Cole's guest room had a view of Elliott Bay that cost more than most people's houses. I'd been staring at it for two weeks.
Every morning a housekeeper I never saw left breakfast outside the door. Every evening Cole knocked twice and asked if I needed anything. I always said no. He never pushed.
Tonight was different. Tonight I walked out of that room and found him in the kitchen, pouring coffee like it was ten in the morning instead of midnight.
"I'm keeping it," I said.
He set the pot down carefully. Didn't ask what I meant. "Okay."
"I'm going back to him."
That got a reaction. His hand stilled on the counter. "Naya—"
"Not for real." I crossed my arms over the silk robe his housekeeper had left folded on my bed, price tag still attached. "I need access. To his files, his accounts, his clients. I can't do that from the outside."
Cole turned around and looked at me for a long time. His eyes were dark and steady and I couldn't read a single thing in them. "You'll have to make him believe you've forgiven him."
"I know."
"You'll have to sleep in his bed. Smile at his business dinners. Let his mother hug you."
"I know," I said again, harder this time.
He nodded once. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a thin black folder. Set it on the marble island between us.
"King Industries' financial structure," he said quietly. "Offshore accounts in the Caymans. Doctored invoices running back three years. Shell companies in Delaware that don't show up on any public filings. My team started mapping it the day after the crash."
I stared at the folder. Didn't touch it yet. "Why?"
"Because you were going to ask."
"That's not an answer."
Cole leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, mirroring me. "Jared King has been stealing credit for other people's work since college. He's built an empire on fraud and charm and the assumption that nobody will ever call him on it. You want to take him apart. I want to help."
"What do you want in return?"
"Nothing."
I laughed. It came out sharp and ugly. "Nobody does something like this for nothing."
"I do," he said, and there was something in his voice that made me stop. Something that sounded like the truth even though I didn't want to believe him.
I pulled the folder across the island and opened it. Page after page of account numbers, transaction records, emails with subject lines that made my stomach turn. *Re: Q3 adjustments – keep this internal.* *Cayman wire – do NOT copy legal.*
"How long have you known?" I asked.
"Suspected? Years. Confirmed? Two weeks."
I flipped to the last page. A client list. King Industries' top ten accounts, color-coded by revenue impact. Three names were highlighted in yellow.
"Those three," Cole said, reading over my shoulder. "If they walk, King Industries loses forty percent of its quarterly revenue. The stock price drops. The board starts asking questions. Everything unravels from there."
I traced my finger over the first name. Hartman & Associates. I'd met Richard Hartman at a dozen charity dinners. He always asked about my wedding plans.
"I can get to them," I said.
Cole didn't answer. When I looked up, he was watching me with an expression I couldn't name. Something careful and sad.
"You don't have to do this," he said.
I closed the folder. "Yes, I do."
Three days later, I called Jared from Cole's penthouse while Cole stood on the balcony pretending not to listen.
Jared picked up on the first ring. "Naya—"
I let my voice shake. It wasn't hard. "I can't stop thinking about you."
Silence. Then: "Baby, I'm so sorry. I swear to God, it didn't mean anything. She didn't mean anything."
I closed my eyes. "I'm pregnant, Jared."
"I know. I know. We'll figure it out. We'll—"
"I don't want to lose you." Every word tasted like glass. "But I can't marry you right now. Not like this."
"We'll postpone," he said, fast, desperate. "However long you need. I'll do anything."
"I need time. And I need to know you're serious. About us. About this baby."
"I am. Naya, I swear—"
"Then prove it," I said. "Let me back in. Let me help with the business again. Like I used to."
Another pause. Shorter this time. "Of course. Whatever you need."
I hung up and sat very still on the edge of Cole's couch. Through the glass, I could see him standing at the railing, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight.
I put my hand on my stomach. Six weeks and three days. A flutter of cells that tied me to the man I was about to destroy.
Some nights I wondered what kind of person that made me. Most nights I didn't let myself wonder at all.
Cole came back inside and sat down across from me, careful to leave space between us.
"It's done," I said.
He nodded. Didn't say *I'm proud of you* or *You did the right thing.* Just: "What do you need next?"
I looked at him. At the man who'd pulled me out of a wrecked car and asked for nothing. At the folder still sitting on the counter with everything I needed to burn Jared's world down.
"A plan," I said.
Cole almost smiled. "I can do that."
