Beneath Still Water

Chapter 3

Celina

Celina Sheppard was not intimidated by powerful men.

She’d grown up in tents, ruins, foreign cities where men twice her size spoke five languages she didn’t yet understand and assumed she was invisible. You learned quickly, in places like that, to take up space or be erased.

So when the elevator doors slid open and he stepped in, she didn’t shrink.

She lifted her coffee and took a deliberate sip instead.

The doors closed.

The air changed.

Tall. Dark. Severe jaw. Suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent—if she had rent. Green eyes that flicked to her and tightened in unmistakable recognition.

Pool-man.

The one who had jumped into the water like he was chasing ghosts.

She angled her body slightly toward him, curious and unapologetic.

“Well,” she said. “If this isn’t fate trying way too hard.”

His jaw clenched.

“You work here,” he said.

“Yes.” She pressed the button for the research floors.

“Research support. Temporary position. Before you ask—no, I don’t need a lecture.”

His gaze followed her finger, then snapped back to her face.

“Research,” he repeated.

“Mm-hmm.” She smiled sweetly. “Global Heritage and Cultural Preservation. I help translate source material, catalogue site data, and clean up academic messes. You’d be surprised how many people mislabel ancient Syriac.”

Something flickered in his eyes—interest, she thought with satisfaction.

But he masked it quickly.

“You’re squatting on private property,” he said.

“And you’re standing very close for someone who fled the scene,” she shot back.

Silence snapped between them.

The elevator began its slow ascent.

She could feel him watching her, heavy and assessing, like he was trying to decide whether she was a problem or a temptation.

She refused to make it easy.

“You keep rescuing women who don’t need saving,” she added lightly. “Or was I a one-time heroic impulse?”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“You looked dead.”

“Alive people float too,” she said. “You should try trusting them.”

That did it.

Something dark and unreadable crossed his face, like she’d struck bone.

The elevator slowed.

“Celina Sheppard,” she said suddenly, extending her hand. “Since we’re apparently sharing buildings and unresolved tension.”

He stared at her hand.

Didn’t take it.

“Elliot,” he said instead.

Just one name. Like a warning.

The doors slid open.

She stepped out, then paused and looked back at him over her shoulder, eyes bright with challenge.

“For what it’s worth, Elliot,” she said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The doors closed between them.

She walked down the corridor, heart pounding—not with fear, but exhilaration.

Behind her, the elevator stood still a second too long.

And she had no idea that the man she’d just challenged owned the building, the company, the land beneath her feet—

—or that he was already deciding what to do about her.