Chapter 232

Dierella was keeping me in the dark about that dream woman—no question. She definitely knew something, but she wasn’t saying a damn thing. The worst part was that I couldn’t do anything about it. She just appeared and disappeared whenever she wanted, like she was the one pulling the strings... eh, I guess she was pulling the strings, though.

The dashboard lit up again.

Unknown number.

Curious, I answered.

"Who is this?" I said. "It’s midnight."

"Evan fucking Marlowe," a woman snapped. "You bastard."

"Who are you?"

"Sarah," she said. "Remember me?"

"Oh," I said, smirking. "Right. How’s your night going? Did Guy finally tighten your leash? Good for him."

"This is not over," she hissed. "I swear, Evan. This is not over."

"I’m shaking," I said flatly. "What are you gonna do this time?"

"Just wait," Sarah growled. "I’ll put you in your damn place. And I’m not as merciful as Guy. I swear to God."

"Right. Well, I gotta go, Sarah. Good talk. Let’s catch up sometime. Bye."

"EVA—"

I hung up and couldn’t help chuckling. She was desperate, furious, powerless. Felt fitting. After all the crap she pulled—threatening us, threatening Nala, trying to force millions out of the company every month—this was exactly where she belonged.

I turned left and finally reached TechForge. The parking lot security booth light clicked on. The guard inside stood up and slid open the tiny window of his little box—one of those small glass booths with the heater that never actually warmed anything, a desk packed with a coffee mug and a radio, and a big red button for the gate arm.

"Mr. Marlowe," he said. "Hello, sir. Ms. Nolin is inside."

"I know," I said as I rolled to a stop, waiting for him to raise the gate arm. "Have a good evening, man."

"You too, sir."

"Hmm."

The gate arm lifted, and I headed into the parking lot. I parked in the closest open spot and got out of the car. The cold air hit me right as the main doors slid open and Nala walked out.

We didn’t say anything at first. She just came straight to me, and we hugged—tight. She smelled like stress, perfume, and paperwork.

"So," I asked as we pulled back a bit. "How’s she doing?"

"Good," she said. "Maeve told me we shouldn’t worry. She’ll be up tomorrow... well—" she checked her phone "—technically this morning. It’s already past midnight."

"Yep."

"Damn."

"We should just head home," I said. "Why stay here?"

"I still have files to read. Some papers to sign." Nala rubbed her temple. "I could leave it for tomorrow, but... I won’t be able to sleep anyway."

"Then we’re staying here," I said, already pulling out my phone. "Chinese? Pizza?"

"A big, fucking, juicy, disgusting burger," she said, finally smiling.

"Two big, fucking, juicy, disgusting burgers," I chuckled as I unlocked my phone. "Coming right up."

❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

I woke up to the first light of the morning coming straight through the big window. I was lying on the couch in Nala’s office, half my legs dangling off the edge since the damn thing was too small. Turning left, I saw Nala in her chair, a file open in front of her while she read through the papers. On the table were half-eaten chips, the empty burger bags, and our diet cokes.

I turned my head back up and stared at the ceiling. The AC was blowing warm air, thank God. Otherwise, with how I only had my t-shirt on—no jacket—I’d be waking up sick. My boots were gone too. I definitely knocked out with them on. Nala must’ve taken them off me while I was out cold.

"Hey, CEO."

She jerked a little in her chair, then shot me a look. "Oh—God, you scared the crap out of me."

"Hey, I’m not dead. I was gonna wake up eventually, yeah?"

"Oh, I knew you weren’t dead. With how you snored last night."

"I don’t snore." I pushed myself up, groaning and yawning.

"Nope, you do." Nala chuckled as she went back to the papers. "Trust me."

I dragged myself to the closest chair at her table and sat down, leaning back. "You didn’t sleep?"

"No. How could I?"

"Hmm."

I grabbed my phone and checked the time. Six a.m. I lay down around three. No wonder my brain felt like mashed potatoes.

"Any news from Emilia?" I asked.

"I was going to talk to you about that," Nala said, closing the folder, locking eyes with me. "Evan... you have a problem."

"Huh?"

"You feel responsible for everyone even when you shouldn’t." She looked at me. "And that’s a good thing, to a point. It means you’re actually a decent person. Always looking out for others."

