CHAPTER 4
1240 Words
Liora awoke to silence and the weight of a tailored jacket on her skin. The night’s heat had fled with the city’s last streetlight. She sat up, heart pounding, and realized Sebastian was gone. On the marble bar lay her discarded dress and, next to it, a single envelope embossed with the Crowne Innovations crest.
Her head spun with yesterday’s revelations—board members, that haunting photograph, the threat scrawled across her folder. She swung her legs off the chaise, the cool marble floor jolting her awake. Hands trembling, she crossed to the bar and opened the envelope.
Inside: a crisp check, signed by Sebastian, and a short note:
“For your trouble. This changes nothing. Don’t think our night meant anything.”
Liora’s breath caught. Her eyes blurred as tears welled. Nothing? The memory of his lips, his hands—was it all a lie?
She slammed the envelope shut. “No,” she whispered, voice cracking. “It meant everything.”
Downstairs, the penthouse door swung open. Liora threw the jacket away, changing into her clothes and peered into the hallway. It was deserted. Gripping the envelope, she crept to the elevator and pressed “1.”
As the doors closed, her phone buzzed:
Unknown: “Money won’t fix this.”
Her pulse thundered. She slid the phone into her clutch. No more games.
In the lobby, the sun streamed through glass walls. Marcus Cole, head of security and a former Navy SEAL, stood by the concierge desk, arms crossed. His face was impassive—but his eyes, sharp and alert, flicked to her.
“Ms. Quinn.” His voice was low. “Mr. Crowne asked me to escort you home.”
“No, thank you.” Liora’s voice was firmer than she felt. “I’ll take a cab.”
Marcus nodded once, respectful. “Are you sure?.”
Liora nodded avoiding his eyes watching her like a hawk breathing deeply when he handed her a security badge. “If anything happens, call me.”
She slipped it into her clutch. “Thank you, Marcus.”
Outside, taxis lined the curb. She climbed into the nearest cab, eyes fixed on the envelope. Should I call him? No. She tossed the check into the backseat.
“Manhattan please” she told the driver.
“No, downtown.” She corrected herself, watching the driver input her new address into the GPS.
Her rented apartment downtown didn’t have her father’s spies lurking around every corner unlike her penthouse.
Halfway, she changed her mind again, “Manhattan please.” She said stiffly.
At her apartment, Liora let herself in dropping her bag and curling on the couch, her mind racing.
A knock at the door made her jump. The rattling of keys in the door lock showed the person at the door was no stranger to this apartment.
Liora exhaled. “Eleanor?”
The door swung open. Eleanor rushed in, clasping her phone. “Liora, are you okay? I’ve been calling you. Wait. Why are you here and not at work?”
Her voice melted into a soft one, “What happened?”
“I slept with Sebastian.”
“Okay! I didn’t know you had it in you girl!” Eleanor’s voice rose, her words ending in a chuckle.
Liora exhaled. “That it meant nothing. He…” Her voice broke. “He offered me money to go away.”
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. “He did not.”
“He did,” Liora said bitterly. “And I refused.”
Eleanor grabbed Liora’s hand. “Good. You don’t need his charity.”
Liora looked away. “I thought he cared.”
Eleanor’s gaze hardened. “He will. You’re Liora Quinn. You survived a mad billionaire’s night of temptation.”
Liora let Eleanor’s optimism buoy her. “Thank you.”
Eleanor grinned. “Come on—lunch on me. We’ll strategize how to take him down instead.”
Liora managed a shaky laugh. “I think I need a breather instead.”
The next morning, Liora arrived at Crowne Innovations—her entrance sparking more whispers than ever. At reception, Dinah Vaughn smirked. “Back from your… personal engagement?”
Liora’s jaw tightened. “Actually, I need to see Mr. Crowne.”
Dinah’s smile sharpened. “He’s in a closed meeting with Jonathan Bryce—our CFO—and Vivian Crowne. You should wait.”
She gestured to a plush sofa. Liora nodded, sinking onto it. Her mind raced: Jonathan Bryce was the man who’d leaked her photo if anyone; and Vivian’s icy glare yesterday spelled trouble.
Fifteen minutes later, Marcus Cole appeared. He led Liora through a side corridor to Sebastian’s office. The door stood open; inside, Sebastian sat behind his desk flanked by Vivian and Jonathan.
He didn’t look up. Liora cleared her throat. “Mr. Crowne—Sebastian.”
He glared at her, eyes steeled. “Quinn.” His tone was flat. “You’re late.”
She swallowed. “I wanted to discuss your offer.”
Vivian’s lips twitched. “Oh?” She leaned back in her chair. “And did you accept?”
Sebastian’s gaze flicked to Vivian, then back to Liora. “She did not.”
Liora squared her shoulders. “I don’t want money. I want respect.”
Jonathan Bryce—tall, silver-haired—interjected. “Respect is earned, Ms. Quinn.” His voice was smooth but carried steel. “Your performance is under review.” He tapped a file.
Sebastian’s fist clenched on the desk. “Enough.” He stood, pacing. “I don’t care what anyone wants. What matters is our next step.”
He strode to Liora, close enough she smelled the cologne—bittersweet citrus and musk. “I need you. My secretary.” His voice was low, almost vulnerable. “But I also need you to keep your distance.”
She stared at him, torn between relief and hurt. “Which is it?”
Sebastian snagged her elbow, pulling her closer. “Don’t make me regret letting you stay.” He released her and turned to Jonathan. “Set up her workstation in my private wing.”
Jonathan nodded. “As you wish.”
Sebastian gave Liora a final look—icy, distant—and swept from the room, leaving her trembling between Vivian’s smug gaze and Jonathan’s unreadable stare.
In the new wing, Liora unpacked her things under the watchful eyes of Marcus, now her de facto guardian. He handed her a fresh keycard. “New territory,” he said quietly. “Stay sharp.”
She nodded, clutching the card. Outside the frosted glass door, voices echoed—Sebastian, Jonathan, and Vivian plotting. Her heart pounded. Their words muffled, but the words “dismiss,” “scandal,” and “replacement” drifted through.
She swallowed hard. If they pushed her out now, everything she’d risked—her secret identity, her growing feelings—would collapse.
She slid her phone from her pocket. No new messages from the Unknown. No call from Sebastian.
She tapped the screen and dialed Eleanor. As it rang, the door to the wing clicked—a figure slipping inside.
Liora spun around.
Standing in the doorway, framed by the frosted glass light, was Vivienne Gage—Sebastian’s executive assistant—holding Liora’s leaked photo and a file stampe
d “CONFIDENTIAL: QUINN.”
Her smile was too sharp, “We need to talk.”
- Writer
