“Victor’s nephew. Planted inside my organization a decade ago, rising through the ranks, biding his time until he could inflict maximum damage.” The betrayal still burned, even now. “The substandard materials, the bribes, the cover-ups — all of it was Victor’s operation, running through my company without my knowledge.”
Emilia’s expression hardened. “And you expect me to believe you had no idea your CFO was corrupt?”
“I expect you to investigate.” I met her gaze steadily. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Follow the evidence. I’ll give you complete access to my records — everything, even knowing that access could destroy me, and that withholding it would destroy yourtrust. If you find proof that I knew about Hartley’s activities, print it. I won’t stop you.”
Silence stretched between us. I could hear my own heartbeat, could feel the weight of everything I’d just revealed pressing against my chest like a physical force.
“Why tell me this now?” Her voice was softer than I’d expected. “You could have buried it. Paid people off. Done what men like you always do.”
“Men like me.” I stepped toward her, close enough to catch her scent — something floral beneath the sharpness of her determination. “You still think you know what kind of man I am.”
“I’m starting to.” Her hand rose, hesitated, then pressed against my chest. Right over my heart. “You’re terrified. Not of Victor, not of the investigation — of being seen. Really seen. The broken parts along with the polished surface.”
I covered her hand with mine. “And what do you see?”
“A man who built walls so high he forgot there was anything behind them.” Her fingers curled into my shirt. “A man who thinks vulnerability equals weakness, when it actually requires more strength than anything else.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“I rarely am.”
Despite everything — the threats, the revelations, the impossibility of whatever this was between us — I laughed. A real laugh, rusty from disuse but genuine.
“There’s something else.” I pulled back slightly, needing the space to say what came next. “When I was building my empire, I made compromises. Not illegal ones, but ethical gray areas. Deals that prioritized profit over people. Communities displaced because I decided their neighborhood was worth more as condos than as homes.”
“The Logan Square development.”
She knew. Of course she knew.
“Three years ago. I bought four square blocks — back when the streets still held the faded grocery signs and corner bakeries I remembered from childhood, before the moving trucks started lining the curbs. Eighty-seven families displaced. Most of them couldn’t afford to stay in the area.” I forced myself to hold her gaze. “I told myself it was business. Just business. But I knew those streets. I knew what it meant to lose the only place that felt like yours.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you deserve to know who you’re defending. If you’re going to stand beside me against Victor — against everyone who wants to destroy both of us — you need to understand what kind of man I really am.” I exhaled. “Not the billionaire in the tailored suits. Not the cold strategist everyone fears. Just this. The kid who broke his father’s jaw. The man who bulldozed his own history for profit. The same man who looks at you and sees something worth protecting, even when you don’t want protecting.”
Emilia was quiet for a long moment. The city glittered behind me, indifferent to the confession unfolding in this room.
“You’re a complication,” she finally said.
“So are you.”
“I came here expecting to find another angle for my story. Another piece of evidence to use against you.” She shook her head, something like wonder in her expression. “Instead, you gave me the truth. All of it.”
“Not all of it.”
Her eyebrow arched.
“I haven’t told you that I think about you constantly. That you’ve gotten under my skin in a way no one else has managed. That watching you fight for the truth, watching you refuse to back down even when powerful men try to break you—” Istopped, the words tangled in my throat. “It undoes me, Emilia. You undo me.”
She moved before I could register the intention, closing the distance between us with a deliberateness that made my breath catch. Her hands found my lapels, gripping the expensive fabric like an anchor.
“You infuriate me.” Her voice was low, rough. “You make decisions for me without asking. You throw money at problems and expect them to disappear. You look at me like I’m something precious when I’ve spent my entire career proving I don’t need to be handled.”
“I know.”
“And despite all of that—” She pulled me down until our foreheads touched, her breath warm against my lips. “Despite all of that, I’m still here. What does that say about me?”
“That you see things other people miss.” I held her gaze. “And that you don’t walk away from them.”
