Chapter 6 Forbidden Night

Sophie's lab was eerily quiet when I arrived the next afternoon. Most of the research staff seemed to be at lunch, leaving the space feeling larger and more sterile than during my previous visit.

"You came," Sophie said, emerging from her office. "Good. We don't have much time."

"What's this about?" I asked, following her back into the private office.

She closed the door and lowered the blinds before turning to me. "I overheard something concerning at the executive breakfast this morning. Your sister and grandfather are accelerating the Takeda deal timeline. Papers will be signed Friday instead of next month."

My pulse quickened. "That's in two days."

"Exactly. Whatever they're planning, they're rushing it now that you've returned." Sophie pulled out a flash drive. "I've been monitoring communications between Charles and certain... questionable parties for years. Out of loyalty to your father."

"You think my father was murdered," I said quietly.

Sophie's eyes widened. "Who told you that?"

"Damien."

She sat heavily in her chair. "So he finally showed his hand. I've wondered about his true agenda for years."

"Can I trust him?" I asked, voicing the question that had kept me awake.

Sophie considered carefully. "Damien Wells is playing a dangerous game. He's been working his way into Charles's inner circle since he was twenty-two—suspiciously soon after your father's 'accident.' But his motivations..." She shook her head. "Those remain unclear."

"He says he's investigating my father's death."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps that's what he wants you to believe." She handed me the flash drive. "What matters now is stopping this Takeda deal. There's something very wrong with the ownership structure—shell companies within shell companies. I've traced connections to organizations with known criminal ties."

I pocketed the drive. "How do I access the full proposal?"

"You can't—not directly. But..." Sophie hesitated. "Emily keeps a private laptop in her suite. If you could access it even briefly..."

The implication was clear. I'd need to sneak into my sister's room—a risky proposition at best. Before I could respond, Sophie's phone buzzed.

"Charles is back from lunch early," she warned. "You need to go. Use the service elevator—third floor will let you out near the executive parking garage."

As I hurried toward the elevator, Sophie called after me softly: "Vivian—be careful who you trust. Even Damien."

The ride home gave me time to think. I needed access to Emily's laptop, but her suite was essentially off-limits. As I pulled into the estate driveway, I noticed unusual activity—staff carrying arrangements of white roses and crystal champagne flutes.

"What's happening?" I asked a passing housekeeper.

"Engagement celebration," she replied hurriedly. "Fifty guests arriving at eight. Miss Emily's orders came this morning."

Perfect. A house full of people meant distractions, opportunities for movement without scrutiny. As I climbed the main staircase, Emily herself appeared at the landing, immaculate in a designer dress, phone pressed to her ear.

"—don't care what it costs. This needs to be perfect." She noticed me and forced a smile. "I'll call you back." She ended the call and approached with artificial warmth. "Vivian! I was just about to look for you."

"Were you?" I matched her false enthusiasm.

"Of course! Tonight's celebration is important to the family, and you're..." she paused meaningfully, "...technically family."

"How gracious of you to remember."

Her smile tightened. "I've had a dress sent to your room. Nothing too extravagant—wouldn't want to outshine the bride-to-be—but presentable enough."

Before I could respond, her phone rang again. With an insincere apology, she answered and swept away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a growing plan.

The dress Emily had chosen for me was predictably underwhelming—a matronly navy number that would ensure I faded into the background. I smiled at the transparent attempt to diminish me, then reached for the garment bag I'd purchased yesterday after meeting Sophie—a crimson silk gown that would ensure I was anything but invisible.

By eight o'clock, the mansion had transformed into a glittering showcase of wealth and power. Business associates, socialites, and politicians filled the grand reception rooms, all eager to celebrate the union of two powerful families. I deliberately arrived late, pausing at the top of the grand staircase to ensure maximum visibility.

The crimson dress did its work. Conversations stuttered as I descended, the fitted bodice and flowing skirt creating exactly the impression I'd intended. Emily, holding court in the center of the ballroom, faltered mid-sentence when she saw me, her champagne glass freezing halfway to her lips.

But it was Damien's reaction I sought, and found. Standing beside his fiancée in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, he couldn't hide the flash of heat in his eyes as they traveled from my face down the length of my body. Our gazes locked for a charged moment before propriety forced him to look away.

"Quite an entrance," Mother murmured, appearing beside me with two champagne flutes. "Emily looks ready to commit murder."

"That was rather the point," I admitted, accepting the drink.

Mother sighed. "Be careful with this game you're playing, especially with Damien. Men like him are dangerous precisely because they make danger seem worthwhile."

I watched as Emily, recovering her composure, deliberately pulled Damien into a possessive kiss for the benefit of nearby photographers. When they separated, his eyes immediately sought mine across the room.

"I know what I'm doing," I told Mother, not entirely convinced myself.

The evening progressed predictably—speeches extolling the perfect match, toasts to future success, Emily's theatrical displays of affection. I circulated carefully, gathering intelligence through seemingly innocent conversations, waiting for my opportunity.

It came sooner than expected. Emily, irritated by a catering mishap, stormed off to berate the event coordinator. Charles was deep in conversation with a Japanese businessman I recognized from company files as Takeda's CEO. And Damien—Damien had slipped away from the crowd entirely.

With everyone distracted, I made my move toward the family wing, heart pounding beneath the silk of my gown. Emily's suite was at the end of the hallway—double doors carved with the Hart family crest. I tested the handle carefully. Locked, of course.

"Looking for something?" Damien's voice behind me nearly stopped my heart.

I turned slowly, finding him leaning against the wall, bow tie undone, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"I could ask you the same question," I countered, pulse racing. "Shouldn't you be downstairs celebrating your engagement?"

