Chapter 21 Asher #2
He moves before she can answer. He pulls the sheet down, exposing her to the morning light. Her skin is flushed, covered in the red marks and bruises we left on her yesterday.
“We need to reinforce the bond,” Ethan says, his voice dropping an octave.
He moves behind her, pulling her back against his chest. His arms wrap around her waist, locking her in. “We need to make sure you don’t panic when you walk out that door.”
“I’m not panicking,” she breathlessly lies, her head falling back against Ethan’s shoulder.
“You are,” I say. “Your cortisol levels are elevated. Your heart rate is one hundred and ten. You require stabilization.”
I move to the foot of the bed. I take her ankles in my hands, my thumbs pressing into the pulse points there.
“Let us regulate you,” I say.
She looks at me. Her eyes are dark, blown wide with uncertainty.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Regulate me.”
I lean down. I press a kiss to the inside of her knee. Then another, higher up her thigh.
“Owen,” I say. “Keep her distracted.”
Owen nods. He leans over her, capturing her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. He feeds her breath. He hums against her lips, the vibration traveling down her throat.
Ethan holds her steady, his large hands rubbing soothing circles over her stomach, grounding her against his solid heat.
I settle between her legs. I push her thighs apart and drag my tongue right over her clit.
She gasps, her hips bucking slightly, but Ethan holds her firm.
“Easy,” Ethan murmurs into her ear. “We’ve got you. Just breathe.”
I work slowly. I learn the rhythm of her breathing. I taste the salt on her skin. I listen to the way her breath catches when I circle the sensitive bundle of nerves there.
She climaxes in a slow, melting release. She shudders, crying out my name, then Owen’s, then Ethan’s. She goes limp against Ethan’s chest, her hand tangling in Owen’s hair.
The tension leaves the room. The panic is gone, replaced by a warm, heavy contentment.
She lies amidst the tangle of sheets, her chest heaving, her eyes half-closed and misty.
“Better?” Owen whispers, kissing her nose.
“Much,” she murmurs, a lazy, drugged smile spreading across her face. “I think… I think I can face the day now.”
“Good,” Ethan says. He presses a kiss to her temple and squeezes her one last time before letting go. “Get up. We’re going to be late.”
The transition from lovers to The unit is jarring.
It’s like switching operating systems mid-process. One moment, we’re naked, tangled, and vulnerable. Next, we’re putting on the armor.
Ethan’s the first to transform. He showers quickly, emerging with a towel wrapped around his waist. He finds his suit trousers—wrinkled, but salvageable—and pulls them on.
He finds his shirt and straps on his watch.
With every item of clothing, the softness disappears.
The jaw tightens. The posture straightens. The Commander returns.
Owen is always harder to contain. He’s whistling as he hunts for his socks. He kisses Tessa on the cheek while she’s brushing her teeth. He smacks my ass as I’m pulling on my jeans.
“Focus, Owen,” I say, buttoning my shirt.
“I am focused,” he grins. “I’m focused on how good she looked this morning.”
“Zip it up, Owen,” Ethan orders from the living room. “We’re leaving in five minutes. You need to be in ‘Founder Mode’ by the time we hit the lobby.”
“You’re no fun,” Owen mutters, but he straightens his tie. The playfulness vanishes from his eyes, replaced by the sharp, ruthless focus he usually reserves for hostile boardrooms.
I’m the last to change.
I stand in front of the mirror in Tessa’s small bathroom. I look at my reflection. Usually, I don’t recognize the man in the mirror. He’s a stranger. A vessel for the code.
But today, I see something different. My eyes are brighter. The tension in my jaw is gone. I look… awake.
Tessa steps up beside me. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt and a silk blouse. She’s pinning her hair back into a tight bun.
She meets my eyes in the mirror.
“Do I look like I just spent twenty-four hours in bed with my bosses?” she asks quietly.
I analyze her. Her hair’s perfect, makeup precise, and clothes crisp. But there’s a flush on her cheeks that makeup can’t hide. Her lipstick is flawless. And in her eyes, there’s a secret. A deep, burning secret.
