“You went through hell to get in, didn’t you?” he prompted.
She remembered. The process had been efficient, but exacting. Every stage unlocked the next. Some elements were expected: transcripts, essays, IQ testing, full health and personality assessments, panel interviews. But scrutiny came in subtler forms. A string of formal dinners where nothing was explained, but everything was noted. Surprise speeches with no time to prepare. And once, a late-round summons to a boardroom—no instructions, no introductions, just twenty women and absolute silence.
“Not hell exactly,” Bea said.
Rafael slid her a knowing smirk. “The UR believes you can survive this place. You have to believe it, too.”
She stared at the food between them. Cooling with the moment. It felt ridiculous to tear up, but there she was. She couldn’t look at him. He’d see, and her pride wouldn’t let him.
“Once you do, she won’t have any power over you.”
Her hand tightened around the napkin. That shouldn’t have meant so much. But it did. It cracked something. Not all the way, just enough to breathe.
“Have you told King?”
She shook her head slowly.
“I see.” He checked his watch again. Stood. “I’ll walk you back, little Bea.”
Bea looked up. “Probably shouldn’t.”
That crooked smile made a return. Smug. Gorgeous. Completely uncalled for.
“Fair enough.” He took one last fry and turned to go. He walked, shoulders loose, controlled but always ready. Just before the turn, he glanced back, as if to make sure she was watching.
She gave him the smallest nod. Then the moment passed, and so did he.
RAFAEL
By the time Rafael reached his desk at Griffin Ventures, he was once again dressed like the skyline answered to him. The heavy door whispered shut behind him. He crossed the room and stood in front of the window.
Northgate rose before him. Just across the divide stood the King Global Capital building, proud and gleaming. Three meters shorter than this one.
Deliberately. His father’s little joke.
He’d finally seen her after weeks of knowing she was back. She’d looked paler than normal. Eyes dimmer. Like something was eating away at her, and she didn’t know he could feel it from ten meters away.
Rafael pressed the intercom.
Seconds later, his assistant walked in—broad, steady, the kind of man who could field a call and a Muay Thai elbow without blinking. Rafael didn’t hire assistants. He hired assets who could talk through a clause mid-sparring. Combat wasn’t just training, it was discipline. A necessity. A pressure valve.
“Beatriz Cruz is interning at Monaghan and Stowe. B-E-A-T-R-I-Z,” Rafael spelled it out. “Find out who’s consulting there in her department.”
Mark nodded. “Urgency level?”
“Yesterday.”
He left without another word. Rafael had asked him for stranger things before.
He’d heard about Bea’s plan to spend the entire summer back in Toronto. Known that Gage wasn’t the kind of man who let go of what was his for ten weeks without a plan to bring her back.
And he’d been right. Gage had found a way to make it clean. An internship that placed her exactly where he wanted her: within reach.
She hadn’t expected to see him today. She’d been a breath away from crying, though she hadn’t wanted him to know that. But she’d let him hear the doubt in her voice, see the vulnerability behind her eyes like a shadow.
She still didn’t quite trust him. Didn’t trust herself around him. Not the way she trusted Gage. Had from the beginning. Trusted his structure, his silence. The safety of a man who never made a wrong move. She’d fallen for Gage the way people fall for good advice—sensibly, like it would protect her from making a mistake. He could understand that. Even if it gutted him.
Fifty-two minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Mark stepped inside with a single sheet of paper.
