Genevieve's fingers trembled as she clutched her mug of coffee the next morning. Sleep had been a futile pursuit; every time she closed her eyes, Brandstone's words echoed in her mind. Stay close to me. I can protect you.
She hated how much she wanted to believe him.
By mid-afternoon, the weight of her investigation pressed down harder than ever. Her leads were tangled, her emotions scattered. She needed clarity, but instead, she found herself heading to Marcus's office.
She owed him an explanation—or at least the truth he deserved.
Marcus didn't look up as she entered, his focus on a stack of papers on his desk.
"Got a minute?" Genevieve asked cautiously, closing the door behind her.
He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Depends. Are you here as my reporter or my—" He stopped short, letting the words hang in the air.
Genevieve winced but pressed on. "I need to tell you something."
Marcus gestured for her to sit, leaning back in his chair. "I'm listening."
She hesitated, the confession thick in her throat. "The man you saw at the gala—Brandstone—he's involved in the investigation. But it's more complicated than that."
Marcus's eyes darkened. "How complicated?"
Genevieve swallowed hard. "We've… been seeing each other."
The silence that followed was deafening. Marcus's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrests of his chair.
"You've been sleeping with a subject of your investigation?" he said finally, his voice low and furious.
"It's not like that," she began, but Marcus cut her off with a sharp laugh.
"Not like that? Genevieve, do you have any idea what this could do to your career? To this paper? You've compromised yourself and this story in ways we can't fix."
"I didn't plan for this to happen," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm trying to manage it—"
"Manage it?" Marcus stood, his anger filling the room. "You've let him manipulate you. Do you even know who he really is?"
Genevieve's chest tightened. "I know enough."
Marcus shook his head, pacing. "Enough to ruin everything you've worked for? Enough to throw away what we had?"
She flinched, guilt twisting in her stomach. "Marcus—"
"Don't." He held up a hand, his voice cold. "You've made your choice, Genevieve. I hope he's worth it."
Brandstone was waiting when she returned to her apartment, leaning casually against her doorframe as if he belonged there.
"How did you get in?" she demanded, her frustration boiling over.
He smirked. "You're not the only one who knows how to pick a lock."
She brushed past him, throwing her bag onto the couch. "You can't just show up here uninvited."
"Considering the circumstances, I think I can."
Genevieve spun to face him, her anger bubbling over. "What circumstances? The ones where you've dragged me into your mess? Or the ones where you've turned my life upside down?"
Brandstone's smirk faded, replaced by a seriousness that unsettled her. "You came to me, Genevieve. Don't forget that."
"I came to you for answers, not to get tangled in… this!" She gestured between them, her voice rising.
"And yet here we are."
The tension crackled like a live wire. Brandstone stepped closer, his intensity suffocating.
"You want to blame me for what's happening, fine. But don't pretend you don't want this," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Genevieve's heart raced as he closed the distance between them. "I don't—"
His lips were on hers before she could finish, the kiss rough and demanding. She shoved at his chest, but he didn't let go, his hands gripping her waist.
"Stop," she murmured against his mouth, though her resolve was already crumbling.
"Tell me to leave," he challenged, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me you don't want me, and I will."
She froze, the words lodged in her throat. She couldn't say it. She didn't want to.
Instead, she pulled him closer, her fingers fisting in his shirt as she surrendered to the fire between them.
Their kisses turned frantic, their movements desperate. Brandstone lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bedroom as if he'd been there a hundred times before.
Clothes were shed in a frenzy, and Genevieve's mind went blissfully blank as they crashed onto the bed. His touch was everywhere—possessive, consuming, leaving no room for regret.
"Say my name," he growled, his lips brushing her ear.
"Brandstone," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure overtook her.
For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not Marcus, not the investigation, not the consequences. Just this—the raw, unfiltered connection that made her feel alive in ways she never had before.
When it was over, they lay tangled in the sheets, their breathing ragged. Genevieve stared at the ceiling, her mind already racing back to reality.
"This can't keep happening," she said quietly, though her body ached for him even now.
Brandstone propped himself on one elbow, his dark eyes piercing hers. "You keep saying that, but here we are."
She turned away, pulling the sheet around herself. "I can't trust you."
"I don't need you to trust me, Genevieve," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I just need you to believe me when I say that I'll protect you. No matter what."