He moved closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne—sandalwood and something distinctly his own. "I saw you leave. Thought you might be up to something dangerous."

"Define dangerous."

His eyes dropped to my lips. "Breaking into your sister's room during her engagement party would qualify."

"I need access to her laptop," I admitted, seeing no point in denying it. "Sophie says the Takeda deal is happening Friday. If there's evidence linking it to my father's death—"

"There is." Damien glanced down the hallway, ensuring we were alone. "I confirmed it this morning. Takeda's primary investor is a shell company called Meridian Holdings. The same company that owned the construction firm responsible for the 'faulty brakes' on your father's car."

My blood ran cold. "Then we need to stop the deal."

"It's not that simple. If Charles suspects we're onto him—"

"What, he'll kill us too?" The words came out more sharply than intended.

Damien's expression turned grave. "Don't underestimate what he's capable of. Your father didn't."

A noise from downstairs—Emily's voice, asking someone if they'd seen Damien—interrupted us.

"She's looking for you," I whispered.

Without warning, Damien took my hand, pulling me further down the hallway to a door I hadn't noticed. "My room," he explained, unlocking it quickly. "We can talk safely here."

I hesitated only briefly before following him inside. The suite was spacious but surprisingly understated—dark woods, leather furnishings, bookshelves lined with legal texts and classics. So different from what I'd expected of Emily's fiancé.

"You have your own room?" I asked, noting the distance from Emily's suite.

"I insisted on it when I moved in last year." He closed the door behind us. "Said I needed my own space for work. The truth is I couldn't bear sharing a bed with her every night, knowing what I know."

The implication hung between us, heavy with meaning. I moved to the window, looking out at the garden below where guests mingled with champagne flutes, Emily now among them, scanning the crowd.

"She'll come looking for you soon," I said quietly.

Damien moved behind me, close enough that I could feel his warmth without quite touching. "Let her."

I turned to face him, our bodies inches apart. "This is insane, you know. Whatever this is between us."

"I know." His hand rose to touch my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with aching tenderness. "I've spent years focused on one goal—justice for your father. Then you walked into that dining room, and suddenly..."

"Suddenly what?" I breathed, hardly daring to move.

"Suddenly the mission wasn't enough anymore." His eyes, intense and vulnerable, held mine. "I want you, Vivian. Not as part of the plan. Not as Alexander Hart's daughter. Just you."

The confession broke something loose inside me—a flood of feelings I'd been desperately trying to contain. Without thinking, I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that started tentative but quickly blazed into something more demanding, more desperate.

Damien responded instantly, arms encircling me, pulling me flush against him as the kiss deepened. My hands found their way to his hair, his shoulders, his chest—needing to touch, to confirm this was real. His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, my neck, drawing a soft gasp from me that seemed to inflame him further.

"We shouldn't," I whispered unconvincingly as his hands traced the silk covering my back.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against my skin, "and I will."

But I couldn't form the words, didn't want to. Instead, I pulled his mouth back to mine, surrendering to the current that had been building between us since that first night.

What followed was a blur of sensation—the rustle of expensive fabric, the contrast of soft sheets against heated skin, the reverent way Damien whispered my name like a prayer. Every touch, every kiss seemed to erase the doubts, the dangers, the complications awaiting us outside that room.

"I've wanted this since the moment I saw you," he confessed, hovering above me, eyes dark with desire. "Wanted you."

"Show me," I challenged, pulling him closer, losing myself in the perfect friction of skin against skin.

And he did—with a thoroughness that left me breathless, clutching at his shoulders, crying out his name as pleasure crested and broke like waves against shore. He followed shortly after, my name on his lips, our bodies locked together in perfect synchronicity.

Afterward, we lay tangled in sheets and each other, the sounds of the party floating up from the gardens below—a surreal reminder of the world continuing without us. Damien traced lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, his expression thoughtful.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, studying his face in the dim light.

"That I never expected you." His fingers continued their gentle exploration. "You've complicated everything in the best possible way."

"What happens now?" I couldn't help asking, reality beginning to intrude.

He sighed, pulling me closer. "Now I need to find a way to break the engagement without tipping off Charles. After the Takeda deal is signed, Emily will be insufferable—that might give me the opening I need."

"And us?"

"There is an us," he said firmly. "Whatever happens, however complicated it gets—remember that."

A noise in the hallway startled us both—footsteps approaching, then passing Damien's door. We held our breath until they faded, the moment a stark reminder of our precarious situation.

"You should go," Damien said reluctantly. "Emily will notice your absence soon if she hasn't already."

Reality crashed back fully as we dressed in charged silence. I smoothed down my crimson dress, suddenly feeling the weight of what we'd done—what we were risking. As Damien helped zip me up, his lips brushed the nape of my neck in a gesture so tender it made my heart ache.

"Tomorrow night," he whispered. "The greenhouse. Nine o'clock."

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. He checked the hallway before letting me slip out, our fingers reluctantly parting.

I had almost reached the staircase when Emily appeared at the top, her expression shifting from annoyance to suspicion when she saw me.

"What are you doing up here?" she demanded. "This wing is family only."

"I needed a moment away from the crowd," I replied smoothly. "Congratulations again on your engagement. Damien seems... devoted."

Her eyes narrowed at his name. "He is. Completely." She stepped closer, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Whatever you think you're doing, sister dear, understand this—Damien belongs to me. The company belongs to me. This family belongs to me. You're nothing but an inconvenient ghost."

I met her gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. "We'll see about that."

As I descended the staircase, rejoining the celebration with a composed smile, I could feel Emily's eyes burning into my back. The game had escalated beyond power and inheritance now. With Damien's touch still tingling on my skin and the memory of his passion branded on my heart, I knew there was no turning back.

The die was cast. And God help us all when it landed.