Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Isla
The construction reports blur before my eyes, exhaustion from the past few days catching up with me. Ever since that night at APEX—everything feels different. Closer. Like we’ve finally learned to face threats together instead of protecting each other through silence.
My cheeks warm at the memory. We’ve spent every night together since, neither of us quite ready to let go. It feels like we’re building something new on the foundation of who we used to be. Something stronger.
A knock at my door pulls me from project files spread across the coffee table. Three quick raps—Mom’s signature knock. Through the window, the setting sun paints Manhattan in shades of gold and shadow.
“Coming!” I mark my place in the sustainability report, recognizing the urgency in her knock. Mom only comes by unannounced when something’s wrong.
I find her in the hallway, still in her cleaning uniform from the Thompsons’, hair escaping its neat bun. The sight takes me back to childhood, watching her come home each evening, always protecting me from how hard she worked.
“After seeing his name in the papers today, James Wolfe...” She pushes past me, hands twisting her apron—a nervous habit I inherited. “I had to see you.”
The tremor in her voice sets off warning bells.
“Mom?”
She stops at my drafting table, fingers hovering over the Artisan Hotel blueprints like they might burn her.
“I see myself in you sometimes. The way you throw yourself into your work, thinking you can keep everyone safe.” Her voice catches. “Just like I thought I could, back then.”
“Back when?” I move closer, recognizing the guilt in her expression—the same look she wore whenever I asked about my father.
“When I worked for the Wolfes.” She turns, streetlights casting shadows across her face. “Before the crash. Before James lost everything.”
My breath catches. The pieces start clicking - her reaction when I first mentioned the project, her fear whenever Wolfe’s name appears in the news.
“You never told me.”
“How could I?” She sinks onto my couch, suddenly looking smaller.
“I watched it all fall apart. Watched James blame Edward for his father’s death, for taking their home...” She presses her hands together. “Now you’re caught in the middle, just like I was. History repeating itself.”
I sit beside her, taking her work-worn hands in mine.
“Tell me everything.”
“James was brilliant, ambitious. Like you.”
She squeezes my fingers. “When the market crashed, I saw it all from the shadows. The late-night meetings, the shouting matches between father and son. The help becomes invisible after a while.”
“What happened?”
“The night they signed the papers, I was cleaning his father’s study—late, like always.” Her voice drops.
“James came in, drunk, raging on the phone. He didn’t even notice me. ‘Edward Alderidge thinks he’s won?’ he kept saying. ‘He thinks buying our home makes him untouchable? I’ll spend my whole life taking back what he stole. Everything he builds, I’ll tear down. His legacy, his family—all of it.’”
She shivers at the memory.
My phone buzzes, Drake’s name flashing urgently.
“That’s why you didn’t want me taking this project.” Understanding hits hard. “You knew what it meant.”
“I knew what revenge does to people.” Her voice breaks. “James isn’t just after the hotel, baby. He wants to destroy everything Edward built. Including his sons. Including your Eli.”
Another buzz from my phone—something about the construction site.
“Mom—”
“Go.” She straightens, and I see the strength that raised me alone. “But remember what I’m telling you. Don’t make my mistakes. Don’t let protecting someone become another way of losing them.”
I grab my keys, her words echoing in my chest. Now I understand her fear all those months ago—not just for the project, but for me. For history’s way of pulling us back into old battles.
The past isn’t done with us. But maybe this time, we can break the cycle.
The Artisan Hotel’s steel frame cuts against the darkening sky. I pull up to the gate just as the security lights flicker on, the weight of Mom’s warning sitting heavy in my stomach.
Drake’s text is brief.
Breach in main structure. Wolfe’s signature.
“Took you long enough,” Drake says through my earpiece as I swipe my badge. “Support columns are showing strain patterns.”
“Details?” I head for the site office, wind whipping my hair.
“It’s bad. Professional job.” His keyboard clicks in the background. “After what your mom said?—”
“Not now.” My hands clench. “Just tell me what we’re dealing with.”
Blue light from the monitors washes over me as I scan the diagnostics screen. Mom’s words keep circling.
That same hatred in his voice. Only now he can do something about it.
“Hey,” Drake’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Stay with me here.”
“Yeah.” I blink hard, focusing on the data streams. “Walk me through it.”
“Third floor supports have been compromised. Someone who knows exactly what they’re looking for.”
I pull up the schematics. “The load-bearing columns?”
“Shit—movement upstairs. Eighth floor.”
The security feed shows a figure moving between the cameras with practiced ease. “I’m checking it out.”
“Isla, don’t?—“
“Those beams are stressed. If someone’s messing with them?—“
“Just wait for?—”
“Watch the feeds.” I start climbing. “And Drake? If this goes sideways...”
“Don’t.”
Shadows stretch across the eighth floor. The structural frame gleams dully under emergency lights, its support beams groaning softly. Somewhere in the darkness, someone knows exactly what they’re doing.
A footstep scrapes concrete behind me.
I turn, and there’s Eli, his face half-lit by the emergency lights.
“Damn it!” My heart slams against my ribs.
My first instinct is frustration—because I didn’t call him, because I didn’t want him involved. But the second I see his face—focused, steady, ready—something shifts.
“Why are you?—”
“Security called me.” His eyes hold mine. “Why didn’t you?”
Drake’s voice cuts in.
