voice dropped, became something dangerous. Something that made my pulse race for entirely different reasons.

"I raised you for ten years. And this is how you repay me?"