"Dinner?" Jake repeated, leaning against the glass partition of Samantha's office, his eyes searching hers.
Samantha didn't look up from the file she was reviewing. "Yes. A private dinner. Marcus Reed requested it himself."
Jake's brow furrowed. "You're going?"
Her lips curved faintly, but her gaze stayed on the page. "Of course. He's dangerous, influential, and annoyingly curious. It would be rude to say no."
Jake crossed his arms, his tone caught between irritation and concern. "You don't owe him anything, Sam. You know that, right?"
Finally, she looked up — calm, measured, but with that glimmer in her eyes that always made him feel like he was standing too close to a flame. "I don't owe him. But I need to know what game he's playing. Marcus doesn't move without a motive."
He hesitated. Then softer, "Then have dinner with me instead. Tonight."
For a second, her pen stilled. The faintest flicker crossed her face — surprise, maybe, or guilt — but it was gone as quickly as it came.
"I can't, Jake." Her voice was steady, apologetic but firm. "This meeting could be important for Elevate. For both of us."
"Sam—"
"Please," she cut in gently, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't make this personal."
But the problem was, for Jake, it already was.
---
The restaurant Marcus chose wasn't just private — it was power draped in velvet and candlelight. A rooftop view of the skyline, a pianist playing something soft, low, almost taunting.
Samantha arrived precisely on time, every movement calculated. The crimson gown she wore caught the light like fire on silk.
Marcus stood as she approached, his smile slow and knowing. "Ms. Bradley. You wear command as easily as most wear perfume."
She smirked lightly. "And you wear flattery like armor. Shall we?"
He gestured to the seat opposite him. "You know, most people would've turned down my invitation after the ZenithTech debacle."
"I'm not most people."
He laughed quietly. "No. You're not."
Dinner was a duel disguised as conversation — every word a test, every silence a weapon.
Marcus leaned back, studying her. "You've built Elevate into a global force in less than a decade. Impressive for someone who prefers shadows to headlines."
Samantha sipped her wine, eyes sharp. "Headlines fade. Legacy doesn't."
He tilted his glass toward her. "You sound like someone who's been burned before."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "We've all been burned. Some of us just learned to control the fire."
Marcus's gaze deepened, his tone shifting, quieter now. "Tell me, Samantha — do you ever wonder what you'd be without the revenge? Without the control?"
She paused. For a fleeting second, the mask cracked.
Then, just as smoothly, she placed her glass down. "Empty questions for a full plate, Mr. Reed. Eat before your curiosity grows cold."
He chuckled softly. "Touché."
But before the evening ended, his voice lowered again. "You and I — we're not so different. We both build empires out of other people's greed."
Her smirk returned, colder this time. "Perhaps. But the difference is — I don't lie to myself about it."
Marcus's eyes glittered. "And that's why I like you."
Outside, the city lights flickered, reflecting off the glass. Somewhere, unseen, someone was already watching — and taking pictures.
---
Back at Elevate, Jake sat alone in his office, a bottle of bourbon half-empty beside him. He wasn't usually one for scrolling headlines, but tonight he couldn't look away.
His phone buzzed with notifications — financial blogs, social media posts — all splashed with the same images:
Samantha Bradley and Marcus Reed seen dining privately at La Sereine.
Power moves or power couple?
He stared at one photo in particular — the way Marcus leaned close across the table, Samantha's faint smile unreadable but intimate enough to make something inside Jake twist.
He shut the screen off with a sharp motion. For years, he'd stood beside her, defended her, carried pieces of her anger when she couldn't show it. And now?
Now he wasn't sure if she trusted him at all.
---
It was close to midnight when Samantha returned to the penthouse. She slipped off her heels, setting them by the door — only to find Jake sitting on the couch, half in shadow, eyes red-rimmed, the bourbon still in his hand.
"Jake?" she asked softly.
He looked up, his voice rough. "Do you even trust me anymore, Sam?"
She froze for a moment, caught off guard by the quiet ache in his tone.
"I trust you," she said finally. "You're the only one I do."
He stood, crossing the room slowly until they were barely a breath apart. "Then why does it feel like you're shutting me out? Like you're letting him in instead?"
Her expression wavered — just a second — before she found her composure again. "Because, Jake… you want to protect me from a world I've already learned to survive."
He exhaled shakily. "And what if I don't want to protect you? What if I just want you?"
The words hung between them, heavy, electric.
Samantha's lips parted, but no sound came.
Jake reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "You're not the same girl I met years ago," he whispered. "And I know that. But… I wish you'd let me find her again."
She looked up at him — and in his eyes, she saw something she'd spent years avoiding: honesty.
"Don't expect me to be her," she murmured. "That girl died the moment I learned the cost of trust."
Jake hesitated — then, with a soft, desperate motion, he kissed her.
It wasn't planned, or gentle. It was the kind of kiss born from years of tension and unspoken pain — the kind that felt like both a confession and a mistake.
For a heartbeat, Samantha froze — then slowly pulled back.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Jake stepped away first, his breath unsteady. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head faintly. "Don't be."
But her voice cracked just slightly, and that said more than anything else could.
---
The next morning, Samantha was back in her office — immaculate, composed, as though nothing had happened.
When Jake walked in, she greeted him with the same professional calm as always. "Morning, Jake. I need the numbers from Zenith's withdrawal and Reed's proposal side-by-side."
He hesitated, searching her face for any trace of last night. There was none.
"Right," he said finally, his tone clipped. "I'll have them ready."
She didn't look up. "Thank you."
That was it. That was all.
The wall between them had never felt higher.
---
By noon, another unexpected visitor arrived.
"Nick Carter," her assistant announced.
Samantha glanced up, slightly surprised. "Send him in."
Nick entered the room, confident as ever, though the faintest trace of unease lingered in his eyes.
"I came to ask a favor," he said.
"Another one?" she teased lightly.
He ignored it. "There's a charity event this weekend — for Naomi's foundation. The board wants Elevate represented. I was hoping you'd accompany me."
Samantha leaned back, considering. "You're not short of charming company, Nick. Why me?"
He smiled faintly. "Because I trust you to tell me the truth. Even when I don't want to hear it."
Her gaze softened, just slightly. "You sure about that?"
"No," he admitted. "But I'm willing to take the risk."
She nodded slowly. "All right. I'll go."
He exhaled, relieved. "Good. I'll send the details."
As he left, Samantha watched him go — and in the reflection of her office glass, she caught another figure across the street, watching from a parked car.
Marcus Reed.
A smirk played at his lips as he lowered his sunglasses. He'd seen Nick walk out, and that was all he needed to know.
The board was set.
The game was shifting again.
And this time, it wasn't just business.
It was personal.