Chapter Eighteen
Dawn
I don’t sleep well.
But it doesn’t work.
Stay out of the archives.
The note is still tucked away in the kitchen drawer, but I feel it. Like it’s sitting there in the dark, watching me.
I should tell Nikolai.
The thought creeps into my mind uninvited. It’s not the first time I’ve considered it tonight. And I hate that. My skin burns with the betrayal I feel from how much I was beginning to trust him.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Stop. Overthinking won’t change what’s already done.
I roll onto my side, staring at the window. The city glows in the distance, lights flickering like they have all the answers I don’t.
By the time exhaustion wins, the sun is already creeping over the skyline.
I move through the morning on autopilot. Shower. Clothes. Coffee. The routine steadies me, makes things feel normal, but the tension lingers beneath my skin. I grab my bag and keys, double-checking the lock on the door before heading to my car.
The drive to Blackthorn Tower is quiet. I keep the radio low, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as I replay the night in my head.
By the time I pull into my usual spot, my chest feels tight. I take a slow breath before stepping out.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
The moment I step into the office, I feel it. The weight of his attention.
Nikolai sits at his desk, coffee in hand. His expression is cool, but the tension is there—subtle but sharp, cutting through the room like a wire pulled too tight.
I walk to my desk, set my bag down, and log onto my computer like nothing is wrong.
Like I didn’t sneak into the archives yesterday. Like I didn’t find a note sitting on my kitchen counter. Like I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up.
I clear my throat, reaching for my planner. “Morning.”
A pause, long and stretched.
A scoff.
My fingers still, and I force myself to look up. Nikolai leans back in his chair, his gaze still locked onto me. There’s no amusement in his face. Just something hard and unreadable.
“You’re acting weird.”
The words send a rush of heat down my spine, my stomach twisting.
I scramble for an excuse, but my mouth speaks before my brain catches up. “What?”
He tilts his head slightly, dark gaze sweeping over me, assessing every inch. “You heard me.” He says. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it.
I grip my pen a little tighter. “I’m not acting weird.”
His brows lift slightly, just enough to say bullshit.
I force myself to keep my expression neutral, eyes flicking back to my screen. My hands move, pretending to read the emails in front of me.
I can feel him watching.
Not the casual glance, not the amused smirk I’ve seen him throw my way before. This is different. This is sharp. Focused.
Like He’s dissecting me piece by piece, trying to put together what doesn’t fit.
I keep my breath steady, fingers moving over my keyboard in a way that feels too deliberate. Too forced. I don’t need to type anything, but I do it anyway—just to have something to do.
Nikolai doesn’t move, and I glance up—a mistake.
A chair scrapes softly. A shadow moves. I barely have time to process before he’s in front of my desk.
I stiffen and keep typing.
Then, a tap against the back of my laptop.
I exhale, forcing my chin up. “Can I help you?”
Silence. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t press. Just watches.
Waiting.
His jaw shifts. Something flickers—then it’s gone.
He steps back, controlled and calculated once more. “Fine.” His voice is smooth, but tense. “Be difficult.”
He turns, walking back over to his desk and picking up his coffee, like everything is normal.
But I know better.
. . .
The office is quiet when I slip away.
I time it carefully, waiting until Nikolai is in a meeting two floors down. Most employees are out for lunch, the lull settling in once again.
I keep my pace steady and casual as I make my way down the hallway and through the same route to the restricted level of the basement.
I don’t hesitate before pulling out my keycard.
Swipe. Beep. Green light.
The lock clicks open, and I let out a relieved exhale as I step inside.
Still works.
I don’t know what I expected—a red light, an error, a security alert, some sign that they knew I was here yesterday. But nothing happens.
The room is just as I left it. Dimly lit, cold.
Did they even notice?
The thought sticks with me as I cross to the workstation, sitting down at the terminal. Maybe I was careful enough. Maybe no one saw the logs I pulled. Maybe whoever left that note was working alone.
Or maybe they want me to feel safe.
I shake the thought off and log in.
The files pull up easily, and a fresh chill of unease runs down my spine as I start scrolling.
I don’t find anything new. Nothing different, nothing worse than before.
Every name I click on, judges, CEOs, etc. People who should be untouchable, are reduced to neatly organize files detailing exactly how they can be controlled.
The shock of it hits me all over again. The machine of a system in front of me, built to ensure no one gets out of line.
