Chapter 11
Callum
The glow off the screen’s reflectin’ in me eyes, but I’m not really seein’ any of it.
I’m starin’, sure, fingers tappin’ across the keyboard, diggin’ through info on Clarissa—HR, her work history, who she’s been talkin’ to.
I’m doin’ what I always do: gettin’ deep, sniffin’ out the shite that doesn’t line up. But truth is... I’m not fully here.
Should be. Been doin’ this long enough to spot the smallest feckin’ detail. But all I can think about is her. Seraphina.
Her face keeps showin’ up, like a ghost just floatin’ there at the edges of me mind. Her eyes—sharp as razors but soft underneath it all—like she’s built walls just to keep everyone out. She’s hidin’, alright. But I see it.
I see everythin’ about her.
I slam me fist into the desk, chest tight with frustration. Bloody hell. This is ridiculous. I don’t get distracted. Never have. I know how to block out everythin’ else when I’m workin’. Always have. But her?
She’s a different story.
Her curves—Christ. The way she walks around, confident as ya like, not a clue how feckin’ temptin’ she looks. Drives me absolutely mad .
And that mouth on her. The smart shite she spouts off—every sarcastic bite, every challenge—has me cock twitchin’ like I’m some feckin’ schoolboy who’s never seen a woman before.
I drag a hand down me face, breathin’ out slow. What the hell is wrong with me? This ain’t the time for this shite.
I shift back in the chair, eyes back on the screen, tryin’ to force meself to focus. But she’s still there, crawlin’ through me thoughts like she owns the place.
Close yer eyes, Callum. Focus, for feck’s sake.
Can’t be losin’ me head now. Not with everythin’ hangin’ in the balance.
I keep tellin’ meself she’s just another asset. Someone to protect. That’s it. Don’t matter how she looks, how her voice scrapes down me spine, or how me gut twists every time she talks.
She’s a job. Deserves help, sure. Like any other woman caught up in this shite.
But still... I’m already figurin’ out ways to see her again.
I rake me hand through me hair. It’s a risky situation as is. She needs watchin’, keepin’ close so no one else gets to her. She’s neck-deep in it and doesn’t even know it. That’s the dangerous part.
Textin’? Callin’? No chance. If someone’s trackin’ her phone, the last thing I need is leavin’ a trail.
I grab the keys to the bike and stand. She’s probably back at her penthouse by now. Alone.
Before I know it, I’m out the door. Didn’t even give meself a second to debate it.
It’s just for her safety. Nothin’ more.
The engine roars beneath me as I cut through the city, night air sharp against my face.
Streets blur past, a streak of neon and shadow, but my mind’s already ahead of me—racin’ up to her floor, to that cold, glass box she calls home.
I park two blocks over, takin’ the back way in, always careful.
Always watchin’. It’s near midnight when I knock, knuckles firm against the silence.
I knock once. Twice. Three times. She opens the door, confusion writ all over her face.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she snaps, too quick to hide the way her shoulders ease just a bit. Relief, maybe. Even if she don’t want to admit it.
I lean on the doorframe, casual-like. “Wasn’t gonna risk callin’ or textin’, in case yer phone’s bein’ watched.” I shrug like it’s nothin’.
Her eyes narrow, that spark flickerin’. "Right. Because you can’t take a hint." She steps aside, lettin’ me in.
I make sure not to crowd her, but me presence is heavy as always. Always is, where she’s concerned.
I take a glance ‘round the place. Sleek, minimal. Cold, even. But it fits her. On the surface, she’s got it all sorted.
“So,” I say, tossin’ me jacket on the back o’ the couch, “what’d ye find?”
She crosses her arms, face guarded, but I see the curiosity peekin’ through. She’s tryin’ to hide it, but I know her better than she thinks. "I haven’t finished going through everything, but I’ve found a few things that make me think we’re on the right track."
I watch her close, see the fire in her eyes. She throws herself into this work, and I can’t help but respect it—more than I care to admit.
She’s dangerous. Not ‘cause o’ who’s comin’ after her, but because she doesn’t realise how deep she’s already in.
“I’ve been diggin’ into Clarissa,” I say, pullin’ her attention. Her eyes flick to mine.
“Clarissa from HR?” she asks, her voice softenin’.
I nod. “Aye. Yer instincts were dead-on. She’s in deeper than she’s lettin’ on. Got ties to people in Blackdawn I doubt even you grasp.”
I take a step closer, lowerin’ me voice. “Ye trusted yer gut, Seraphina. Ye were right. That woman’s hidin’ somethin’. I’ve got eyes on her now. We’ll figure it out—together.”
She doesn’t answer at first. Just watches me, face unreadable. But I see the thoughts spinnin’, her mind already on the next move.
