HARPER.
The rain had stopped sometime in the day, leaving the city streets slick and gleaming under the gray sky. I gripped the steering wheel of my sedan, the leather worn smooth under my palms from years of drives chasing leads. The engine hummed steadily as I drove through the morning traffic, the wipers occasionally flicking away stray droplets that clung to the windshield like stubborn regrets.
All morning, I had been circling downtown loops of the city, side streets lined with coffee shops where I had once pounded out stories on my laptop, even past the old newsroom building where my career had died a slow death.
The radio droned in the background, some talk show debating ethics in journalism, but I barely heard it over the roar in my head. What to do? The flash drive sat in my glove compartment like a ticking bomb, hiding the evidence Noah had handed me. It was my salvation, the key to vindicating my ruined career, but using it meant torching whatever future I had glimpsed with him.
I thought back to that morning, Noah had been sleeping peacefully when I'd slipped from the bed, his hair tousled against the pillow, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sheet had slipped low on his hips, his face, usually etched with that hacker's intensity, had been soft in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away, making him look younger, almost innocent. If only he was
I had paused at the door, my heart twisting as I watched him, the room dim with pre-dawn light filtering through the blinds. Could I live without him? The question had echoed in my mind as I had quietly gathered my things. The night before had been endless with his hands exploring every inch of me, his lips murmuring promises of a life beyond the cartel. But now, in the cold light of day, those promises felt paper-thin against the weight of my oath as a journalist.
The traffic light turned red, and I stopped, the engine idling like my thoughts. Horns blared around me with drivers impatient in the morning rush, but I barely noticed, my fingers drumming on the wheel nervously. Ethically, using the evidence was right since the world needed to know about Atlas, the billion-dollar tech empire that was nothing but a glittering cover for Zane Calloway's cartel. It was the story that could revive my career and wash away the "conspiracy nut" label they had slapped on me after Noah's hacks debunked my first exposé. I had sworn to air the truth, to hold power accountable.
But at what cost? Ending what could be an epic love with Noah? The man who had chosen me over his brothers and his empire? The thought sent a pang through my chest.
The light turned green, and I accelerated, the car lurching forward as if mirroring my indecision. Could I live without him? The question looped on, with each repetition chipping away at my resolve.
I turned onto a familiar street that lead to the newsroom I once worked at while the wipers swished lazily, clearing droplets that distorted my view. My heart skipped again, a traitor beat, as I pulled into the parking lot, the tires crunching on loose gravel.
The building stared back at me, and I killed the engine, the sudden silence felt deafening. My hand reached for the door handle, but I froze.
Get out. Stream it. Reclaim your life.
Yet I couldn't.
The hesitation answered for me as minutes ticked by, and I didn't move. By not going in, I was choosing him over my career. Love over justice. The thought sent a wave of nausea through me, making my stomach twist, but I also felt a strange relief, like releasing a breath I had held too long.
But I wasn't one to give up easily.
The journalist in me rebelled, the oath to air the truth, a fire that refused to die. I started the engine again, the rumble vibrating through the seat, and pulled out, the tires spinning slightly on the wet pavement.
I wasn't going to the office but to Atlas. I was going to face Zane Calloway and his merry gang members. If I was going to burn it all, I would do it in person, see the gang's faces as it fell.
An hour later, I approached the towering glass penthouse, the Atlas Empire. My heart pounded. What was I doing?
Vindication or suicide?
I parked in the visitor lot just as my phone buzzed a text from an unknown number, probably Noah, realizing I was gone. I ignored it, my fingers trembling as I stepped out of the car. The rain had reduced to a drizzle, and it dropped on my skin, each drop reminding me of what I was about to unleash in that building.
Vindication or suicide?
The question lingered as I walked toward the entrance, but my decision was made.