“You look,” I say, “like you just got railed by three guys.”
She stops dead. “Asher.”
“Kidding,” I add, turning to face her. “You look fine.”
She softens. She reaches out, straightening my collar. Her fingers brush my neck, and the static threatens to return.
“We have to be careful, Asher,” she whispers. “Ethan is right. If the investors figure this out… if Vance finds out…”
“Vance is a blunt instrument,” I say dismissively. “He’s looking for a backdoor into our code, not our personal lives.”
“If he finds out about this,” she says, gesturing between us, “he’ll use it as leverage to tank the launch.”
“We don’t give him anything,” I say. “Rule one: We keep our hands off each other. Rule two: We don’t talk unless it’s about work. Rule three: Deny everything.”
“And Harper?” she asks.
“Harper is the firewall,” I say. “We don’t let her breach the perimeter. If she asks, you’re busy. We’re busy. The launch is the priority.”
“I hate lying to her,” she says again.
“It’s necessary,” I state. “To protect the system.”
“Ready?” Ethan’s voice cuts through the door.
Tessa takes a deep breath. She squares her shoulders. She grabs her bag.
“Ready,” she says.
She walks out of the bathroom. I follow her out to the living room, where Ethan and Owen are already waiting by the front door.
The ride up to the 40th floor is tense.
There are two other employees in the elevator—interns from the marketing department. They’re looking at their phones, terrified to make eye contact with the Phantom Trio.
Usually, I ignore them. Today, I’m hyper-aware of them.
I’m hyper-aware of everything.
I’m aware that Owen is standing six inches too close to Tessa. I’m aware that Ethan is standing in front of her, blocking her from the rest of the elevator, a subconscious shielding maneuver. I’m aware that Tessa is gripping her phone hard enough to crack the screen.
Ping.
The doors open.
“Good morning,” Ethan says to the interns. His voice is cool, detached. The CEO voice.
“Good morning, Mr. Branson,” they squeak, rushing out.
We step out into the lobby. The office is already buzzing. The launch countdown clock on the wall displays: 01 Day: 15 Hours: 43 Minutes.
The energy is frantic. Developers are sprinting with laptops. The marketing team is arguing over hex codes.
And in the middle of it all, we stop.
This is the moment. The separation.
Ethan turns to Tessa. For a second, his mask slips. His jaw flexes. He stares at her mouth for a fraction of a second too long. His hands curl into fists at his sides before he forces them to relax.
Then, the firewall goes up.
“Tessa,” he says. “I need the final press release drafts on my desk by nine.”
“Yes, sir,” she says. Her voice is steady. Perfect.
“Owen,” Ethan snaps. “UI review in the conference room. Now.”
“On it, boss,” Owen says, flashing a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He winks at Tessa—a microscopic gesture—and heads for the dev pit.
“Asher,” Ethan says, looking at me. “Server load?”
“Optimal,” I say.
“Keep it that way.”
Ethan turns and walks toward his corner office without looking back.
Tessa stands there for a second. She looks at me. We’re the only two left in the lobby.
“I have a meeting,” she says. “With the graphics team.”
“Go,” I say.
She hesitates. “Asher?”
“Yes?”
“You were right,” she says softly. “About the noise.”
“What about it?”
“It’s gone,” she says. “I feel… focused. I feel safe.”
She smiles—a genuine, private smile that’s just for me—and then she turns and walks away. Her heels click against the polished concrete floor.
I watch her go, tracking the sway of her hips and the way the light catches her hair.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not thinking about the code. I’m not thinking about the server architecture or the security protocols or the launch metrics.
I’m thinking about the fact that in ten hours, we’ll have her pinned to that mattress again.
I turn toward the server room.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A notification from the system.
[SECURITY ALERT: External Access Attempt Detected.]
I frown. I pull out my phone.
It’s a ping on the secure server. Someone is trying to probe the backend of the Mosaic user database. It’s clumsy. A brute-force attempt.
