My Rival is My CEO

Chapter 19: Dawn

*ELENA'S POV*

The key was glowing.

I know how that sounds. I am a CEO. I don't believe in glowing keys. I believe in contracts and clauses and silk pajamas that cost more than rent.

But under our pillow, in the dark, the tiny brass key from the Knight family house was glowing faintly gold, warm against Damian's palm.

"Damian," I whispered, "Is your family house haunted?"

He stared at it. "No. It has bad plumbing. Not ghosts."

"Then why is it glowing?"

He turned it over. On the back, tiny engraved letters we hadn't seen before were now lit up:

_IF YOU STAY TOGETHER, IT OPENS._

If you stay together, it opens.

Opens what? The house? A door? A clause?

Before I could ask, both phones buzzed again.

Maya: _WSJ reporter is Sophia's cousin. Just FYI. She hates you._

Great.

I dropped my head back onto Damian's chest. The key was still warm between us, under the pillow, glowing through the fabric.

"What does it open?" I whispered.

"My mother said one bed, one kitchen. Maybe there's a safe? My father hides things in that house."

"A baby?"

He laughed, despite everything — glowing keys, crib catalogs, photographer and reporter coming at dawn to ask when we're having a baby.

"Not a baby, Evans. Probably his will. Or his second family."

I snorted. "You think Charles has a second family?"

"I think Charles has three."

We lay there, laughing quietly in the dark in red and black silk, glowing key under us, Manhattan outside with no curtains, crib catalog on the floor, and tomorrow we had to do a live interview in bed about when we're having a baby we never agreed to have.

And for the first time tonight, it didn't feel like a contract. It felt like... us. At Crestwood, in the library, when we fought over the table and then shared it because neither of us would leave.

Damian's arm tightened around me.

"Elena," he said, voice low, not CEO, just Damian, "If they ask tomorrow when we're having a baby... what do we say?"

I thought about Clause 13. One year. Evans Global takes Knight Corp if we don't.

I thought about my father at 16 making me sign _I agree to all future amendments._

I thought about the key glowing _IF YOU STAY TOGETHER, IT OPENS._

And I said, before I could overthink it:

"We say we're practicing."

*DAMIAN'S POV*

We say we're practicing.

She said it so casually, in the dark, head on my chest, red silk, glowing key under us, like she was saying we're practicing for a board meeting.

Practicing making a baby.

My heart stopped. Then restarted too fast.

"Practicing?" I repeated.

"For the interview," she said quickly, neck red even in the dark, I could feel it. "We say we're... practicing for Clause 13. Like good CEOs. We practice everything. So we practice that too."

"Practice," I said, testing the word. "Together. In that house upstate. With one bed and a fireplace."

"With a fireplace," she echoed.

The key under the pillow pulsed once, brighter, then dimmed, like it approved.

I put it back under the pillow, but this time I didn't put it in the middle. I put it on her side, under her red silk pillow.

"Keep it," I said. "You found the engraving."

She tucked it under, small brass warm in her hand.

We fell asleep like that — her on my chest, my arm around her, key under her pillow, no pillow wall, no space, red and black silk tangled, crib catalog still on the floor.

No more buzzing. No more Sophias. No more mothers with wine.

Just us. In one bed.

For the first time since the 2019 Agreement, it actually felt like one bed, not a punishment.

Then — knock knock knock.

Not intercom. Real knock. On the front door. Soft, but firm.

We both jolted awake.

The windows were still dark, but lighter now. Dawn was coming.

Knock knock knock again.

And a man's voice, outside the door, with a camera bag:

"Wall Street Journal! Early! We know you're awake, Mr. & Mrs. Knight! We saw the light on! And we brought the baby question!"

They were here. Early. Before dawn. Before we were ready.

Elena looked at me, hair messy, red silk strap down, key under her pillow glowing again through the fabric, and whispered:

"Damian, we fell asleep like this. Like real."

And the door handle turned.