Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Isla
“We’ve heard promises like these before, Ms. Carrington.”
Mrs. Wu’s interruption slices through my presentation. Behind her, the wall of Project Cornerstone memorials looms, their faces watching our exchange.
“What makes your safety protocols different?”
I meet her eyes, refusing to flinch.
“Because we’ve learned from those failures. Every innovation in the Artisan Hotel has triple redundancy built into its core design.”
Drake shifts at the back of the room, catching my attention. A message flashes on my tablet.
“Wolfe hasn’t just been acquiring patents - he’s filed three new ones this morning. They’re exact mirrors of the safety protocols you just presented to the Committee.”
My pulse stutters.
“Every system has manual overrides,” I say, clicking to the next slide, keeping my voice even. “We’ve implemented fail safes that exceed current safety standards by 200%.”
Mrs. Wu’s eyes narrow.
“Your confidence is admirable, but we’ve seen confidence before. Show me the practical applications.”
I pull up the 3D rendering of the hotel’s central system.
“The entire infrastructure is designed with emergency protocols that?—”
“That’s not what I’m asking.” Mrs. Wu stands, her presence filling the room.
“Show me how you’ll protect them. Show me why I should believe this time will be different.”
The weight of the memorial photos presses against my back. I think of Eli, of our almost-kiss yesterday, of everything tangled up in this project. Taking a deep breath, I set down my tablet.
“Mrs. Wu, I know what Project Cornerstone cost. Not just in lives, but in trust.”
My voice softens.
“Every safety feature in the Artisan isn’t just about innovation—it’s about accountability. About proving we can move forward without forgetting the past.”
The silence stretches. David Morrison, who lost his wife in Project Cornerstone, studies me with intense focus.
“And if something goes wrong?”
“Then I’ll be the first one on site.” The words come without hesitation. “Every system has my personal override codes. I’m not just the architect—I’m taking responsibility for every life in that building.”
Mrs. Wu sits back down, something shifting in her expression. “Continue with the technical specifications.”
As I resume my presentation, Drake’s message about Wolfe burns in my mind. But I push it aside, focusing on each safety protocol, each failsafe, each promise I intend to keep.
The Committee’s conditional approval still rings in my ears as I gather my materials, hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash. The memorial wall seems to pulse with unspoken expectations.
“That was quite the performance.” Drake appears at my elbow, laptop tucked under his arm. His casual tone doesn’t match the tension in his shoulders.
“Though I’m pretty sure you weren’t planning to offer yourself up as a human safety system.”
“I meant it.” I shove my tablet into my bag, avoiding his knowing look. “Every word.”
“That’s what worries me.” He glances around before lowering his voice.
“We need to talk about those patents. Wolfe’s not just collecting them—he’s specifically targeting ones that mirror your innovative designs.”
Mrs. Wu approaches before I can respond, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
“Ms. Carrington, a moment?”
Drake steps back, but his presence remains supportive. I straighten, meeting Mrs. Wu’s intense gaze.
“Your commitment today was... unexpected.” She studies me, years of hard-earned wisdom in her eyes. “But promises require more than good intentions.”
“I understand.” The weight of those photos behind her presses down.
“I’ll have the enhanced monitoring protocols on your desk by morning.”
“See that you do.” She pauses, something softening in her expression. “Edward Alderidge made similar promises once. Beautiful words about innovation and progress.”
My throat tightens. “I’m not Edward.”
“No.” Her smile holds a hint of approval. “You’re not. Which is precisely why we’re giving you this chance.” She turns to leave, then adds, “Don’t waste it.”
As her footsteps fade, Drake moves closer. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I’m not, but the tremor in my hands has nothing to do with the meeting anymore. “What else did you find about Wolfe?”
“Not here.” He checks his phone. “Your place. I’ll bring pizza.”
“Drake—”
“This isn’t a debate, Isla.” His tone brooks no argument. “You just painted a target on your back in there. We’re doing this my way.”
“Fine. But I need an hour first. There’s something I have to handle at the Innovation Lab.”
“The thing with Eli you’re not talking about?”
I shoot him a glare.
“The structural integration points that need reviewing.”
“Right.” His knowing smirk doesn’t help.
“Because that’s definitely all you’re thinking about when you look at those blueprints.”
“Shut up and go order the pizza.” I shoulder my bag, already dreading the evening ahead. “And Drake? Make it Hawaiian.”
“You’re a monster.” But he’s grinning as he heads out, leaving me alone with the weight of promises made and secrets kept.
I take one last look at the memorial wall, at all those faces trusting me to do better. To be better.
“I won’t let you down,” I whisper, and hope like hell I can keep that promise too.
The Innovation Lab hums with late afternoon energy, but I barely notice the usual comfort of my domain. My fingers trace the edge of the central workstation as IRIS’s displays illuminate the structural integration points we need to review.
“Welcome back, Isla.” IRIS’s voice carries its usual warmth. “Shall I pull up the Committee’s requirements?”
“Not yet.” I press my palms against the cool surface, trying to ground myself. “Show me the safety protocol modifications.”
The holographic designs materialize, casting a blue glow across my face. I’m so focused on the displays, I don’t hear him approach.
