IN DEBT TO DESIRE

The Golden Crest

LIORA’S POV

Morning came before I realized I had not slept at all, and in no time, I was back at the office again. The envelope with the gold crest was still on my desk. The rings on it caught the first bit of sunlight coming through the blinds. I had been staring at it for hours.

When Ivy walked in, her heels clicked sharply against the floor, snapping me out of my thoughts. She carried two files and a cup of strong black coffee.

“You are going to make yourself sick if you keep looking at that envelope,” she said.

“I am not just looking at it. I am thinking.”

“You have been thinking for hours.”

I pushed the envelope aside and stood. “Tell Charles I want a meeting right now. Payroll confirmation, bank trace, anything he can get. I want to know who sent that money.”

She nodded but hesitated. “What if it came from the people behind the contract?”

“Then I will talk to them myself.”

Charles was already waiting in the conference room. His tie was loose, and he looked tired.

“Before you ask,” he said, “the bank confirmed the payment. It was cleared and approved, but the sender’s name is protected by a private client policy.”

“So, the bank will not tell us.”

“They said they are not allowed to disclose it.”

“Not allowed?” I crossed my arms. “Who could have higher clearance than the head of corporate accounts?”

He stayed quiet.

I leaned closer. “That money saved us for now. But it can come back to bite, I need to know. I will not owe anyone I did not choose.”

He lowered his voice. “You might already owe them, Liora.”

The room felt suddenly very still.

“Care to explain?”

“I did some projections,” he said. “If someone wanted control of Holt Designs, they would start by making you depend on them financially. Whoever sent that wire transfer just bought influence.”

My jaw tightened. “I need to figure out who it is first, then I will deal with not being in debt to this person.”

He sighed. “Just be careful. Debt is not the only thing that traps people. Gratitude can too.”

I thought about my father and the way he used favors to keep the business alive. I never wanted to live like that. But this situation felt different. Someone had stepped into my company without showing their face. They had found the perfect opening.

By noon, I had spoken to two bank managers and a lawyer. Each one gave the same answer: the sender was confidential. It felt like knocking on locked doors with no key in sight.

Back in my office, Ivy was waiting.

“Damian Cross is here,” she said.

I stopped. “He is in the building?”

“Yes. He said it is a courtesy visit.”

My stomach tightened. “Send him in.”

Ivy left. I tried to steady myself. Whatever he came for, I needed control of the room.

Damian walked in as if he had been invited to a celebration. His suit was dark, his smile smooth, his confidence unsettling. He did not even look at the envelope on my desk.

“Miss Holt,” he said. “I thought I should stop by after yesterday’s events.”

“Events,” I repeated. “You mean your interview about my company collapsing?”

His smile did not move. “I was simply giving honest market insight.”

“Investors prefer companies that are stable,” I said. “Something, your comments did not help.”

He walked to the window. “You should thank me. The attention on Holt Designs has doubled.”

“People watching a crash is not useful to me.”

He turned back toward me. “Then you should focus on control, not sympathy.”

I stepped closer. “Are you here to brag?”

“No,” he said. “I am here to offer a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“I can help manage the damage to your reputation,” he said. “My PR team can redirect the story. In exchange, you stop accusing Cross Capital of interference.”

“So, you cause the problem, then offer the solution.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes business works that way.”

I let out a short laugh. “I would burn this company to the ground before I let you call yourself a savior.”

The slight amusement on his face disappeared. For a moment, he looked almost human.

“You dislike me that much?” he asked.

“I do not waste my energy on pawns.”

Something in his eyes sharpened. He walked closer until I could smell his cologne. My chest tightened before I could stop it.

“Careful,” he said softly. “You are starting to sound like me.”

“That is not my problem.”

He smirked, though his eyes stayed serious. “You should rest. Anger is not a strategy.”

“And arrogance is?”

“Sometimes it protects.”

“Then wear it well,” I said.

