Ocean's Reckoning

Chapter3

Chapter 3: Truth in the Dark

*Marisol's POV*

Julian pushed past me into my room and locked the door behind him.

"Pack your things," he said. "You're not staying in staff quarters anymore."

"What? Why?"

"Someone was on my private beach. Someone took that photo." His fingers flew across his phone screen. "Security didn't catch them. That means they know the island. Know the blind spots."

"Julian, I can explain…"

"Explain what? That your ex is Marcus Chen? That he worked with Thomas Kensington? That you've been here less than twelve hours and already everything is falling apart?"

The words hit like slaps. "You researched me?"

"I research everyone." He stopped typing and looked at me. "But you're right. I should have done it before you arrived, not after."

"So you know about Marcus and my sister?"

Something in his face softened. "Yes."

"And you still think I'm working with him?"

"I think you're in danger." He moved to my window, checked the locks. "And I think that danger followed you here."

"I'll leave. First ferry in the morning—"

"No." The word came out sharply. "You're not running anymore."

"This isn't your problem."

He turned to face me, and the moonlight caught his eye. "Someone is threatening my resort. Someone is taking photos on my property. That makes it my problem."

"That's all this is? Protecting your investment?"

He crossed the room in two strides. Suddenly he was close. Too close. I could smell his cologne, something expensive and dark.

"You know that's not all this is."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "I don't know anything about you."

"You know I sat in the sand in designer pants because you needed me to. You know I made you eggs because you hadn't eaten them. You know I…" He stopped himself, stepped back. "Pack. Please."

"Where am I going?"

"The penthouse. It's the only place on the island with military-grade security."

"Your penthouse?"

"There are three bedrooms. You'll have your own space." He moved toward the door. "Ten minutes."

After he left, I threw clothes into my suitcase. This was insane. I'd known this man for less than a day, and now I was moving into his home? But the alternative was staying here, alone, waiting for Marcus to do whatever he was planning.

Elena appeared in my doorway. "Heard you're moving up in the world."

"It's not like that."

"Mija, I've worked here for two years. That man had never let anyone into his penthouse. Not even his mother." She helped me fold a dress. "Be careful with him."

"I'm just trying to survive."

"So is he." She touched my cheek. "Maybe you can survive together."

Julian was waiting by the elevator. He'd changed into jeans and a black T-shirt. It made him look younger. More human.

The elevator rose silently. Twenty floors. The doors opened directly into his penthouse.

I forgot how to speak.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire space. The ocean stretched out endlessly, moonlight turning the water silver. The furniture was modern but warm. Blacks and grays with touches of gold. Art on the walls that looked real, not like hotel decorations.

"Your room is this way." He led me down a hallway. "The security system is connected to my phone. No one can access this floor without my permission."

The guest room was bigger than my entire apartment back home. A king bed with white sheets. A bathroom with a tub that looked out at the ocean.

"This is too much."

"It's necessary." He set my suitcase in the closet. "We need to talk about Marcus."

We ended up in his living room, sitting on opposite ends of a leather couch that probably cost more than I made in a year. I told him everything. Finding Marcus with my sister. The public humiliation. The months of harassment before I finally blocked his number and disappeared.

"He's narcissistic," Julian said when I finished. "Can't stand that you walked away. This isn't about money or whatever he wants from me. It's about control."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've dealt with men like him my whole career." He poured whiskey from a crystal bottle. "They're predictable."

"Is that what Sophia was? Predictable?"

His hand stilled. "No. She was smart. Calculated. She knew exactly what she was doing."

"Did you love her?"

"I thought I did." He took a drink. "But you can't love someone who doesn't exist. She was playing a character the whole time."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It taught me a valuable lesson."

"That emotion is weakness?"

"That people lie." He looked at me. "Everyone lies."

"I don't."

"Everyone says that."

I stood up, suddenly exhausted. "I'm not Sophia. I'm not here to hurt you or steal from you or whatever you think I'm going to do."

"I know."

"Do you? Because it feels like you're waiting for me to betray you."

He stood too, and we were facing each other across the coffee table. "Aren't you waiting for me to be another Marcus?"

The truth of it stung. "Maybe."

"So we're both broken. Both are suspicious. Both waiting for the other shoe to drop." He walked around the table, stopped just out of reach. "But you still came up here. And I still offered."

"Why did you offer?"

"Because when I saw you on that beach, panicking, all I could think about was making it stop. Making you safe." His voice dropped. "I haven't wanted to protect anyone in a very long time."

"Julian—"

"We should sleep. Tomorrow's going to be complicated."

I headed for my room, then stopped. "What are we going to do about the photos?"

"Nothing yet. Let Marcus make the next move. Men like him always overplay their hand."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then we handle it. Together."

The word hung between us. Together. Like we were a team. Like this, it was more than just a boss protecting an employee.

I went to my room and lay on the too-big bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere in this penthouse, Julian was doing the same thing. Both of us are alone. Both of us were scared. Both of us pretended we weren't already falling.

My phone buzzed. Another email from Marcus.

This time, it wasn't a photo.

It was a video. Julian at a business dinner six months ago. His voice slurred from too much wine. Saying things about his competitors, about his mother, about the emptiness of his success. Things that would destroy him if they went public.

The subject line: "Tomorrow, this will go viral. Unless you convince him to take my call."

I stared at the screen. Marcus had planned this. He'd been planning this for months, maybe longer.

A soft knock at my door. "Marisol? You okay?"

I opened the door. Julian stood there in pajama pants and nothing else. My brain short-circuited for a second.

"Another email from Marcus," I managed, showing him my phone.

He watched the video, his face going pale. "I remember that dinner. I thought I was among friends."

"Julian, I'm so sorry. This is my fault…"

He pulled me against him. The hug was unexpected, desperate. His skin was warm, and I could feel his heart racing.

"This isn't your fault," he whispered into my hair. "None of this is your fault."

I pulled back to look at him. "We're going to fight this."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. But we will."

He touched my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

"Because you made me eggs," I said. "Because you sat in the sand. Because you're not as cold as you pretend to be."

He leaned down, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me.

Then his phone rang. The moment shattered.

He answered. "What is it, Dev?"

His face changed as he listened. When he hung up, he looked sick.

"What's wrong?"

"Thomas Kensington just bought fifteen percent of my company's shares. Enough to demand a board meeting."

"When?"

"Forty-eight hours." His hands clenched into fists. "The same deadline Marcus gave you."

We stared at each other as the pieces clicked together.

"They're working together," I whispered.

"And they're going to destroy everything.