The words blurred on Adrian's phone even though I was staring right at them.
PARTNER: LENA HART — CONFIRMED
That wasn't a mistake.That wasn't a glitch.Someone had hit Confirm like dropping a match in a room full of gasoline.
My lungs forgot how to function.
"Adrian," I whispered, "that can't be official. Right? It's—it's just a file. A label. A placeholder—"
"It isn't a placeholder," he said quietly.
Then he crossed the space between us.
Not panicked.Not rushed.Just controlled, intentional steps that made my heart pound even harder.
"You need to sit down."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I'm— I'm just processing."
"You're about to pass out," he corrected.
And okay, he wasn't wrong, because my legs did feel suspiciously decorative.
He guided me—not touching, but close enough I followed without thinking—to a low-backed sofa near a wall of glass overlooking the city.
I sank down. The room swayed.
Adrian crouched in front of me, phone still in hand, brows drawn in a way I'd never seen from him. Not anger. Not annoyance.
Concern.
"Lena," he said, voice lower, steadier. "You need to breathe."
I dragged in air. It didn't stay.
"Again."
I tried. Failed.
"It isn't binding," he said. "Not legally."
"That's… supposed to help?"
"It's only binding if both parties sign the real agreement."
"Which I didn't," I said, shaky. "I didn't sign anything. I barely read the stupid thing."
"You didn't," he said. "Which means this update is unauthorized."
"Unauthorized but still there."
"Yes."
"And visible to everyone with access to that system."
"Yes."
I shut my eyes. "Oh God."
"Lena."
His voice dropped another notch, almost gentle. It did something to my chest.
"This isn't your fault," he said. "This is someone pushing a narrative—and they used the fastest lever they had."
"Me."
"No." His jaw flexed. "Us."
Heat shot through me at the word. Not romantic heat. Panic heat. Dangerous heat.
"I didn't ask to be part of an 'us,'" I said weakly.
"You weren't given a choice."
"Neither were you."
He didn't deny it.
Another crash of silence hit us, heavy and electric.
"Adrian," I whispered, "if that system labels me as your partner… tomorrow, the board will assume it's real."
"They will."
"And if they think it's real—"
"They'll use it."
"To do what?"
His eyes lifted to mine.
"To test me," he said. "To corner me. To see which decisions you influence, or appear to influence."
I choked out a laugh that wasn't a laugh. "I influence nothing. I can barely manage my meal prep."
His mouth twitched. Barely.
"You influence everything," he said.
My pulse didn't know whether to faint or sprint.
"Not because you're involved," he said. "But because they think you are."
"So what do we do?" I whispered.
Adrian looked down at the phone again, jaw grinding as he studied the timestamp.
04:12 A.M.
"I need to know who did this," he said. "Someone with credentialed access. Someone inside."
"Grace?" I asked.
"Possibly."
"Markus?"
"Possibly."
"What about… the board?"
His expression chilled. "Almost definitely."
I swallowed. Hard.
"So I'm a chess piece."
"You're not a piece," he said sharply. "You're a target."
"Oh, good," I blurted. "That's so much better."
He ignored the sarcasm. "We can handle this. But for now, you're going to stay here. No arguments."
I stared at him. "You think I'm going to wander out into the night like an idiot after someone literally tried to listen through the floor?"
"Lena," he said, "the last twenty-four hours have proven you absolutely would."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Okay, maybe he had a point.
He rose from his crouch slowly, tension rolling off him like heat.
"I'll call Ethan," he said. "He'll pull the access logs for every system that touches the Personal Agreement file."
"At four in the morning?"
"Yes."
"He's going to hate you."
"He already hates me."
"Fair."
Adrian's gaze lifted to mine again. Something unreadable flickered there.
"He'll also wake up the legal team," he said. "We need this documented before anyone alters it again."
"But won't waking everyone tip off whoever did it?"
"Yes."
"Then why—"
"Because we need to tip them," he said, voice dropping. "Whoever did this wants chaos. If I react publicly, they'll make their next move faster."
"And you want them to."
"I want them exposed."
My breath wobbled. "Adrian… isn't that risky?"
"For me?" he said. "Yes."
"And for me?"
His gaze hardened. "You'll be with me."
That shouldn't have calmed me.It did anyway.Which was its own problem.
He took out his phone and stepped toward the corner of the room, dialing. He spoke quietly—controlled, clipped, all CEO steel—but I could catch fragments.
"…log every keystroke...wake Elise...lock the file...I don't care what time it is…"
I hugged myself on the sofa, staring at the city lights like they might offer answers. They didn't.
Whoever was doing this wasn't afraid of Adrian.Or maybe they were—and that was the whole point.Push him. Corner him. Force him into a mistake he couldn't undo.
And they were using me to do it.
My chest twisted.
I didn't choose any of this.I didn't want to be dragged into this world.And yet—some terrible, inconvenient part of me understood why Adrian didn't want me out of his sight.
Because the more I learned,the more dangerous it becamefor both of us.
He ended the call and returned to me.
"Lena."
"Yes?"
"There's something else."
Of course there was. There was always something else.
"What now?" I asked, bracing.
He hesitated.
Adrian Cole did not hesitate.
"Say it," I whispered.
He finally exhaled. "Because the system thinks you're my partner… you're going to receive a notification in the morning."
"What kind of notification?"
He didn't soften the words.
"A calendar invite."
"…Okay?"
"For the board luncheon."
My stomach plunged. "The one that requires your partner?"
"Yes."
"And everyone will see it?"
"Yes."
"And they'll expect—"
"They'll expect you to walk in with me."
The world tilted.
"Adrian— I can't— I don't belong there. I don't even own shoes that qualify as board-meeting footwear."
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters! They'll know I'm not supposed to be there."
"They won't," he said. "Because someone very much wants them to think you are."
My throat tightened. "Adrian… if I go in there with you, it'll make things worse."
"For who?" he asked quietly.
I couldn't answer.
He stepped closer again. Too close. Always too close.
"Listen to me," he said. "You're not going alone. You're not speaking. You're not answering questions. You're going to sit beside me, and you're going to let them look."
"I hate this," I whispered.
"I know."
His voice dipped.
"I hate that you were dragged in."
A tiny, aching pause.
"I hate that I can't pull you out."
My breath tangled.
Then—
A chime.
From his wall panel.
A security alert—sharp, metallic, slicing through the quiet.
Adrian's head snapped toward it, all softness gone.
"What is that?" I whispered.
"Motion," he said, voice turning to ice. "On the private elevator."
A beat.
He looked at me.
"Lena," he said. "Stay behind me."