“Playing the martyr again?”
Eli’s voice cuts through the quiet, sharp with something that sounds like anger but feels like pain.
I close my eyes for half a second before turning back to the holographic displays.
Not now. Not after today.
“Or do you just enjoy making promises you can’t keep?”
My fingers curl against the workstation, my nails pressing into my palms. His words shouldn’t hurt. Not anymore. But they do.
“Don’t start.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“Why not?” His steps are slow, deliberate, the air between us tightening.
“You seemed pretty comfortable making declarations in there. Every life in that building is your responsibility?”
His bitter laugh scrapes against something raw inside me.
“Tell me, Isla. Do you actually plan on keeping these promises, or will you just disappear again when it gets hard?”
My breath catches.
I spin to face him, fury rising hot in my chest.
“You have no idea?—”
“You’re right.” His eyes are cold, but his hands grip the workstation on either side of me with white-knuckled tension.
“I have no idea. Because you never gave me one. Just walked away without a word.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Right.” He leans closer, using his height to crowd me back against the desk.
“Your reasons. Your choices. Your sacrifices. It’s always about you, isn’t it, Isla?”
“Go to hell.” I shove at his chest, but he catches my wrist.
The contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
“Already been there.” His voice drops low, dangerous. “Five years of it.”
I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. Not enough to hurt – never that – but enough to keep me there, trapped between his body and the desk. His other hand slides up my arm, leaving fire in its wake.
“Let me go.” It comes out breathless, unconvincing.
“Like you let me go?” His fingers skate over my collarbone, light enough to tease, heavy enough to brand. I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me.
“Without a word?” His voice dips lower, like a warning. “Without a reason?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. If I just say something—just explain?—
“Eli—”
But I never get the chance.
His eyes drop to my lips. A muscle ticks in his jaw. I feel the heat of his breath—hot, uneven. The moment stretches, too full, too dangerous. A heartbeat. Then another. And then?—
His mouth slams into mine, and for a breathless second, he doesn’t move. His lips part, hesitating—like he’s giving me a chance to stop this, to push him away.
I should stop this. I should push him away, say something, break the spell before it consumes us both. But I don’t. Because nothing has ever felt more inevitable than this.
Then he’s on me, against me, consuming me, and I’m unraveling with him. Heat explodes between us, blistering and brutal, years of silence and resentment igniting into something raw and uncontrollable.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back, exposing my throat to his desperate, punishing kiss.
Teeth clash, tongues tangle, gasps melt into groans.
It’s messy, frenzied—a collision, not a kiss.
My nails bite into his shoulders as he presses me harder against the desk, the edge cutting into my back, but I don’t care.
I need more. I need him closer.
His grip brands my hip, possessive, demanding, dragging me against the hard length of him. A sharp gasp escapes me, but he swallows it whole, devouring me like he’s starving, like I’m the first real taste of oxygen after drowning.
His hands roam without hesitation, without patience, as if mapping every place he’s missed, every inch of me he used to own. My silk blouse bunches under his rough grip, fabric rasping against fevered skin, the friction a torturous tease.
God, I’d forgotten this.
How easy it is to burn for him. How impossible it is to stop.
He kisses me like he’s punishing me, punishing himself, like this might be the last time and he needs to make it ruin us both. My teeth graze his lower lip, and the growl that rumbles through his chest is pure sin.
His hands tighten—one in my hair, one gripping my thigh, hoisting me up onto the desk, forcing my legs apart. I gasp as he steps between them, his body fitting against mine like he belongs there, like I belong there.
Like I never should have left.
I’m dizzy, breathless, high off him, every nerve ending sparking as his mouth moves—along my jaw, down my throat, hot and desperate and claiming.
My hands tangle in his wrecked hair, dragging him back to my lips because I can’t bear the distance, can’t bear the loss, not when I’m finally drowning in the taste of him again.
And then—just for a second—his lips soften.
The shift is subtle, but devastating.
His grip eases, fingertips tracing instead of taking, his kiss lingering instead of consuming. A slow, aching slide of his tongue against mine. A whisper of something dangerously close to worship.
A broken sound escapes me. His name. A plea. A curse.
That’s what undoes me.
With a ragged gasp, I shove him away, hard enough that he stumbles. The sudden space between us feels like a canyon, like a wound ripped open too fast to heal.
We stand there, panting, wrecked, the silence between us thick with the weight of what just happened.
His tie is askew, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His hair—a mess of my making.
His eyes? Dark, blown, filled with something almost unbearable.
But beneath the hunger, beneath the undeniable pull still thrumming between us, I see it.
Pain. Pride. The kind of betrayal that doesn’t fade.
“Don’t.” My voice is barely more than a whisper. “Don’t make this something it’s not.”
Something flickers in his gaze—hurt, fury, regret—before the mask slams back into place. The perfect, unreadable Eli.
Without a word, he turns and walks away.
And I let him.
Even though my lips are swollen from his kiss.
Even though my hands still shake from touching him.
Even though my body still aches for something I should have never let myself want.
Because how the hell am I supposed to protect him, when my body still remembers exactly how it feels to be his?