“We’ve got trouble. Multiple supports failing. Whatever they’re planning—it’s happening now.”
“Drake, talk to me.” I move to the nearest support column, Eli right behind me. The stressed metal under my fingers confirms my worst fears.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough. The central columns are showing signs of weakening. If we don’t stabilize them?—“
“The whole structure could fail.” I pull up the emergency protocols, fingers flying over the tablet. “Eli, I need you to access the secondary supports. Now.”
He’s already moving, his presence steady despite the chaos.
“Got it. But Isla—” His voice holds a question I’m not ready to answer. “How did they get past our security?”
My throat tightens as Mom’s words echo again.
He believes Edward destroyed his family’s legacy.
Mom’s words come back in a rush: History repeating itself. Wolfe promised to destroy everything Edward built. And now, I’m watching it happen in real time.
“Not now,” I manage. “Please.”
Drake’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Found something. There’s a device hardwired into the main support beam. Eighth floor, north corner, behind the primary junction box.”
“On it.” I start moving, but Eli catches my arm.
“I’ll go.” His eyes meet mine, intense even in the dim light. “You’re better with the diagnostics.”
He’s right, but something in me rebels at letting him walk into potential danger.
“Eli—”
“Trust me.” His hand squeezes gently before letting go. “Like I’m trying to trust you.”
The words hit harder than he probably intended. I turn back to the control panel, forcing myself to focus on the structural readings while tracking Eli’s movement through the shadows.
“Got eyes on the device,” Eli calls out. “It’s—wait.” His voice sharpens.
“This is Wolfe Development tech. I recognize the signature.”
My fingers freeze over the keyboard. Of course it is.
“Isla?” Drake’s voice is urgent in my ear. “The structural integrity is reaching critical levels. We need to stabilize it now.”
“Working on it.” I dive back into the data, trying to ignore how my hands shake. “Eli, don’t touch that device. We need to?—“
A sudden power surge makes the lights flare. When they stabilize, I see Eli holding the device, his face grim.
“It’s not just collecting data,” he says quietly. “It’s designed to weaken the entire structure. Something that could bring down the entire project.”
“How do you know?”
His eyes meet mine across the space between us. “Because I’ve seen this before. In Project Cornerstone’s files.” He takes a step toward me.
“We’ve got imminent structural failures in the primary supports,” Drake cuts in sharply. “The building won’t hold much longer.”
Eli’s already moving to the nearest terminal. “Show me.”
Numbers flash red across the screen—stress readings, load calculations, all spiraling out of normal range. The same pattern as Cornerstone. My stomach lurches.
“The support columns are weakening,” I say, pulling up the diagnostics. “If the central structure fails?—”
“The whole building collapses.” Eli’s fingers fly over the keyboard. “Drake, can you?—”
“Trying to isolate the breach, but they’re in deep. Someone knew exactly where to hit us.”
“Here.” I point to a sequence of readings. “They’ve compromised the support integrity, but if we reroute through the secondary structures?—“
“We might buy some time.” Eli’s shoulder brushes mine as he leans in. “Drake, what’s our window?”
“Ten minutes, maybe less. After that?—”
Warning lights flash as another support weakens. The emergency generators kick in with a low hum, casting everything in harsh fluorescent glare.
“No.” I dive deeper into the calculations, heart pounding. “No, we’re not losing this. Not tonight.” My fingers move on instinct, finding ways around the compromised supports. “Eli, I need you to?—”
“Already on it.” He matches my rhythm without hesitation, like we never spent years apart. “Reinforcing the auxiliary supports.”
A small victory flashes green on my screen. Then another.
“It’s working,” Drake says. “But you need to move faster. The primary structure is still?—”
The lights flicker ominously. Through the windows, I watch darkness ripple across the lower floors like a wave.
“They’re taking down the whole grid,” Eli mutters. “Trying to force a total collapse.”
“If we lose the main support?—”
“We won’t.” I’m already calculating around the weakened points. “Just keep the auxiliary structure holding.”
His fingers move steadily over the keys beside mine. One by one, the stress indicators stabilize. Not repaired, but not failing either.
“That’ll hold for now,” Drake says. “But whatever they did to the primary structure?—”
“Will have to wait until morning.” Eli straightens, rubbing his neck. “We need a full security team, daylight, and a lot more coffee.”
He’s right. We’ve stopped the immediate crisis, but this is just the beginning. Wolfe’s made his first move. The question is: what’s his next one?
“I’ll call Xander,” Eli says. “We need to move up tomorrow’s meeting.”
I nod, already dreading the conversations ahead. But for now, we’ve kept the building standing. Sometimes that has to be enough.
The drive back is quiet, adrenaline fading into bone-deep exhaustion.
At Eli’s penthouse, he draws a bath without asking—some habits survive years apart.
I watch him move, the ease of it, the quiet way he takes care of me.
Part of me wants to protest—to remind him I can handle myself. But the truth?
I don’t want to handle this alone anymore.
The hot water melts away the tension of the night, his arms around me steadying us both.
Later, curled against his chest in bed, I listen to his heartbeat and wonder how many more nights like this we have before everything changes again. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back as we drift off, neither of us ready to face tomorrow’s questions.
For now, this is enough. But I know better than to believe in borrowed peace. Wolfe isn’t finished. And the next time he strikes, I might not be able to stop it.