“That’s not true. I asked for a printer replacement six times.”

“Seven. I approved it this morning.”

“I take back one percent of my anger.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black key card.

It looked ordinary except for the silver symbol printed across the front.

A simple letter M.

Meridian.

He placed it on my coffee table.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, “Vanessa will walk into a board emergency session and claim I am mentally unstable, professionally compromised, and unfit to remain CEO.”

My mouth went dry.

“She will say our engagement ended because she discovered I was hiding corporate fraud.”

“Are you?”

I believed him immediately.

That was inconvenient.

“Then why would anyone believe her?”

“Because she has documents.”

“Forged?”

“Some.”

His face hardened.

“My father did things when he built this company. Things I have spent five years trying to dismantle without destroying thousands of employees in the process.”

I stared at the little black card.

“And Meridian?”

“A private archive. Deals, payments, shell structures, political favors, offshore accounts. My father kept records because powerful men always think evidence is protection if they control it.”

“And Vanessa knows?”

“Vanessa knows enough.”

His silence answered before he did.

“Because I told her too much.”

There was no self-pity in the words.

Only shame.

I looked at him properly then.

Past the money. Past the arrogance. Past the cold precision that had terrified me for two years.

“You trusted her,” I said.

He nodded once.

“And she used it.”

Another nod.

The anger in my chest shifted.

Not vanished.

Shifted into something sharper.

“What happens at eight?”

“If I don’t sign over control of Meridian access to a trust controlled by Vanessa’s family and two members of my board, she leaks enough to trigger investigations, panic investors, and force me out.”

“Can she do that?”

“She can start it.”

“And your father?”

Cameron’s expression turned unreadable.

“My father would rather burn Reed Global down than admit what he built beneath it.”

A knock struck my door.

Three hard hits.

I jumped.

Cameron turned instantly, stepping in front of me.

The movement was so fast, so protective, it made my heart stumble again.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.

“At midnight? In these pajamas? No.”

The knock came again.

Then a woman’s voice.

“Emma? It’s Lily. Open up before I assume you’re dead or doing something deeply regrettable.”

I exhaled.

Cameron glanced at me.

“Friend?”

“Best friend. Unfortunately psychic.”

I opened the door only a crack.

Lily stood in the hall wearing a trench coat over gym clothes, holding pepper spray in one hand and my spare key in the other.

Her curls were piled messily on her head, and her eyes narrowed the second she saw my face.

“You didn’t answer twelve texts,” she said. “Then I saw a black town car outside your building and thought either you were murdered or finally dating someone rich.”

“Neither.”

She pushed the door open.

Then saw Cameron Reed standing in my living room.

Lily froze.

Cameron stared back.

Muffin meowed from beneath the coffee table.

Lily slowly looked at me.

Then down at my kitten pajamas.

Then back at Cameron.

“Oh,” she said. “So deeply regrettable, then.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like your terrifying billionaire boss is drunk in your apartment at midnight.”

Cameron said, “That is unfortunately accurate.”

Lily pointed at him. “Why is he funny? I hate that.”

“Lily,” I said, “this is complicated.”

“No, complicated is assembling Swedish furniture without instructions. This is a lawsuit wearing Italian shoes.”

Cameron straightened. “You’re not wrong.”

Lily narrowed her eyes further.

“You hurt her, I don’t care how many companies you own. I will ruin you with one TikTok and a burner account.”

“Noted,” Cameron said.

I rubbed my forehead.

This was officially the worst night of my life.

Possibly the strangest.

Lily’s gaze landed on the black key card on the table.

“What’s that?”

“No,” Cameron and I said at the same time.

Her brows lifted.

“Oh, so definitely evidence.”

Before anyone could respond, Cameron’s phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t Vanessa.

It was an unknown number.

A message appeared on the screen.

Cameron read it.

Every trace of color left his face.

He handed it to me.

The text contained one sentence.

She already knows more than you think.

Below it was a photo.

My apartment building.

Taken from across the street.

Tonight.

Through my window, the picture clearly showed Cameron standing in my living room beside me.

Lily whispered, “Okay. That’s creepy.”

Another message arrived.

Ask Emma what happened to her father at Reed Tower in 2006.

The room tilted.

I heard my own breath leave me.

Cameron turned toward me slowly.

I stared at the message.

At the date.

At the words Reed Tower.

A memory I had spent years locking away rose like smoke.

My mother crying in a hospital corridor.

A lawyer with a polished smile.

A settlement check we never cashed.

My father’s watch, cracked down the glass.

The official report: accident.

Mechanical failure.

Wrong place, wrong time.

My voice came out barely audible.

“My father died at Reed Tower.”

Cameron looked as if someone had cut him open.

I swallowed hard.

“He was an electrician. Contract work. There was a fire during a private renovation. Three men died.”