Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Isla
The setting sun bathes the eighth floor in amber light. My pulse quickens as Eli steps closer—close enough that his breath stirs the hair at my temple, though careful not to touch me in front of the assembled journalists. The air between us vibrates with something dangerous, unspoken.
“These walls do more than look good,” I say, gesturing to the lush greenery. I can feel his eyes on me, tracking every movement. Watching. Always watching. “They clean the air, keep temperatures steady, cut energy costs...”
I bring up the renderings showing our merged design elements, aware of Eli shifting behind me. His presence feels like a physical touch against my spine.
“Each feature connects to public spaces,” I continue, fighting to keep my voice professional when all I want is to lean back into him. “The entire eighth floor demonstrates how technology and community enhance each other.”
A reporter from Sustainable Architecture raises her hand.
“Ms. Carrington, how do you respond to critics who say this level of integration is too ambitious for a luxury hotel?”
I feel Eli shift closer, his presence steady behind my right shoulder. Like a shield. Like a claim. Just yesterday, these plans were theoretical. Now, watching the construction crews implementing our changes, the vision feels real.
“Innovation requires ambition,” I say, acutely aware of Eli’s silent approval. The almost imperceptible nod that no one else would notice. “The Artisan Hotel isn’t just about luxury—it’s about proving that sustainability and sophistication can coexist.”
Wolfe steps forward, his sudden movement causing Eli to tense beside me. The air shifts, charged with silent hostility.
“And what failsafes are in place to prevent another Project Cornerstone situation?” Wolfe’s subtle threat hangs over the crowd.
Mrs. Wu straightens beside me, her eyes sharp. “Perhaps,” she interjects, “Mr. Wolfe would be interested in reviewing the Ethics Committee’s extensive approval documentation. We’ve found Ms. Carrington’s safety protocols to be exemplary.”
I maintain my professional smile, gesturing to the newly reinforced structural elements. “Thank you, Mrs. Wu. And yes, safety has been our paramount concern. If you’ll follow me to the smart glass installation?—“
“Impressive command,” Eli murmurs as the group moves forward. His fingers brush my lower back, a touch so light it could be imagined—except for the trail of fire it leaves on my skin. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” I whisper back, though my heart’s still racing. His proximity is both comfort and torture. “But keep close. Something feels off.”
His eyes darken at my words, something possessive flashing in them. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The journalists gather around the windows, where the smart glass adjusts to the fading light. I walk them through the features, conscious of Wolfe making notes in the back of the group.
But as I turn to address the crowd again, I catch sight of something scratched into the temporary railing beside me—a message that makes my blood run cold.
History repeats itself, doesn’t it, Marie’s daughter?
My fingers tremble against the tablet. Eli catches the shift immediately, his body angling toward mine, protective, questioning. I force my attention back to the crowd.
“These windows are smart,” I say, swiping my tablet. The glass darkens instantly, much like I’m trying to do with my expression. “They adjust to the sun and give guests full control over the lighting.”
“Ms. Carrington,” Wolfe’s voice cuts through the appreciative murmurs, “I’m curious about the security protocols for these digital systems.”
Eli steps forward, his shoulder brushing mine. The contact is brief but deliberate—a silent message that I’m not facing this alone.
“Perhaps we should focus on the sustainability features, James.” Eli’s voice carries authority that makes even Wolfe hesitate. “Security protocols are confidential, as you well know.”
The corner of Wolfe’s mouth twitches. “Of course. My apologies.”
A young reporter raises her hand. “The integration with the historic fa?ade is stunning. Was this always part of the vision?”
“Actually,” I say, grateful for the redirect, “this speaks to the heart of our project. The Artisan Hotel honors the past while embracing the future?—”
“The marriage of old and new,” Wolfe interjects, his eyes locked on mine, “can be... complicated. Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Carrington?”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me. My chest tightens. Beside me, Eli’s body coils with tension—a predator ready to strike.
Mrs. Wu clears her throat. “I believe we’re running behind schedule. Shall we move to the rooftop garden?”
As the group follows Mrs. Wu toward the temporary stairs, Eli’s hand finds the small of my back. His touch is gentle but possessive, anchoring me when everything feels like it’s spinning out of control.
“That message,” he whispers, his lips close enough to my ear that I feel their heat. “We need to document it.”