I tap the screen, tracing the IP. It bounces through three proxies. Russia. Brazil. And then… a local node.
Austin, Texas. Downtown.
My eyes narrow. I look at the map. The origin point is three blocks away.
Nebula Corp. Vance.
I feel the cold, familiar clarity of the machine settle over me. The emotions of the morning—the warmth, the lust, the panic—are compartmentalized instantly. They’re filed away in a secure folder.
The predator wakes up.
“You want to play, Markus?” I whisper to the screen.
He’s dead certain he’s won. He thinks he stole our strategist and we’re bleeding out, scrambling to recover. He fully expects Tessa to sign his contract on Monday. So he’s probing the perimeter right now, looking for an open backdoor while he assumes we’re too distracted to notice.
I walk into the server room, the hum of the cooling fans greeting me like a choir. I sit in my chair and crack my knuckles before bringing up the terminal. Green text flows like water.
EXECUTE COUNTER-PROTOCOL: OMEGA. TARGET: NEBULA_MAIN.
He has no idea. We aren’t distracted. We’re unified. And I’m going to tear his digital life apart.
I emerge for coffee. My biological indicators suggest dehydration.
The kitchen is crowded, and the launch anxiety is palpable. People are vibrating.
I pour black coffee into a mug. I don’t use sugar. It’s inefficient.
“Hey, Ash.”
I stop pouring.
It’s Tessa. She’s standing by the refrigerator, holding a yogurt. She looks normal. She’s chatting with Sarah from HR. She’s laughing.
“Hey,” I say.
“Did you see the latest engagement metrics?” she asks. “The ‘Find Your Tribe’ campaign is trending.”
“I saw,” I say. “The algorithm is prioritizing organic growth.”
“Exactly.” She smiles. “It’s working.”
Sarah from HR looks between us. “You guys seem… in sync today. Usually, you’re arguing about API integration.”
“We resolved the conflict,” Tessa says smoothly. She opens her yogurt. “We found a workaround.”
“Good,” Sarah says. “Because Ethan has been in a mood all week. Hopefully, this calms him down.”
“I think he’s calmer,” Tessa says. She glances at me. Her eyes sparkle.
My phone buzzes again.
I expect it to be the server logs. Or Ethan.
It isn’t.
It’s a text message. From a contact I haven’t heard from in three days.
Harper: Hey big brother! Tessa isn’t picking up (tell her to check her phone—workaholic!).
My flight got moved up. I land tonight at 9 PM and I’m heading straight to her place to crash.
You guys have to come by for a drink to say hi!
Please? I don’t want to be alone and I’m too tired for a restaurant.
Rally the boys and meet me there with champagne! XOXO.
My internal processor stalls. A critical error overrides the system. I set the coffee mug on the counter before my grip shatters the ceramic.
“Asher?” Tessa asks, noticing the abrupt halt in my movement. “What is it?”
I look at Sarah from HR. She is a highly efficient gossip node in the office network.
“Tessa,” I say, keeping my voice flat and completely devoid of panic. “I need you to review a critical error log in the server room. Immediately.”
Sarah steps back, taking the hint. “I’ll let you guys work. See you at the briefing, Tess.”
The second Sarah turns the corner, I hand Tessa my phone. Tessa reads the message. She goes pale.
“Tonight?” she whispers, her hands shaking so badly the phone rattles against her fingernails. “She lands tonight? She’s coming to my apartment?”
“The Harper variable has accelerated unexpectedly," I confirm.
“I’ve got to go,” Tessa breathes, shoving the phone back into my chest. “I have to find Ethan.”
She turns and walks fast toward the executive suite, her heels clicking in an uneven rhythm.
I stare at the phone.
Nine hours.
We had a plan. We had rules. We had a strategy for secrecy. But Harper is the chaos variable. She’s the one element we can’t control.
And she’s coming home right into the middle of the blast zone.
I leave the coffee sitting untouched on the counter.
I need to find Ethan. We’ve got a problem. And for the first time, I don’t have a code to fix it.