Chapter 33 Stephan
Stephan
The fire crackles while I comb through every thread, every cached email with Katie. I deleted them all—at least, I think I did—but the doubt keeps looping like static.
I stare at my hands. I washed them this morning—twice—but I can still feel the ash, the grit that won’t come off.
Flashes of Katie’s skin, her breath, the sound she made when she came—they break through the static like fragments of confession.
We burned the paper, but the terms remain. She still obeys. I still command. The difference is that now the enforcement isn’t written on parchment—it’s inside us.
I should have never brought her into this, and yet every time I try to repent, my body betrays me. Guilt is a luxury I can’t afford; fear is the only thing that keeps me moving.
The only way out is through. But through means taking her with me—and I can’t decide if that’s mercy or murder.
The sun sinks low on the horizon. I don’t look towards Katie’s desk, though I can only imagine how anxious she is.
I don’t look at my phone. All I do is compile documents.
If the DOJ’s forensic team cross-references access logs, they’ll see her fingerprints all over Halcyon’s revisions—late-night edits, unauthorized redactions, files opened under my credentials.
Her loyalty looks like tampering on paper, and my silence turns it into conspiracy.
A knock on my door breaks me from my trance.
I look up to see Cassian standing in the doorway. Manila folder in his hand. A stoic look on his face.
“Come in,” I say, flexing my hands beneath the desk, willing them steady.
Cassian shuts the door behind him.
“I received an anonymous letter in the mail today.”
I arch a brow at my friend. “Oh? Does it have to do with the case?”
“You could say that.” He sets the folder on my desk. My name is written across the tab in block letters—his handwriting.
My blood goes cold.
Before me lies a series of stills from the museum’s security footage — low light, marble shadows, the unmistakable curve of Katie’s jaw as I tilt her face toward mine. Firm event. Client-sponsored. Security cameras rolling.
Cassian doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The silence is its own indictment.
There she is, frozen in grainy grayscale, the woman who undid me with faith instead of force. My sin is public now, and her face is collateral.
I know who pulled this, but there’s no use in pointing fingers.
“Tell me it’s over, Stephan,” Cassian says, leaning forward in his chair. “You have been my best friend since we were kids. I have always had your back. And I will have it now. But I need to know it’s over.”
I lean back in my chair. “It was never—”
He cuts me off. “Don’t. Don’t insult me, Stephan. I can read a room. And I can certainly read this.” He taps the folder once, sharply. “You were supposed to end it.”
End it as if the contract could ever end. Paper burns. Power doesn’t.
“I did.”
Cassian’s gaze hardens. “Then why does she still look at you like that?” His finger lands below Katie’s face. I know the look well. It’s the one she gave me this morning before I kissed her goodbye. She loves me in ways I never thought possible.
Because she still believes I can fix this. Because she still believes I’m good.
I can’t answer. The truth feels like chalk in my mouth.
He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “You think you can control this, but you can’t. The DOJ doesn’t care about your secrets, and Halcyon will burn you both to protect itself. If this leaks—if that footage circulates—you won’t just lose the firm. You’ll lose her, too.”
He’s wrong. I already lost her. The moment I let her carry my misdeed, I traded love for leverage.
He waits, letting the words hang in the firelight.
“I’m trying to contain it. They’ll come for me first,” I say quietly. “But once they see her edits in the system, she’s finished. They’ll think she doctored the discovery for me.”
“Then you’d better move faster,” Cassian says. “Because next time, it won’t be an anonymous envelope. It’ll be a subpoena.”
He turns toward the door.
“Cassian.” My voice stops him.
He glances back, something almost like pity flickering in his eyes.
“I won’t let her get dragged into this,” I say.
“You already did,” he answers. “I need time to figure this out, Stephan. See what I can do to minimize the damage. I’m not going to tell Damien right now.
You and I have a history. I’ll protect you, just like you did for me when we were kids.
But I’m not a magician. I can’t make any of this disappear,” he says, before leaving.
The door shuts behind him with a soft click.
If Cassian’s right, the DOJ won’t just come for Halcyon—they’ll come for me. Disbarment if I’m lucky. Prison if I’m not.
For a long time, I don’t move. The only sound is the fire hissing in the grate — the slow, relentless sound of paper turning to ash. Every “good girl” was another brick in the wall I built to keep her close—and now it’s the cage that marks her. I didn’t give her a bracelet; I gave her a target.
I should call her, warn her, end it—but the thought of hearing her voice terrifies me. Desire and damage control sound the same through a phone line.