“What had you so lost in thought earlier?” he asks, voice deceptively casual.
I consider deflecting but settle for honesty. “I was looking into corporate exploitation of refugee workers. The evidence is there, but…”
“But?”
“I can’t seem to find the drive to pursue it.” The admission tastes bitter. “Everything feels different now. After my father, after everything—the passion isn’t there anymore.”
Remy turns me to face him, his expression intent. “Is it the passion that’s missing, or are you afraid of what pursuing another investigation might cost?”
“Both. Neither.” I pull away, pacing the kitchen. “Before, any lead to take down my father felt urgent, necessary. Now I second-guess every lead, every motivation.”
“Tell me about the refugees,” he says, leaning against the counter.
“What?”
“The refugees. What drew you to their story?”
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Companies are exploiting their desperation, paying them half what citizens make, threatening deportation if they complain. One woman lost three fingers in a meat processing plant and couldn’t even seek proper medical care.”
“And how does that make you feel?” His tone isn’t mocking—it’s surgical, precise.
“Angry,” I snap. “Furious that people with nothing left to lose are being—” I stop, catching his knowing look. “You’re manipulating me.”
“I’m reminding you who you are.” He approaches slowly. “Your father didn’t create your sense of justice, Eve. He just gave you a target.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No?” Remy raises an eyebrow. “Then why did your heart rate increase when you talked about that woman? Why are your hands clenched right now?”
I look down, surprised to find my fingers curled into fists. “Because it’s wrong.”
“Because you still care.” He cups my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “The drive isn’t gone, love. You’re just afraid of what happens when you embrace it again.”
“The last time I followed my conscience, people died. Roberto died.”
“And yet you’d do it all again, wouldn’t you?” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Because the truth matters more than fear.”
The certainty in his voice breaks something loose in my chest. “How do you understand this part of me so well?”
“Because I’ve watched you fight for justice since the day we met.” His smile holds a hint of darkness. “It’s what drew me to you then and what keeps me fascinated now. Wanting to help you.”
I tilt my head, studying Remy’s expression. “So you’re offering to help with my investigations now? That’s quite a change, don’t you think?”
“Don’t mistake evolution for weakness,” he warns, but his eyes spark with dark humor. “I’ve simply learned that containing you is impossible. Better to contain your chaos than fight it.”
“My chaos?” I arch an eyebrow, stepping closer. “If I recall correctly, you contributed plenty of chaos yourself.”
“That was different.” His fingers brush my hip, a possessive gesture that sends heat through my body. “I was protecting an asset.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
His grip tightens. “You know exactly what you were to me then. What you are to me now.”
“Enlighten me.” I press my palm against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. “What exactly am I to you, Remy Harding?”
“A liability. A weakness.” His voice drops lower, dangerous. “And the only person I trust.”
The admission catches me off guard. “You’re serious about this collaboration?”
