CHAPTER 3: FIRST SPARK

The lights were still out.

Zara could hear her own breathing. Too fast. And somewhere in the dark, glass crunching under a shoe.

“Don’t move,” Marcus said. His voice low, right by her ear.

Zara nodded. Couldn’t speak.

Damian cursed under his breath. “Generator’s in the utility room. Stay here.”

“Like hell,” Marcus replied. “We move together.”

Zara felt a hand grab hers. Warm. Calloused. Marcus.

“Come on,” he whispered.

They moved slow through the dark. Her red dress kept catching on things. She had kicked off the heels minutes ago. Barefoot now on the cold floor.

Stupid dress. Stupid gala. Stupid life.

Another crash came from the kitchen. Zara flinched hard. Marcus pulled her closer against him.

Damian’s voice cut through the black. “I’ve got it.”

A click. Emergency lights flickered on. Dim yellow glow.

The penthouse looked different like this. Smaller. Messier. A broken vase lay by the door. Water everywhere.

No one there.

“It was a warning,” Damian said, picking up a shard of glass. “Obasi telling us he can get in anytime.”

Zara’s legs gave out. She sat down hard on the floor.

Marcus crouched beside her. “Hey. Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” Zara snapped. “I’m just—”

The cramp hit low and sharp. She doubled over, arms wrapped around her stomach.

“Zara?” Marcus said, worry thick in his voice.

“Fine,” she lied. “Just stress.”

Damian watched her from across the room. Whiskey glass in his hand. He hadn’t spilled a drop.

“You need a doctor,” he said.

“I need to go home,” Zara replied.

“Not happening,” Damian told her. “Not until we figure out how he got in.”

Marcus stood. “I’ll sweep the place. You stay with her.”

Damian didn’t answer. Just took another drink.

---

Thirty minutes later the rain started. Hard. Beating against the huge glass windows like impatient fingers.

The sweep turned up nothing. No intruder. Just a window cracked open on the balcony. Forty floors up.

How?

Zara sat on the couch now, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like Damian. Cedar and whiskey.

Her stomach still ached. Dull now.

Marcus came back inside, soaked, hair dripping. “All clear.”

Damian nodded. “Good. You can sleep on the couch.”

Marcus frowned. “I’m not sleeping.”

“You are,” Damian said. “Because I’m not leaving her alone. And you look like you’re about to drop.”

Zara glanced between them.

What is even happening right now?

“I can go home,” she tried again.

“No,” both men said at the exact same time.

Zara threw her hands up. “Okay! Fine!”

The blanket slipped. The red dress underneath.

Damian’s eyes dropped for a second, then snapped back up.

“Go change,” he said, voice rough. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Zara went to the guest room and changed into sweats she found in a drawer. Way too big. They smelled like Damian too.

When she came back out, Marcus was half-asleep on the couch. One eye still open. Gun resting on his lap.

Damian stood by the window, watching the rain.

“You should sleep,” he said without turning around.

“I can’t,” Zara admitted.

Damian turned. “Nightmares?”

She shrugged. “Something like that.”

He poured her a glass of water and handed it over. Their fingers brushed.

Cold.

“Thank you,” Zara whispered.

Damian sat on the other end of the couch. Far enough to be proper. But the couch was small.

Silence. Just the rain.

“You saved my file,” Damian said suddenly.

Zara blinked. “What?”

“Yesterday. In the boardroom. You crawled for your laptop.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. Sorry. It was stupid.”

“No,” Damian replied. “It wasn’t.”

He looked at her. Really looked. Not like a CEO. Like a person.

Zara looked away first. “Why did you pick me as your PA?”

Damian let out a soft laugh. “Because you didn’t flinch. When I didn’t.”

“I flinched,” Zara said. “A lot. Just inside.”

Damian smiled a little. “Fair.”

God. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in months.

Zara hugged the blanket tighter. “My sister’s sick. I needed the money. That’s it.”

Damian nodded. “Tolu. Nineteen. Kidney issues.”

Zara stared. “How did you—”

“I look into my employees,” he said. “Especially the ones who get shot at in my building.”

Right. Billionaire.

The rain got louder. Thunder rolled.

Zara jumped.

Damian noticed. “Scared of storms?”

“No,” she said. “I’m scared of a lot of things. Just not that.”

Damian smiled again. Small. “Fair.”

Marcus shifted on the couch and muttered something in his sleep. Zara caught the words: “…behind you…”

He’s dreaming about protecting me.

Shit.

Zara stood. “I’m gonna make tea.”

The kitchen was dark except for the fridge light. She filled the kettle. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Am I pregnant? Why is my body doing this?

Footsteps.

Damian.

“You don’t have to—” Zara started.

“I make terrible tea,” he cut in. “But I’m trying.”

Zara almost smiled. “You don’t have to try for me.”

“I know,” Damian said.

The kettle boiled. They both reached for it at the same time. Hands touched again.

This time neither pulled away.

Zara looked up. Damian was looking down. Rain reflected in his eyes.

He’s handsome. God, he’s unfairly handsome.

Stop. He’s your boss.

And Marcus is… what?

The kettle whistled loud.

They jumped apart.

“Tea,” Damian cleared his throat. “Right.”

Zara poured two cups. Burned her finger on the side. “Shit.”

Damian grabbed her hand without thinking and held it under cold water. His thumb rubbed over her knuckles once.

Zara’s breath caught.

He let go fast. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said. Voice all weird.

They carried the tea back to the living room and sat. Too close again.

Marcus was still asleep.

The power suddenly came back on. Lights bright. Too bright.

Zara blinked.

Damian stood. “I should—”

His phone buzzed.

He looked at it. Face went blank.

“What?” Zara asked.

Damian turned the screen toward her.

CCTV from the lobby. Ten minutes ago.

Marcus kissing a woman. Red dress.

But it wasn’t her.

The video ended. New message popped up.

Nice try, Cole. But the wrong girl. - O

Obasi.

Damian set the phone down slowly.

“Explain,” he said. Quiet. Dangerous.

Zara shook her head. “I don’t— I’ve never—”

The front door opened.

Marcus stepped in. Soaked. Holding flowers. And a pregnancy test.

He stopped. Saw them. Saw the phone.

“Zara?” Marcus said.

Zara stood. “I can explain—”

Thunder cracked outside.

Marcus looked at Damian, then back at her.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked.

And Zara realized.

The woman in the video had a scar on her wrist.

Same place as Zara’s childhood scar.

Oh God.