His Ruthless Possession

Liora pressed her back against the office door, pulse racing as she turned her head to find a muscular forearm braced beside her ear. Her stiffened neck creaked as she tilted upward to meet stormcloud eyes crackling with lightning.

Oh god. Kieran?

The scent of his bergamot cologne triggered phantom memories - childhood scraped knees bandaged in this very hallway, his graduation speech where she'd hidden trembling hands, last year's Christmas gala when he'd straightened her lopsided antlers. Now his tailored suit strained across shoulders broadened during those mysterious months after his father's stroke.

"Three hours late." His voice could frost glass.

"Two hours and fifty-three minutes," she blurted before biting her tongue. The lie detector test he'd subjected her to at sixteen flashed through her mind - "Your tells are textbook,薰," he'd smirked, unaware how his casual Mandarin pronunciation of her name made her pulse stutter.

Kieran's gaze swept her Jacquemus blouse, its asymmetrical neckline mocking her usual thrift store finds. "Where were you last night?"

"Nowhere!" Her eyelids fluttered like trapped moths. Beyond the frosted glass, new intern Marco paused at the copier, shamelessly eavesdropping.

"Liar." He leaned closer, pine-and-ironwood cologne overwhelming her senses. "You stutter when nervous. Avoid eye contact. Blink faster than hummingbird wings. And—" his eyes dropped, "—still fiddle with your clothes when caught."

Liora jerked her twisting fingers away from the silk fabric. Damn this man who'd cataloged her tells since they traded sandbox toys.

"Final chance." His knuckles whitened against the door. "Why weren't you home?"

So he'd stayed at the ancestral estate last night. Of course the human bloodhound would notice her empty bedroom across the hedge. That damned study lamp that once comforted her orphaned nights now felt like a searchlight.

"Since when do you monitor my curfew?" She jutted her chin. "You're not my—"

"What am I, exactly?" Kieran's smile turned glacial. "Shall we discuss your Q3 bonus structure? Or perhaps the NDA you signed regarding the Veridian merger?"

Liora slapped both hands over his mouth. "Boss! Your Excellency! Supreme Leader! I went bar-hopping, okay? Drowned my sorrows responsibly! No work impacts, swear to—"

"Sorrows." He trapped her wrist mid-gesture. "From?"

She studied her scuffed boots. "Twenty years crushing on someone who's about to get whisked away by some socialite. What's there to celebrate?" The raw admission hung between them, vulnerability curdling into defiance. "Satisfied?"

The door groaned as he leaned closer—

CRASH!

They jerked apart as a potted monstera shattered in the adjacent conference room. Through the glass walls, they saw Ethan Cross wrestling a flailing redhead in paint-splattered overalls. "Unhand me, you overgrown Ken doll!" the woman snarled, brandishing a dripping brush. "Those Rothko forgeries won't expose themselves!"

Kieran pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not again."

"Ah, the corporate art consultant." Liora ducked under his arm, grateful for the distraction. "Heard she made the MoMA curator cry last week."

As they entered the warzone, the redhead kicked over an Eames chair. "Your authentication certificates are faker than this Jackson Pollock!" She jabbed her brush at a splatter painting, sending cobalt droplets across Ethan's Tom Ford suit.

"Ms. Hawthorne," Kieran barked. "You're contaminating evidence."

Art forensic expert Juniper Hawthorne whirled on him, wild curls sparking static. "Tell your boy toy here that Section 12.7 of our contract allows full access to—"

"Boy toy?!" Ethan sputtered.

Liora stifled a laugh, the sound drawing Juniper's hawk-like attention. "You!" The artist thrust a photo at her face - Liora exiting Ethan's town car yesterday. "Time-stamped 7:03 AM. Explain."

Kieran's jaw muscle jumped.

"It's not what—"

"Perfect!" Juniper pocketed the photo. "This proves Cross was uptown during the Gala theft. Finally some usable evidence." She marched out trailing turpentine fumes.

Ethan dabbed at his ruined jacket. "Remind me why we hired that Tasmanian devil?"

"Because," Kieran said coldly, "someone's laundering money through our art acquisitions. And you're prime suspect number one."

Later in the stockroom, Liora rummaged for stain remover when Marco materialized like an overeager Labrador. "Need help, Ms. Chen?"

She eyed the intern's mismatched socks. "Shouldn't you be decrypting those tax files?"

"Already done!" He rocked on his heels. "Also, Mr. Holt's emergency contact still lists you as next of kin. Should probably update that since, you know..." He mimed an explosion.

Liora froze. That paperwork predated the hedge fund's success, from when Kieran worked wildfire relief during college. She'd assumed he'd changed it after...everything.

Marco leaned in conspiratorially. "Rumor is the board's forcing him to marry Veridian's heiress. Some merger thing."

The stain pen slipped from her fingers. So it wasn't just gossip.

At 8:47 PM, Liora discovered the pendant.

Kieran's office lay abandoned, his Montblanc pen still uncapped from signing whatever soul-selling contract secured his future. There, glinting beneath his chair, hung her mother's jade phoenix necklace - lost the night she'd fled the Holt estate after their catastrophic fight.

Her knees hit carpet. He'd kept it.

Footsteps echoed. She scrambled up as Kieran reappeared, tie loosened and eyes haunted.

"Why?" She shook the pendant, its ancient carving glowing malachite-green.

He stilled. "You left."

"After you said I was replaceable!"

"I was replaceable!" The confession tore from him raw. "Father needed heirs, the board demanded alliances..." He gripped the cursed mahogany desk. "You were supposed to stay where I could..."

"Protect me?" She laughed bitterly. "Or keep me as your pet martyr?"

The fire alarm chose that moment to blare.

On the emergency stairwell, they found Juniper spray-painting surveillance cameras black. "Relax, it's washable." She tossed Kieran a respirator. "Bomb threat's a false flag - smells like burnt wiring and corporate desperation."

As smoke coiled upward, Liora glimpsed shadowy figures descending. Kieran shoved her behind him, but not before she recognized the lead assailant's Rolex - same one she'd seen on the board chairman during last quarter's earnings call.

"Seems your enemies are consolidating," Juniper remarked, priming a fire extinguisher.

Ethan burst through the door wielding a golf putter. "Anyone order a hostile takeover?"

Kieran pressed the jade pendant into Liora's palm, his touch lingering. "Stay behind me."

As chaos erupted, she realized three truths:

Marco was definitely a hacker planted by the SEC

Juniper's "accidental" paint spills had disabled key security systems

That damned necklace still held the memory of Kieran's heartbeat against her cheek when he'd carried her home after the bicycle incident aged fourteen

The extinguisher foam flew.