A sinking weight grows heavier in my stomach. I lean back in my chair, gripping the edge of my desk as my mind races. I knew all of this already—I saw it—but coming back, seeing it again, knowing it wasn’t some twisted fever dream…
It makes it real.
I didn’t imagine it.
I swallow hard, clicking through the files too quickly now, my hands clammy against the keyboard. I just need to see a little more. Just a few more names, a few more pieces of—
A shift in the air. My breath catches.
A presence.
The back of my neck prickles before I even register the sound of someone standing near me.
Then, a voice—calm.
“Looking for something?”
My whole body goes rigid as I turn slowly.
Nikolai is standing in the doorway.
Not angry. Not surprised. Cool. Controlled. Arms folded against his chest.
And somehow, that’s worse.
The silence between us stretches too thin. I brace myself for the inevitable, pulse hammering in my ears, every muscle tensed for the confrontation that’s coming.
“Nikolai, I—”
But then—he lifts a hand, a simple and measured gesture. A command. “Not here.” His voice is even.
He glances down the hallway, then back at me. Assessing. Calculating.
Then— “Come.”
He turns and walks away, expecting me to follow.
I hesitate, heart slamming against my ribs. I don’t trust him. Not right now. I can’t.
For a split second, every warning instinct in my body screams at me to stay put.
Because what if he doesn’t want to have a conversation? What if I’m walking toward something much worse? What if he left the note? What if this is a death sentence?
I swallow hard. I could refuse. I could stand my ground, demanding answers here and now. But that’s not how this works.
Not with Nikolai.
So, I move. I follow.
The garage is silent, save for the click of his key fob unlocking the car. The black Aston Martin sits sleek and low to the ground—a predator disguised as luxury. The dim overhead lights catch on its polished surface, gleaming like a blade.
Nikolai opens the passenger door. Waiting.
I don’t hesitate this time. I slip inside.
The leather is cool against my legs, the scent of it rich and expensive, blending with the scent of him.
The door shuts with a quiet thunk, a finality that settles in my bones.
Nikolai slides into the driver’s seat beside me, the movement fluid, controlled. The deep purr of the engine fills the enclosed space, but the tension between us is louder.
I keep my eyes forward as he pulls out of the garage, merging into the flow of traffic. I don’t ask where we’re going.
And he doesn’t offer.
The city moves past in a blur of traffic lights and afternoon haze, but I barely register it. The hum of the tires against the pavement, the rhythmic flick of the turn signal, the way sunlight glints off the windshield—it all feels distant. Muted.
My hands stay folded in my lap, fingers pressing into my thighs.
Nikolai doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. But his grip on the wheel is tight, knuckles subtly flexing, like he’s holding something back.
Fifteen minutes later, he turns off the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires as we enter a quiet park tucked away from the city. Trees line the narrow drive.
He eases into a spot beneath a cluster of trees, killing the engine. Sunlight flickers through the windshield, dappling his forearms, his rolled-up sleeves, the steady flex of muscle as his fingers tap once against the wheel before stilling.
He doesn’t move, but I can feel the restraint in his posture. The silence is suffocating.
I should say something, but I have no idea what. So, I don’t.
The silence stretches, thick and weighted, coiling tighter with every passing second.
Nikolai exhales, slow and measured, his grip shifting on the steering wheel. Then, he’s the first to break the standoff. “What is going on with you?”
I blink.
“You didn’t speak to me all weekend.” His voice is even, but there’s an edge beneath it—frustration coiled into it. “You won’t return my texts, my calls.”
I tighten my jaw. There’s nothing to say to that.
“You’re cold with me in the office.”
A sharp pulse kicks up in my chest.
“And now you’re sneaking into the archives.”
Each statement lands like a deliberate strike.
I force my shoulders to stay loose, my expression neutral. “So, you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” I prod, pushing, testing the waters.
His fingers flex against the leather of the wheel, the movement small but telling.
“I notice when the woman I just spent the weekend with suddenly won’t look me in the eye.
” He steadies his breath, like he’s trying to reel himself in.
“And now I find you going through files you shouldn’t be touching,” he continues.
“So, tell me, Dawn, what the fuck changed?”
I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. “Are you actually asking me that?”
His jaw tenses, a flicker of something crossing his face. “I’m asking because I want an answer.”
I exhale, shaking my head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
His voice lowers. “Then make me.”
“You knew, didn’t you?” I press. “You knew why I was hired.”
