Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Eli
I haven’t seen Isla in two days.
Not in the hallways of the innovation lab. Not in our scheduled meetings. Not even in the damn security logs.
And I know—I know—it’s because of that kiss.
It shouldn’t bother me. Hell, I should be grateful. Space is good. Space means I can breathe, think, focus.
Except I haven’t done any of those things since I felt her break beneath me, kiss me back like she’d never stopped wanting this, and then shove me away like she regretted every second.
I exhale sharply, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. Enough. I have bigger things to deal with than Isla Carrington and whatever the hell is still unresolved between us.
My fingers drum against the polished wood of my desk, the rhythm a poor emulation of the chaos in my veins. The documents from the Ethics Committee mock me with their clinical precision—technical failures, structural concerns, a pattern of neglect.
All pointing to Wolfe.
“Shit.” My chair creaks as I lean back, stomach turning at what we’ve uncovered about his involvement in Cornerstone. Even with sunlight streaming into my office, a cold sweat breaks out along my spine.
“What is it?” Xander’s voice carries that careful tone he uses when he’s trying not to sound worried.
“Look at this timeline before the collapse.” I push the file across the desk.
He leans forward, shoulders stiffening as he scans the pages.
“Three months before the tragedy, Wolfe liquidated all his investments in sustainable technology. Every single one.”
“Could be coincidence,” Xander says, but his tone suggests he doesn’t believe it.
I shove away from my desk and start pacing. The coffee from my morning meetings has gone cold, and the leather chairs I usually love feel too confining, too close. My skin crawls with the need to move.
“Cross-reference these dates with the safety inspection records.”
Xander pulls up the data on his tablet. His face goes still the way it does when he’s found something damning but doesn’t want to say it aloud.
“Show me.”
He hands over the tablet wordlessly.
“Son of a bitch.”
“What?” Xander moves closer, his reflection in the window as grim as mine.
“He knew.” My fingers trace the screen, following the damning pattern of dates and evidence. “Wolfe’s team identified critical flaws in the environmental control systems weeks before the collapse. But these reports were never filed with the city’s Building Department.”
“Are you saying he covered up the warning signs?”
Xander’s words hang heavy in the air.
“Worse.” I brace my hands on my desk, the polished surface cool against my palms. “I think he might have been involved in the failure itself. And now he’s showing unusual interest in our sustainable technology...”
“The question is why now?” Xander steps closer, his presence steady despite the bomb we’ve just uncovered.
“What’s his real agenda with the Artisan Hotel?”
I straighten, my decision crystallizing.
“I need everything we have on those final inspections. Every report, every email, every piece of data.”
“That would require Ethics Committee clearance?—”
“Then get me Carter.” I check my watch, already knowing I won’t sleep tonight. “And let’s keep monitoring Wolfe’s current activities. If he had a hand in Cornerstone’s collapse...”
“He might try again,” Xander finishes.
“Exactly.” I meet my brother’s gaze, seeing my own determination reflected there.
“And I won’t let that happen. Not to this project. Not to Isla’s designs.”
The sun catches the dust motes swirling around us, like secrets finally rising to the surface. Whatever Wolfe’s involvement in Cornerstone’s failure, whatever his plans for the Artisan Hotel—it stops now. I won’t let history repeat itself.
“The Ethics Committee archives are restricted at this hour,” Carter says, but he’s already leading us through the dimly lit basement corridor. His hesitation speaks volumes.
“Even with your clearance, Eli, there are some files that?—”
“That what?” I keep my voice low, though we’re alone down here. “That we’re not supposed to see? That might reveal exactly how deep Wolfe’s involvement in Cornerstone went?”
Carter stops at a heavy steel door, his fingers hovering over the keypad.
“Your father had his reasons for keeping certain things buried.”
“People died, Carter.” The words echo slightly in the narrow space. “And now Wolfe’s circling the Artisan Hotel like a vulture. I need to know why.”
The lock clicks open with a soft hiss. Inside, rows of filing cabinets stretch into shadows, while digital terminals line the walls. The air smells of old paper and secrets.
I cross to the nearest terminal, fingers flying over the keyboard as I pull up the archives. “Focus on Cornerstone safety protocols and Wolfe Development Group.”
“Accessing,” IRIS responds. “Though I should note unusual activity in the digital archives. Someone else has been researching these same files.”
I freeze halfway to a terminal. “When?”
“Currently.” IRIS displays the activity log on the screen. “From the restricted section.”
Footsteps echo from deeper in the archives. Carter tenses beside me, but I recognize the subtle click of heels against concrete.
A slow, unsteady breath escapes me before I even see her.
Isla.
She steps out from between the stacks, tablet in hand, hair catching in the dim glow of the archive screens. Her eyes meet mine—sharp, unyielding. But I catch it, that brief flicker of something else.
Hesitation.
The space between us feels too small, the air too charged. For a moment, I don’t breathe. Neither does she.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Carter says, but there’s resignation in his tone.
“Neither should you.” Isla’s voice is steady, but I notice the slight tremor in her fingers as she grips her tablet.
“What did you find?” I step closer, drawn by the intensity in her eyes.
“Evidence.” She glances at Carter, then back to me. “But I need your access codes to confirm it.”
“Eli,” Carter warns, “think about what you’re doing.”
But I’m already moving to the terminal beside her, close enough to catch the notes of her perfume.
“Show me.”
She hesitates for half a second before stepping closer. Too close.
The scent of citrus and something faintly sweet clings to her skin, filling the space between us. Her shoulder brushes mine, a whisper of contact that shouldn’t mean anything—but burns like hell.
I go completely still. So does she.