He finally noticed the envelope on the desk. “Someone believes in you, at least.”

“Do not pretend to care.”

“Who says I am pretending?” he asked quietly. “If I wanted Holt Designs ruined, I would not have walked into your office.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because you are not the only one who hates losing.”

He held my gaze a moment longer than he should have. My pulse stumbled. I forced myself to stay steady.

“Your visit is noted,” I said. “You can leave now.”

He stayed still for a second, then started walking out, only to pause at the door.

“A piece of advice, you should be at the gala this evening.” Then he walked.

I called out to Ivy. “What gala is he talking about?”

“Oh, it’s the Top Business Gala, a new annual event for successful businesses. CEOs get to meet investors there; you should go. If you don’t, the media will paint its own picture. And I am sure we would not like it.”

“I don’t think going for such is my best option right now. They can say what they want; it will just be speculations, no harm. If I go and I get ambushed by the media, what will I say if they start asking me questions? Do I lie?”

“You don’t have to answer any question directly, just go there, make people believe all is fine, that’s all.”

“Ok, thank you, I will think about it. What time is it?”

8 pmm tonight.”

I arrived at the gala around half past eight. The place looked expensive the moment I stepped inside. Bright lights, polished floors, a wide staircase, and groups of CEOs and investors talking in neat circles. Everyone looked confident and sure of themselves. I felt like I had walked into a world where everyone already knew the rules except me.

I stood near the entrance for a second, trying to figure out where to go. Before I could move, two reporters rushed toward me.

“Miss Holt, do you have any comment on Cross Capital’s statement about Holt’s financial situation?”

I gave them a steady smile. “Yes. We are fine.”

Another reporter leaned forward. “Should investors be worried?”

“No,” I said. “Worrying is bad for business. If you want something productive to report, tell them I showed up tonight.”

A few people around us laughed. I used that moment to excuse myself.

“Excuse me, I am here to enjoy the evening. I need a drink.”

I picked a glass of champagne from a passing tray and stepped to the side. A man walked up to me. He looked like someone who had been investing for years, with a relaxed posture, confident smile.

“Why should I invest in Holt Designs?” he asked.

I raised my eyebrows. “I did not know I was giving a pitch tonight.”

“That is not a very encouraging answer,” he said with a small smile.

“I can give you a better one when I am not standing in heels,” I replied.

He smiled, then held out his hand. “Care to dance?”

He was polite and calm, so I agreed. We went to the dance floor. The music was slow, nothing dramatic. We moved in a simple rhythm, nothing fancy. It felt normal, almost like taking a break from everything happening around me.

The music suddenly cut off. Someone walked onto the stage to make an announcement. People around us turned to listen.

At the same moment, my phone started buzzing. I excused myself and stepped out to the hallway before checking the screen. It was my mum.

“Liora, why are you not home yet?” she asked.

“I am at some gala event,” I said. “I will explain when I get back.”

“Ok”

I ended the call and sighed. I decided to find the restroom before going back inside. As I walked down the hall, I saw a man stepping out of the door I could swear was the ladies’ room, so I went into the other one.

I stopped the moment I walked in.

Damian was there, shirt open, half-dressed. His build was strong and defined, and I immediately felt my breath rise in my chest.

“What are you doing here?” I said, but it came out softer than I planned.

He did not look surprised. “I should ask you the same thing.”

“I thought this was the ladies’ room.”

“It is not.” He started buttoning his shirt. His voice was calm, almost relaxed. “You seem distracted. Something catch your eye?”

I felt my face get warm. I looked away, then back at him. That was when I noticed the crest on his cufflinks. The same one from the envelope in my office.

My stomach tightened.

He saw me staring. He said nothing at first, just adjusted his cuffs.

“You should head back out,” he said. “Wrong room.”

Then he walked past me and left.

I stood there for a few seconds, confused, embarrassed, and suddenly unsure of what the crest really meant.