A flash of realization on his face. His posture shifts—just slightly—but I catch it. A breath, a hesitation, the moment he pieces it together. “You found the folder.” He lets out a long sigh, as if he’s releasing the tension stored inside of him. “Not at first.”
I hold my breath.
“Byron never told me. I put it together myself pretty quickly, though.”
The words land with a dull, sickening weight. No guilt. No hesitation.
I wait for an excuse. A reason. But he doesn’t give me one. “You let it happen.”
“I didn’t stop it, no.” A correction. He made a choice.
The realization burrows deep, lodging itself in my stomach.
He turns his gaze toward me, his eyes boring into mine. “My father doesn’t play fair.”
I shake my head, heat burning behind my eyes as they water. “This isn’t okay, Nikolai! All of those people in the system, this is wrong. It’s—”
His eyes darken, sharp and unwavering. “This is necessary, Dawn.” The words crack like a whip, sharp and clipped. “This is how the world works. This is what most people will never know.”
I flinch at his tone. It feels like the version of him I thought I knew is slipping through my fingers, crumbling into something I don’t recognize.
I pull back, the disbelief rising in my chest so quickly it chokes me. “You expect me to just accept that?”
His jaw tightens, and I see something flicker beneath the control. Something restrained. “I expect you to understand that I don’t have the luxury of questioning it.”
A beat.
Then it hits me.
It’s not that he doesn’t care. It’s that he doesn’t think he has a choice.
I swallow, my anger battling against something else now—understanding.
“You think this is just about power,” he continues, voice measured but not cold. “But Blackthorn Inc. doesn’t survive by playing by the rules. That’s just not how life works at this level.”
I shake my head. “At this level?” I echo, words laced with disbelief. “You’re talking like you don’t have a say in any of this.”
His gaze flickers—a crack in the armor. “I don’t.”
I still.
He exhales, rubbing a hand down his face before gripping the wheel. “I was born into this. I was raised to inherit it. The company—this entire system—it doesn’t bend to what I want. It just is. The world isn’t built for honesty.”
And for the first time, I see it. The weight of it all. Not just a company, or a position of power. But a responsibility. A burden.
A legacy he didn’t choose.
I should feel sympathy. Maybe I do, somewhere deep down. But that doesn’t erase what he did.
“Fine.” I say, voice tight. “You were born into it. You are expected to run it. That doesn’t change what it is.”
His gaze sharpens.
“You knew, Nikolai. You figured it out, and you still let it happen. You let me walk into that company thinking I had somehow earned my place when I was just—” My voice catches, stomach twisting. “I was just another piece on the board.”
His grip on the wheel tightens.
I turn my gaze to him with pleading eyes. “Tell me you wouldn’t feel the same way.”
A long, heavy silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken truths.
Then—he exhales, the air heavy as it leaves him. “I should’ve told you.” He says finally.
I blink, wiping a single tear from my eye.
His voice is quiet now. Raw and honest. “I wanted to,” he admits. “But no one outside of me, my father, and a handful of specially selected executives are meant to know what’s in the archives. Even knowing you saw them could put you…” his voice trails off. “You shouldn’t have seen them.”
A slow, sinking feeling settles in my chest.
I should stop there. I should let it go. But I can’t. “Then tell me something else.” I swallow. “Why are they watching my brother?”
Nikolai doesn’t look surprised by the question.
He shifts his hands from the wheel into his lap, running one of them through his hair before he speaks.
“It’s routine.” His voice is matter of fact, but not dismissive.
“Especially for politicians.” His eyes flick to mine, steady, but hinting at regret and the weight of it all.
“Your brother’s campaign is built around fighting corporate overreach.
His main points directly oppose companies like Blackthorn. ”
I stare at him, something cold spilling over me. “So that’s all it takes?” I ask, my voice quiet. “If someone speaks out against Blackthorn, they just—get put on the watchlist?”
“It’s not personal, Dawn.” His words are careful, deliberate. “It’s strategy.”
I let out a slow breath, pressing my back into the seat. Of course it is. I don’t know what answer I was hoping for. But now I feel it—the inevitable weight of what I’ve stepped into. It’s not about me. It never was.
Nikolai watches me carefully.
I want to say I trust him.
I could tell him about the note.
But I don’t, and I don’t.
Not yet, anyways.
But I believe him. And for now, that’s enough.
I turn toward the window. “Take me back.”
A pause, then he nods, starting the car and pulling onto the road.
Neither of us speak the whole way back.