Page 38 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
"By resigning? That's not handling it, Chanel. That's running."
The words hit harder than I intended. Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow.
"I don't run."
"Then don't start now." I soften my tone, aware we're still in enemy territory. "The security breach is real. Someone is targeting you specifically. And now they're escalating. Taking it public."
She studies me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter.
"Who was that in there?"
"What do you mean?"
"That version of you." Her eyes search mine. “I’ve never seen that man before."
I hold her gaze, understanding what she's asking. The darkness I’ve learned to hide. My father’s son.
"That's the man who built Novare," I say finally. "The man I never wanted you to see."
Something passes across her face—not fear, exactly. Something more complex. "Why?"
"Because he's not the man you married. He's the one I kept leashed. The one who would have scared you. The one who still might."
She doesn't respond immediately, just studies me with those perceptive eyes that always see too much.
“Do you still think this is Megan? What are we going to do about it?”
I glance around—the hallway is empty, but glass walls make privacy an illusion.
"Not here."
She follows my gaze, understanding immediately. "Your office. One hour."
"The penthouse," I counter. "After close. This conversation needs to happen away from corporate eyes."
She hesitates, weighing options and the risks. "Fine. Seven o'clock."
"I'll send a car."
"I'll drive myself."
I don't argue. Some battles aren't worth fighting. "Seven, then."
She nods once, then enters the elevator without looking back. I watch her go, the familiar ache settling in my chest—the weight of all we've become to each other.
Strangers with history. Allies without trust. Parents without partnership.
My phone vibrates. Collins:Security update. Need to see you ASAP.
I send a quick confirmation, then take a last look at Chanel as the doors slide closed before heading for the stairs. Whatever Collins found, it can't wait. The timeline is accelerating.
And I’m trying to outpace the truth I've buried—the one that could reveal the lie I told to set Chanel free. The one I know she’ll find unforgivable.
Tyson and Collins are waiting in my office, faces tight with the edge of men who hate delivering bad news.
"What did you find?" I ask, not bothering with preliminaries.
Collins hands me a tablet. "The access logs from last night. All tagged with Ms. Warren's credentials."
