A D R I A N

Ethan moves fast, and I follow even though my head is still upstairs on the rooftop with Elara’s almost-answer burning a hole in my chest. Her breath was right there. Her fingers in my shirt. I can still feel the moment she almost said it — whatever it was and then the door slammed and the world snapped back. God. I’m still shaking.

“What happened?” My voice sounds wrong, scraped open.

Ethan doesn’t soften it. “A leak. Bad one.”

We duck into a small operations room, screens glowing, staff pretending not to stare at the man who publicly chose a doctor over his own board tonight. I can feel their eyes like heat on my back.

Ethan pulls up the files. “It’s the northern expansion.”

My stomach twists. He clicks another window open: photos, reports, missing inspections, every shortcut I let slide because I thought speed mattered more than caution.

Then a draft headline pops up like a slap:

VALCROSSE CUTS SAFETY FOR PROFITS.

Elara warned me. She told me the project needed a full audit. I brushed her off, because I thought I knew better. Because ambition felt good in my hands.

I drag a hand down my face. “How bad is the spread?”

“By morning? Everyone will see it.” He hesitates. “And someone helped this leak from inside.” A slow, sick realization hits me. I didn’t just risk the island. I proved Elara right about men like me.

We step deeper into the room. More screens. More evidence. None of it lies.

“Marina’s drafting a statement,” Ethan says. “She wants to separate you from Dr. Quinn before the press links her to this.”

My jaw clenches hard. “No.”

“She thinks it’ll shield you.”

“It won’t. And she doesn’t get to use Elara as a shield.” He nods once, approval, maybe. Or relief.

Another document pops open: a journalist’s request for comment. It’s already circulating:
Unsafe practices. Overlooked hazards. Valcrosse negligence.

My name is all over it.

I pace because if I sit, I’ll break something. “Who had access to these files?”

“Too many people,” Ethan mutters. “But whoever leaked them timed it perfectly.”

Perfectly to hit me when I was already exposed. When I was on a roof telling a woman I didn’t want to do any of this without her. I shut my eyes for half a second. I see Elara crying, whispering she didn’t want to be the reason my world collapses. She thought she ruined me, when the truth is I’ve been doing that myself for months. I’ve been so busy proving I’m the heir, I forgot to be a person worth inheriting anything.

“Get the board on a call,” I say. “Now.”

Ethan nods. “You’re sure?”

“No,” I admit. “But I know what happens if I don’t.”

The boardroom feels like a cage, too bright, too many screens, everyone panicking in expensive blazers. When I enter, the noise dies instantly.

“Adrian,” the CFO starts, “if we approve the expansion tonight, it’ll project confidence and..”

“No.” I sit, the word dropping heavy. “We don’t approve anything.” Shock ripples across the table.

Marina leans forward. “This isn’t the time for hesitation. If we act weak..”

“We act dishonest,” I cut in. “And I’m done with that.” They stare like I’ve spoken in another language.

I force myself to breathe. “The project isn’t safe. I rushed it. I ignored warnings. If I sign off now, we’ll be exactly what the leak accuses us of.” Silence, thick and uncomfortable.

The CFO clears his throat. “Then what do you propose?”

I look at him. Not as an heir or a brand, but as someone finally telling the truth.

“We stop. We pull the plug. Effective immediately.”

Marina actually laughs under her breath. “This is about the doctor.” Yes. And no. And all of it.

“This is about the island,” I say quietly. “Seraphine can survive bad press. It cannot survive me turning into someone who builds over rot.” It’s the closest I’ll ever come to admitting what Elara already sees in me.

Another stretch of silence. Then the CFO nods, resigned. “If that’s your motion…”

“It is.”

“Motion carried.” Just like that, the expansion is dead. And for the first time in months, I’m not.

I barely make it three steps down the hall before Marina catches up.

“What the hell was that?” she hisses. “You just killed a multimillion-dollar project because a reporter tweeted a headline.”

I turn, slow. “I killed it because it deserved to die.”

She folds her arms. “Be serious. This is about her. Everything tonight is about her.”

My jaw goes tight. “Careful.”