But neither of us moves away.
“Look at these inspection dates. The anomalies in the environmental control systems.”
“The same systems Wolfe’s team was supposed to verify,” I finish, the pieces clicking into place.
Her breath catches. “He didn’t just cover up the warning signs.”
“No.” My fingers clench on the edge of the terminal. “He made sure they wouldn’t be found until it was too late.”
The stale air feels heavier with realization. Carter shifts uncomfortably behind us.
“We need to get these files to the Ethics Committee,” Isla starts, but Carter cuts her off.
“It’s not that simple.” He moves closer, lowering his voice. “What you’ve found... there are people who’ve worked very hard to keep it hidden.”
“People like Wolfe?” I challenge.
Carter’s silence is answer enough.
Isla’s hand finds my arm. Not firm. Not decisive. Just a light press of her fingertips, like she’s grounding herself. Like she doesn’t even realize she’s touching me.
The warmth sears through the fabric of my sleeve, straight to my skin. My muscles tighten beneath her fingers, but I don’t pull away.
God, don’t pull away.
“Eli,” her voice drops, barely a whisper. “If he was capable of this then, what’s he planning now?”
Something in her eyes cracks wide open—fear, determination, trust. I could reach for her right now, pull her into me, and she wouldn’t stop me.
The moment quivers, fragile and dangerous.
Carter clears his throat behind us, breaking the spell. Isla snatches her hand back, clearing her throat.
The loss of contact is almost physically painful.
“There’s a secure terminal in the restricted section,” Carter says, leading us deeper into the archives. “It’s isolated from the main network.”
The terminal room is barely bigger than a closet, humming with old equipment. Carter locks the door behind us while I log into the standalone system. The screen’s glow is the only source of light, casting shadows across the cramped space.
I lean closer to the terminal, hyper-aware of Isla beside me. The screen casts a blue glow across her face as she scrolls through more inspection reports.
“There,” she points, her finger trembling slightly.
“Three days before the collapse, Wolfe’s team conducted an unscheduled system test. Look at these readings.”
“The environmental controls were already failing.” My voice sounds rough even to my own ears. “And he just... watched it happen.”
“Not just watched.” She pulls up another document, her shoulder pressing against mine.
“He redirected the safety protocols. Manually overrode the warning systems.”
The implications make my stomach turn. “Son of a bitch deliberately?—”
“We’re detecting multiple access attempts to the current Artisan Hotel safety specifications,” IRIS announces, her tone almost sounding urgent.
Isla’s head snaps up. “What?”
“The attempts mirror the pattern from Cornerstone,” IRIS adds. “The goal appears to be to map our environmental control systems.”
“History repeating itself,” Carter murmurs from behind us.
“Like hell it is.” I straighten, already pulling out my phone.
“Lock down all Artisan Hotel systems. Full security protocol.”
“Already completed,” IRIS confirms. “Would you like to discuss the similarity between their current attempts and the anomalies we detected last week in the sustainable technology integration points?”
Isla goes still beside me.
“What anomalies?”
“The ones you’ve been investigating,” IRIS responds. “The structural integration issues that required emergency modifications.”
My chest tightens as I turn to her. “You knew?”
“I suspected.” She won’t meet my eyes. “The patterns were too familiar. But I needed proof before?—”
“Before telling me?” The hurt in my voice surprises us both.
“Damn it, Isla, if Wolfe’s already targeting our systems?—“
“I was handling it!”
“Like you handled walking away five years ago?”
The words hang between us, sharp and dangerous. Carter clears his throat.
“Perhaps we should focus on the immediate security concerns?—”
“Implementing additional firewalls,” IRIS interjects smoothly.
Isla finally meets my gaze, and the vulnerability there catches me off guard.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection.” I step closer, drawn by some force I can’t fight anymore. “I need you to trust me.”
In this light, with her guard down and her focus absolute, she’s so much like the woman I used to know–the one who’d work until dawn, fueled by coffee and pure determination, until I’d find her curled up beside her sustainable design sketches.
The memory hits harder than I expect, lodging somewhere between my ribs.
“Eli,” she whispers, and my name on her lips still feels like coming home.
“The Ethics Committee is requesting an immediate update on the security protocols,” Carter interrupts reluctantly.
Reality crashes back in. I step away, straightening my tie.
“Send them everything we’ve found. Every connection between Wolfe and Cornerstone.”
“And the current system breaches?” Carter asks.
“Document them.” Isla’s professional mask slides back into place, but her hands still tremble slightly.
“All of them. If Wolfe wants to play games with safety protocols again...”
“He’ll have to go through us,” I finish.
Our eyes meet, and for just a moment, I see past her walls to the fierce protector underneath. Whatever’s coming, whatever Wolfe’s planning—at least we’re facing it together.
Back in my penthouse, the city lights paint shadows across scattered documents from the archives.
My jacket is draped over a chair, my tie loosened, but the tension from tonight hasn’t eased. It’s settled deep under my skin, thrumming low and relentless.
The files from the archives hover in my mind—damning evidence of Wolfe’s involvement—but my focus drifts to her. To the way she leaned in beside me, the warmth of her breath against my cheek, the way she didn’t pull away until she had to.
She’s still keeping things from me.
My phone buzzes. A message from Isla.
Added new failsafes to environmental controls. You should review them.
Professional. Distant. Like she wasn’t just gripping my arm in the archives. Like her fingers weren’t shaking just a little when she let go.
I start to type back.
Tell me what you’re not saying. Tell me why you looked at me like that.
Instead, I delete the message and type something else.
Noted. I’ll review them in the morning.
I set the phone down, jaw tight.
Some things never change.