Eventually, she nods. “Good,” she mutters. “We’ll need to stay one step ahead of her. She’s smart, I can tell.”
I offer a steady look, not sure if I’m reassurin’ her or meself. “We’ll be ready, no matter what comes.”
She holds me gaze for a second longer, her eyes softenin’ just a bit. Maybe she’s lettin’ me in. Maybe I’m imaginin’ it.
She turns and heads toward the kitchen, and I damn near lose control of me thoughts watchin’ the sway of her hips. Feckin’ hell.
Her voice floats back, sharp but casual. "You hungry? I was just about to eat, and now that you're here, might as well ask you."
A slow grin creeps across me face as I follow her. She’s rummagin’ in the fridge, completely unaware that every little move she makes digs deeper under me skin.
I lean on the counter, arms crossed.
“Ye cookin’ for me? That yer way of askin’ me on a date?” I tease, lettin’ the Irish roll heavier, just to rile her up.
She freezes for a second, then turns ‘round with daggers in her eyes.
“No, you asshole... Don’t make this weird! Are you hungry or not?”
I chuckle low in me throat. Pissin’ her off is me new favorite hobby. She’s all spit and fire, and it makes her taste sweeter than sin—even if I’ve only tasted her temper.
“Yeah, I’m feckin’ starvin’,” I drawl. “Wouldn’t say no to real food. Haven’t eaten all day.”
“Then sit your ass down and let me work,” she mutters, yankin’ ingredients like they’ve wronged her personally.
I watch her flit around the kitchen, confident, efficient. Like cookin’s her native tongue. Steak hits the pan with a hiss. Potatoes boil. Green beans sizzle with garlic and butter. Smells like home. Or what home might’ve smelled like, if I’d ever had one worth rememberin’.
She doesn’t talk much while she works, and I don’t interrupt. Just watch. Not just ‘cause her shirt clings to her back in ways that test me feckin’ patience—but because there’s a peace in her movements. Like no matter the storm outside, she can still bring order to her space.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re sittin’ at a small table, plates between us, steam risin’ up like incense. First bite nearly makes me groan. It’s real. Seasoned. Perfect.
I glance at her. She’s watchin’ me, waitin’.
“Well?” she asks.
I smirk. “If this is how ye treat yer surprise guests, I might have to show up unannounced more often.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a twitch at the corner of her lips. Progress.
We eat quiet for a while. Not awkward. Just... comfortable.
Then she sets her fork down. Voice low.
“I found a few things I didn’t expect. Nothing solid yet, but enough to raise red flags.”
I pause mid-bite. “Go on.”
She taps her glass with her nail. “Clarissa initiated a new employee vetting process about eight months ago. No formal notice, no trail. But it gives her access to confidential files—contracts, emails, internal complaints. Stuff HR usually doesn’t get unless flagged.”
“That’s not standard practice?”
“Not the way she did it. And then there’s the non-compete she had me sign.”
I narrow my eyes. “Ye said she acted strange beforehand.”
She nods. “Yeah. The way she paused outside my office? It was like… I don’t know. She smiled before coming in, but it wasn’t her usual fake-office smile. It felt—off. Like she was about to play her hand.”
I lean back in my chair, chewing that over. “Sounds like she knew exactly what she was doin’. And ye were her target.”
“I can’t prove anything yet, but she’s trying to box me in, keep me on a leash. If I’d actually signed a real non-compete update, it would’ve prevented me from touching certain divisions. Or whistleblowing.”
I clench my jaw. “We’ll find it. Whatever she’s hidin’. And if she’s workin’ for Blackdawn’s board or someone else entirely, I’ll root it out.”
She looks up at me then, and it’s not suspicion or fear I see—it’s trust. Uneasy, reluctant, but it’s there.
“We’ll need to be careful,” she says quietly. “I’m starting to think I’ve been watched longer than I realized.”
I reach across the table, not touchin’ her but close enough that she can feel the weight of my words.
“They’ll regret it,” I say, voice low. “Whatever game they’re playin’, they picked the wrong woman to fuck with.”
With that, I start for the door, ready to leave for the night—until her hand wraps 'round mine, halting me in my tracks.
I glance back, surprised, and there she is—lookin’ up at me like she’s tryin’ to solve a riddle only her heart knows the answer to.
I step closer. Slow. Intentional. My fingers find her jaw, rough thumb brushing the soft curve of it. I dip my head, close enough that our lips graze—just a breath between us.
But I don’t kiss her.
I murmur, low and dark, “You haven’t the faintest clue what you’re daring… little siren.”
Then I pull away, leave her standin’ there—breathless, stunned, and likely fumin’ at how deep she already feels it.