EMPIRE OF GLASS

Breaking point

Stephanie slammed the glass door shut, her heels cutting sharp against the marble floor. Darius followed, silent, immovable. He’d been shadowing her all day—through meetings, through whispered deals, through the walls she erected around herself.

Now he stood across from her desk, arms folded, a predator disguised in tailored black.

“Do you make a habit of spying on your clients’ phones?” she asked, her voice edged with venom.

He didn’t blink. “Do you make a habit of laundering money through offshore accounts?”

Her jaw tightened. “You forget yourself, Mr. Harrow"

“No,” he said, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing the light. “You forget that someone is trying to kill you. And the deeper I look, the more it seems you’ve handed them the motive on a silver platter.”

Her pulse spiked, but her mask didn’t slip. “I don’t tolerate accusations.”

“Then prove me wrong.” His voice was low, rough, a blade dragged against stone. “Tell me what the hell you’re hiding.”

Silence stretched. The city glittered through the glass walls, but inside the office, the air crackled, charged, suffocating.

Stephanie moved around the desk, slow and deliberate, until they stood chest to chest. Her perfume—smoke and orchids—wrapped around him like a noose.

“You think you can intimidate me?” she whispered. “I’ve buried men stronger than you.”

Darius leaned down, his breath ghosting her lips. “I’m not trying to intimidate you.”

For one suspended heartbeat, there was nothing but heat and hunger, their control fraying. His hand brushed her wrist—light, almost accidental—but the touch burned through her skin like fire.

Stephanie’s breath caught.

Then, with a laugh sharp enough to cut, she pulled back. “You’re a bodyguard, Mr. Harrow, nothing more. Don’t mistake your job for an invitation.”

Her heels struck the marble as she swept toward the door, but she didn’t miss the way his gaze followed her, dark and consuming, like a man who had already decided she belonged to him.

And she hated herself for the way a part of her wanted it to be true.

The door shut behind her with a hollow thud, sealing him inside her office. Stephanie didn’t look back. Couldn’t. Every instinct screamed that turning around would mean surrendering ground she’d fought too hard to hold. Her heels struck the corridor like gunshots, sharp, deliberate, a declaration of war against the weakness clawing at her chest.

But she carried his stare with her, heavy as chains.

Inside, Darius hadn’t moved. He stood in the quiet aftermath, still tasting the phantom of her nearness, still smelling smoke and orchids in the air. She could hate him all she wanted—he could live with that. What he couldn’t stomach was the certainty that she was lying, to him and to herself. And lies, left unchecked, got people killed.

He finally turned toward the window, the glittering sprawl of the city reflected in cold glass. Somewhere down there, someone wanted Stephanie Blakes dead. And if she didn’t start trusting him soon, they might get their wish.