Clara Vance did not believe in miracles. She believed in leverage, collateral, and the fine print at the bottom of a contract.
When the boardroom doors finally closed behind her, she walked briskly down the glass-lined corridor of Sterling & Associates, her heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic tempo. She didn't slow down until she reached the temporary office they had assigned her—a sterile, windowless box that felt entirely intentional.
She shut the door, leaned her back against the cool wood, and finally let out a breath that rattled in her chest.
He kept the Marlowe Steel contract. She tossed her legal pad onto the small desk. Her phone immediately buzzed in her pocket. It was Maya, her VP of Operations and the closest thing Clara had to a sister.
"Tell me we still have a company," Maya's voice crackled through the speaker, tight with anxiety.
"We do," Clara said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He gutted the tier-three suppliers just like we expected. But... he left Marlowe alone. Entirely untouched."
A heavy pause hung on the line. "Wait. Thorne? The Machine? He just let a fifteen percent premium slide? Clara, what did you give him?"
"Nothing." Clara opened her eyes, staring at the blank beige wall. "I gave him nothing. We sat in a room until 3:00 AM, I yelled at him about my father's debts, and then today, he stared down his managing partner and called Marlowe a 'strategic hold.'"
"It's a trap," Maya said instantly. It was exactly what Clara had been thinking.
"It has to be," Clara agreed, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "Men like Elias Thorne don't do favors. They make investments. He wants something, and he's using Marlowe to soften the ground."
"Keep your guard up, C. Don't let the suit and the jawline distract you."
"I am entirely immune to his jawline, Maya," Clara muttered, though she felt a sudden, irritating flush of heat at the base of her neck. "I'll figure out his angle. I'll call you back."
She hung up. But the quiet of the room offered no answers. Clara couldn't shake the memory of Elias from the night before—the way he had discarded his suit jacket, the exhaustion lining his eyes, the surprising quietness with which he had asked her to show him the 'why'.
For three years, Clara had been fighting to keep the wolves from the door. She was used to men who shouted, men who threatened, men who took. She didn't know how to categorize a man who listened in the dark and then shielded her in the light.
She needed to know the cost.
Ten minutes later, Clara found herself standing outside Elias's corner office. His assistant was away from her desk. Through the open door, she saw him. He was standing by the window, a tumbler of water in his hand, looking out at the city with a stillness that felt profoundly lonely.
She knocked once on the open doorframe.
Elias turned. The mask was instantly back in place—the cool, detached Senior Partner. "Ms. Vance. Is there an issue with the revised vendor timeline?"
Clara stepped into the room, crossing her arms. "What's the catch, Thorne?"
He blinked, a slow, deliberate movement. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."
"Marlowe Steel. You lied to Marcus Sterling. You called it a logistical bottleneck, but we both know I could route those shipments through two other suppliers by Tuesday if I had to." She stepped closer, invading his pristine, highly-controlled space. "You gave me leverage I didn't earn. What does it cost me?"
Elias looked down at her. Up close, Clara could see the faint shadows beneath his eyes, matching her own. The silence stretched between them, thick and electric. He didn't step back.
"It costs you nothing," Elias finally said, his baritone dropping to a quieter register.
"I don't believe you."
"I know you don't." Elias set his glass down on the desk. "You've spent your entire life assuming everyone is trying to take something from you. And usually, you're right."
He held her gaze, and for a terrifying second, Clara felt completely seen. He wasn't looking at the CEO of Vance Logistics; he was looking at the woman who was exhausted from carrying the world alone.
"Then why?" she demanded, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability she immediately hated.
"Because," Elias said softly, "it is a rare thing to see someone fight for a lost cause out of pure loyalty. I decided not to penalize you for it. Don't make me regret it, Clara."
He used her first name. It felt like a physical touch.
Clara swallowed hard, the sharp retort dying in her throat. She nodded once, turned on her heel, and walked out, realizing with a sinking feeling that the wall she had built around herself had just sustained its very first crack.