The elevator ride back up was suffocating. Jake’s presence filled the confined space, all coiled tension and silent command. Zara kept her gaze fixed on the ascending numbers, though her mind replayed the words that had iced her blood: Keep him alive.

Jake didn’t look at her once. The air between them was heavy with something she couldn’t name, not quite anger, not quite fear. Just thick.

The doors slid open to a private floor she hadn’t seen before. Stark Industries was normally pristine and silent, but here the atmosphere was charged, almost frantic. Men in dark suits moved with quiet urgency.

Jake didn’t slow. “Wait for me in my office,” he said without glancing back. “Do not touch anything.”

And then he was gone, swept into a soundproofed conference room at the far end of the hall.

Zara hesitated, then made her way to his office. The moment she opened the door, the faintest trace of raised voices drifted through the walls muffled, then sharper.

A man’s voice broke through, pleading. “Please… I didn’t mean to... no, please!”

She froze, hand still on the doorknob.

Another voice followed. Calm, controlled, lethal. Jake.

Her pulse spiked. The memory of her father’s ruined face flashed like an afterimage. For months she’d painted Jake Stark as the architect of her family’s destruction. Now, with someone begging for mercy just meters away, that image sharpened, monstrous and real.

She forced herself to move deeper into the office, away from the door. Every surface gleamed, untouched and impersonal. Yet on the edge of the desk, a folder sat slightly askew, as if someone had left in a hurry.

Her eyes caught the tab. C. Commbs.

Her breath stuttered. Her father’s name.

She reached for it, pulse hammering, but the voices outside spiked the man screaming again, then choking off abruptly. Zara jerked her hand back like she’d been burned, heart clawing at her ribs.

Footsteps approached.

She had seconds.

Zara’s hand hovered over the folder, her mind racing. One quick glance could change everything. She forced herself to pull away survival first, answers later. She’d live to fight another day.

Jake filled the doorway, his expression unreadable, jacket now gone, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. His eyes flicked briefly to the folder, then to her.

“Still where I left you?” he asked, voice neutral.

Zara nodded, pulse still wild.

Jake studied her for a beat longer, then turned away.

***

Jake stepped aside, and another man entered behind him, his presence a deep contrast to the suffocating intensity that clung to Jake.

Damian Cole.

Zara recognized him instantly. Her research had painted him in a dozen candid shots ,always at Jake’s side, all easy smiles and casual charm, the kind of man society papers loved to call “the approachable billionaire.” If Jake Stark was fire, Damian was ice cool, effortless, and disarming.

“Damian,” Jake said curtly, moving behind his desk. “You know Miss Commbs, my new assistant.”

“Not yet,” Damian replied, voice warm and teasing, as if they were at a cocktail party and not in an office thick with unseen tension. He offered Zara a quick, lopsided smile that almost felt genuine. Almost. “But I’ve heard Jake keeps you on your toes. Are you surviving?”

Zara forced a polite smile, her palms still damp. “I manage.”

Damian laughed, low and easy, sliding into the chair opposite Jake without invitation. “She’s got more spine than the last one. I like her.”

Zara glanced between them, unsettled by the effortless familiarity. There was no warmth in Jake’s gaze, no acknowledgment of Damian’s humor, only the cold precision that had become his signature.

“Report,” Jake said, ignoring the banter.

Damian’s smile thinned, and in that instant, Zara saw something flicker behind his bright exterior, something sharp, calculating. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his tone dropping.

“We have a breach,” Damian said. “The leak’s confirmed internal. And if what I think is true…” He paused, glancing briefly at Zara before finishing, “…we’re going to have to clean the house.”

Zara’s stomach twisted. A breach? Internal?

Jake’s expression didn’t change, but the air in the room dropped a few degrees. “Names?”

Damian shook his head. “Not yet. But the man downstairs cracked under five minutes. Whatever he gives up, we’ll have it by morning.”

Zara’s pulse skipped. The pleading voice from earlier, the choked-off scream, it all crashed together in her mind.

Jake leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Make sure he stays alive until then. I want every thread traced.”

Damian nodded once, his grin returning like a mask slipping back into place. “Consider it done.”

Jake shifted his gaze to Zara, cool and unreadable. “Miss Commbs, take note. Security clearance protocols will tighten starting tonight. Anyone without clearance is locked out no exceptions.”

“Understood,” she said, forcing her voice steady even as her hands trembled beneath the table.

Damian rose, flashing her another easy grin. “Welcome to Stark Industries, Zara. You’ll find the fun’s just getting started.”

Jake dismissed him with a nod, and Damian left as quickly as he’d arrived, the door closing softly behind him.

Zara exhaled, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath.

Jake was already focused on his laptop again, the conversation apparently over.

But Zara’s thoughts were a hurricane. The folder with her father’s name. The man screaming downstairs. And Damian Cole Jake’s charming shadow, whose smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

For the first time since infiltrating Stark Industries, Zara wondered if she was already in too deep.

***

Zara barely slept that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the man’s strangled pleas echoing through Stark’s private floor. And over them, Jake’s voice, low and unyielding. She told herself it should make her hate him more, yet her traitorous mind kept circling back to the heat of his presence, the way his gaze stripped her down to the bone.

Morning light did nothing to settle her.

Jake walked in late, his usual controlled precision edged with something sharper. “Follow me,” he said without looking back. She hurried to match his long stride. Inside his office, he gestured for her to straighten his tie.

Her fingers brushed the expensive silk, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric. He stood too close, his breath ghosting over her temple.

“Miss Commbs,” he said, voice a low drawl, “is your mind elsewhere?”

“No, Mr. Stark,” she lied, though her pulse gave her away.

He fixed her with that unreadable stare for one long beat before stepping back. “Good. Stay focused.”

He reached out to remove something from her shoulder, which left her heart pounding like it needed an escape from her chest. He gave her a knowing smirk and walked to his seat.

***

By afternoon, he was in and out of meetings, Damian shadowing him like usual. Damian’s easy grin and teasing remarks drew laughter from the staff, a stark contrast to Jake’s controlled silence.

Zara spent the day pretending to work while her thoughts burned with one goal: find out what Jake was hiding.

Late evening brought her a chance. Jake was called to a last‑minute board call; Damian followed. She waited until their footsteps and voices faded down the corridor, then slipped into Jake’s office.

It was immaculate, like everything else about him, but she knew where to look. She moved fast, scanning through encrypted files and locked drawers. A folder caught her eye, her father’s name printed across the tab.

Her breath hitched. She reached for it, fingers trembling.

Her fingers tightened on the file, a spark of rebellion flashing through her fear. If she was about to go down, she’d at least go down fighting.

“Care to explain why you’re in my office after hours, Miss Commbs?”

Jake’s voice, cold and quiet, came from the doorway behind her.