“Oh, please. You blew up your own launch event defending her. You looked, obsessed. And now you’re throwing away expansion plans because she cried on a roof?” Something cold settles in me. Not anger. Clarity.

“She cried because she thought she destroyed my career,” I say. “And she didn’t.”

Marina scoffs. “She’s a liability.”

“Say that again,” I warn quietly, “and you’re done.” She blinks, thrown off by the sharpness in my voice.

I look past her at the ocean beyond the glass, dark, restless, honest. “You don’t know what’s good for me. And neither do I, most days. But I know she isn’t the problem.”

Marina lifts her chin. “Then what is?” I breathe in once, slow.

“Me,” I say. “And I’m fixing it.”

The boardroom empties out slowly, like a tide pulling back, leaving debris behind. I don’t go upstairs. I don’t go looking for Elara. I can’t, not while my hands are still shaking, not while my chest feels carved open by every choice I’ve made tonight.

Instead, I walk.

The boardwalk is quiet at this hour, lanterns flickering low, swaying like they’re tired too. The lagoon glows faintly beneath the planks, blue fire breathing under glass. The same place where she ordered strangers around like she ran the island. The same place where I watched her save a boy with nothing but her voice and her conviction.

I brace my hands on the railing and bow my head. The wind hits hard, cold enough to steal a breath. Maybe that’s what I need— something sharp enough to cut through the rooftop replay playing on loop in my skull.

Her tears. Her laugh breaking. Her voice saying she was scared of wanting me. Her almost-answer.

I swallow hard. “Stay,” I’d said. And I meant it more than anything I’ve ever said in my life.

Now there’s this leak, this mess, this proof that I’m still capable of hurting everything I touch if I’m not careful. I don’t know how to be the man she deserves. But I know who I don’t want to be anymore. The wind lifts again, colder this time. I close my eyes.

“Don’t go,” I whisper to no one, or maybe to her, or maybe to the version of myself that always ruins things. I don’t know. I just know I’m not losing her. Not like this.

I don’t plan to go anywhere. My feet just… move. Past the restaurants, past the shuttered boutiques, past everything shiny and curated. Until I find myself outside a tiny shop tucked between two larger storefronts. No neon, no display case, just a wooden sign with chipped paint: Luca’s Jewelry & Repairs.

Nothing about it screams luxury. Maybe that’s why I walk inside. A bell chimes softly. The air smells like metal and dust and something warm, like the shop has been alive longer than any resort ever will. An old man looks up from a workbench, magnifying lens flopped over one eye.

“We’re closed,” he says.

“I won’t be long.”

He studies me for a beat too long. Maybe he recognizes me. Maybe he just recognizes a man who looks like he’s about to do something stupid for someone he shouldn’t want this much.

“What do you need?” he asks. I open my mouth to say I don’t know. But I do.

“Something simple,” I say. “Something real.”

He gestures to a tray —handmade bands, imperfect edges, each one slightly different from the next. Nothing like the high-end rings my mother keeps in her safe for PR-friendly proposals. These look human. Honest. I pick up a thin gold band with a brushed finish. My thumb runs over the uneven edge. It feels like the truth.

“Not an engagement ring?” the man asks, voice knowing.

“No,” I say quietly. “Not yet.”
I swallow. “Just… something to hold onto.”

He nods, like he understands more than I want him to. I pay, slip the ring into my pocket, and try to breathe past the weight of it. Hope shouldn’t feel heavy. But it does.

I’m halfway down the dark boardwalk when my phone buzzes, an unknown number, no name. I almost ignored it. I shouldn’t have looked. But I do. A single text. No greeting. No signature.

Just:

You should’ve chosen the expansion.
Now we escalate.

And an image. It takes me a second to understand what I’m looking at. Then my heart stops. Elara. Standing at the ferry dock. Alone. Head turned slightly, like she heard something behind her.  The shot is close. Too close. Taken from maybe ten feet away.

Someone was watching her. Tonight. While I was too busy undoing the mess I made. My entire body goes ice-cold.

“Ethan,” I breathe, already moving, already running. “Where is she?” The ring in my pocket feels like a promise I suddenly might not get the chance to keep. My phone vibrates again.

Tick tock, Valcrosse. And the world drops out from under me.