"Yeah?"

"But... why Emilia?" she asked. "She’s not connected to us. She’s not part of our life. Why protect her?"

"Because I was the reason she almost died," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay... then explain this," Nala said. "Why did you help me back then? When Guy humiliated me in front of everyone. You didn’t have to say anything. You didn’t have to step in. But you did."

"Because it was wrong," I said. "What kind of question is that, Nala?"

"You—look, you have a big heart." She sighed. "But sometimes being selfish isn’t a bad thing."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I know about Mendy." She nodded. "I know how terrible you’ve been feeling."

"It’s—"

She cut in, finishing the thought. "Because of you she and Richard made up. And because of you she got stalked."

"Nala..."

"We—Evan," she said quietly. "You can’t keep taking responsibility for everyone’s life. It puts you in danger. Look at Richard. He could’ve seriously hurt you. Look at my brother. He could’ve ruined you. He could’ve taken your home. He could’ve—"

"Killed me," I muttered.

She nodded. "Exactly."

I didn’t say anything. Just listened.

"I’m just... scared of losing you," Nala said. "For the longest time, you’ve been the only good thing that’s happened to me. And I don’t want to lose that."

I let it sit for a moment, then stood and walked over. She stayed seated as I reached down, gently cupped her chin, and kissed her. Soft, slow. She kissed back. Then I kissed her forehead, and she leaned into it just slightly.

"You’re cute when you’re worried."

"Ugh. Stop that."

I walked toward the door, stretching a bit. "Where did all that come from? The whole speech?"

"When you chased that mole," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I realized how scared I was. What if he had a gun? What if you didn’t make it back? My brain just... started spiraling."

"Well," I said with a small smile, hand on the doorknob, "nothing’s gonna happen to me. Don’t worry."

"Where are you going?"

"Coffee run." I opened the door. "Because, holy hell, we’re going to need it. A lot."

"Yeah... God, you’re right."

I stepped out, stretching my arms. "Two coffees, coming up."

When I stepped out into the corridor, a few early-bird workers were already scattered around—two engineers carrying laptops, one sleepy guy with a hoodie rubbing his eyes, a woman balancing a tablet and a thermos. They all gave me small nods when our eyes met. I nodded back. Everyone looked tired. Guess the whole "mole running around the building" thing didn’t help anyone’s sleep.

TechForge had its own coffee setup, thank God. Not the cheap break-room machine that spits mud, but a full automated café station tucked inside a glass-walled nook on each floor. You could see it from far down the hallway—bright lights, chrome dispensers, digital panels glowing like a vending machine on steroids. The whole thing looked like a mini Starbucks someone shrunk and stuffed into the corner of a corporate building.

I walked down the corridor toward it, the floor-to-ceiling windows on my right showing the city still drowned in early morning gray. The place was quiet—just the faint hum of vents and distant keyboards. My boots echoed softly on the polished floor as I headed for the coffee nook.

When I reached it, someone was already inside. One of the finance guys, judging by the badge clipped to his belt. He was waiting for his latte, tapping his foot like the machine personally wronged him. I leaned against the glass wall and waited while he grabbed his cup and hurried off, barely muttering a "morning."

Once he left, I stepped in.

The air inside smelled faintly of roasted beans and overpriced syrup. Three machines lined the back wall; the middle one was the beast—the one that hissed, steamed, and brewed espresso strong enough to wake up a damn statue.

I scanned my ID on the panel so it wouldn’t charge me, tapped "Large Americano x2," and waited. The machine whirred, clanked, sighed like it hated its job, then finally filled two big paper cups with something dark and angry. Strong enough to resurrect a corpse.

Carrying the two coffees, I walked back through the quiet hallway, pushed open the glass door of Nala’s office, and stepped inside. I set the cups on the table and shut the door behind me.

Nala gave me this grateful little nod without breaking eye contact from her file. "Bless you," she muttered, grabbing her cup.

I pulled a cigarette from my pack and lit it.

"Crack open a window at least," Nala said, still reading.

"But we’ll freeze."

"Then don’t smoke. Sheesh, Evan. I swear."

"The AC’ll push the smell out. Relax."

"Mm-hmm." She didn’t even fight it this time.