“Already done,” I murmur, showing him my tablet’s screen where I’d discreetly photographed the scratched words. His fingers tighten against my back, and I lean into him slightly, seeking his strength. “But Eli... how did he know about Mom?”
His eyes darken to midnight. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises, his voice low and fierce. Dangerous. “Just get through the tour. I’ve got your back.”
I nod, squaring my shoulders as we climb to the rooftop level. The setting sun paints Manhattan in shades of gold and shadow, a reminder of everything we’re fighting to protect. But Wolfe’s message echoes in my mind.
Something’s coming. I can feel it in the way Wolfe watches me—like he’s already planned his next move. Like this is just the opening act. But right now, I have a job to do.
“Welcome,” I announce to the gathered press, “to what will become Manhattan’s most sustainable rooftop garden.”
The rooftop breeze carries the scent of fresh soil from the newly installed planters. Golden hour light reflects off the surrounding buildings, creating a perfect backdrop for the showcase. My phone buzzes again—the fourth time in twenty minutes.
“The rooftop garden isn’t just aesthetic,” I explain, gesturing to the rows of raised beds. “It will provide fresh produce for our restaurant, reducing our carbon footprint while offering farm-to-table dining.”
“And the irrigation system?” A reporter from Green Architecture asks.
“Completely self-sustaining,” I respond, tapping my tablet to bring up the schematics on the portable display. “We collect and filter rainwater, supplemented by?—”
“Fascinating technology,” Wolfe interrupts, moving closer. Eli shifts subtly, positioning himself between us. The movement is fluid, natural—but the message is clear. To reach me, Wolfe will have to go through him first.
“The technological advances since then have been remarkable,” I counter, keeping my voice level. “Mrs. Wu, would you like to speak to the safety certifications?”
“Certainly,” she steps forward, but Wolfe isn’t finished.
“You know,” he says, voice carrying across the space, “I knew Marie when she worked in my family’s home. Brilliant woman. Always... protecting things. People. Secrets.”
The world narrows to a pinpoint. My fingers go numb around the tablet. Eli’s sharp intake of breath beside me is the only indication he’s caught the implication.
“If there are no further questions about the sustainable features,” I say firmly, “I believe we’re ready to?—“
“Just one,” Wolfe smiles, all teeth. “Tell me, Ms. Carrington, how confident are you in these safety protocols when your own systems were breached just last week?”
The air leaves my lungs. The security breach wasn’t public knowledge.
“That information is confidential,” Eli steps forward, his voice carrying a warning edge that makes several journalists shift uncomfortably.
“Is it?” Wolfe’s smile doesn’t waver as he pulls out his phone. “Because I have some rather interesting data about your environmental controls. Data that suggests history might be repeating itself.”
Mrs. Wu moves closer, her expression sharp. “Mr. Wolfe, that’s enough.”
“Oh, I’m just getting started.” He turns to the journalists. “Perhaps you’d all be interested in seeing the similarities between the Artisan Hotel’s current system vulnerabilities and Project Cornerstone’s fatal flaws?”
“That’s it.” Eli’s voice cuts through the murmurs. “This tour is concluded. Thank you all for coming. Our PR team will follow up with technical specifications.”
As security begins escorting the journalists toward the construction elevator, Mrs. Wu approaches us.
“I’ll handle damage control,” she says quietly. “You two need to figure out how he accessed those files.”
The moment they’re gone, I pull out my tablet, hands shaking slightly.
“Drake, how did he know about the breach? That information was completely locked down.”
“Meet me in my office,” Drake’s voice is tight through the speaker. “There’s something you both need to see.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in Drake’s space, surrounded by monitors. The humming servers provide a soundtrack to my racing heartbeat. Eli stands close enough that his warmth bleeds into me, though we’re careful not to touch.
“Look at this,” Drake points at the screen. “They’re not breaking in—they’re eavesdropping. Every security update we send out? They’re intercepting it before it even gets used.”
Eli leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine. The contact, though brief, grounds me. “They’re monitoring the official channels.”
“Exactly.” Drake pulls up another window. “The breach reports had to go through proper channels—building department, insurance, Ethics Committee. Wolfe’s people are embedded in those organizations.”
“So they’re not breaking into our systems,” I say, pieces clicking together. “They’re gathering intel through legitimate channels?—“
“And using it to predict our security protocols,” Eli finishes, his hand finding the small of my back. The heat of his palm burns through my silk blouse. “That’s why the attacks are always one step ahead.”