Chapter 16 – No Such Thing as Coincidence
The next morning, Elara arrived at VossTech before the sun had fully risen. A pale blush painted the eastern skyline, and Manhattan was just beginning to stir. But inside the executive offices, the lights were already on.
She didn't come in to impress Damian with her dedication. She came because the documents she'd found last night weren't just troubling—they were explosive. And she had no idea who she could trust.
If what she found was real, her father had never embezzled money for personal gain. The funds had been moved—yes—but they came from Monroe Industries, under a code-named transfer, and they stopped abruptly three weeks before Gregory's arrest. Why?
And who the hell was "R.L."?
She had barely stepped into her office when Juliette's head popped in.
"Elara, you're not going to believe this," she whispered. "Damian just cleared his entire morning schedule."
Elara looked up from her desk. "Why?"
"He said he needed a private strategy session. With you. Now."
Elara found Damian in the boardroom, sleeves rolled, coffee in hand, eyes focused on the spreadsheet projected on the screen. He looked up as she entered, his gaze lingering a second longer than usual.
"You're early," he said.
"So are you."
He gestured to the seat beside him. "Sit. We need to talk."
She hesitated—just a moment—then took the chair. The room smelled of fresh espresso and tension.
"Last night," he began, "you mentioned something about being beside me in the boardroom. Not behind."
She tilted her head. "I meant it."
"I know." He passed her a file. "Read this."
She opened it slowly. Inside were quarterly revenue charts, stock movement forecasts, and a breakdown of projected mergers. But what caught her eye was the last page:
Proposal: Elara Vale – Executive Advisor to CEO.
Her heartbeat stuttered. "You're… promoting me?"
"Not officially," he said. "Not yet. But I need you to act in that capacity. Immediately."
She closed the file. "Why?"
Damian leaned forward. "Because VossTech is under quiet attack. There's been a leak in our acquisition plans, and I don't trust anyone on my current team. I need someone I can watch closely. Someone smart. And someone who knows how to keep her mouth shut."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's quite the compliment."
"I'm being practical."
"No, you're being strategic. There's a difference."
He didn't argue.
Elara leaned back. "And what makes you think I'll agree?"
His eyes met hers. "Because you're not just playing this game for me anymore. You're playing it for your father."
They worked through the morning, shoulder to shoulder—though neither would admit the strange rhythm they were starting to fall into.
Every time Elara pointed out a loophole, Damian found a strategy. Every time he grew too cold, she reminded him of human cost. Somewhere between spreadsheets and private memos, they'd stopped being just enemies. They were slowly becoming something… else.
Around noon, Juliette entered with two coffees and a low whisper.
"FYI—someone from Monroe Industries just requested a lunch meeting. They asked for Elara. By name."
Damian stood instantly. "Who?"
"Aaron Lin. Executive Director of Public Relations. He said he wanted to discuss… reparation."
Elara froze.
That name. Aaron Lin. R.L.
Her chest tightened. She stood abruptly.
"Tell him I'll meet him. Alone."
"The hell you will," Damian snapped.
She turned to him. "This is personal."
"This is dangerous."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "He might know what really happened to my father. And if he doesn't, he might know who does."
He held her gaze, stone still. Then, after a long pause: "I'll give you one hour. And if you're not back—"
"I'll be back."
The restaurant Monroe chose was sleek and sterile. All glass walls and chrome finishes. Aaron Lin waited by a corner booth, a thin man in his early fifties, with silver temples and a shark-like smile.
"Elara Vale," he said as she approached. "You've grown up."
She didn't smile. "You know me?"
He gestured to the seat. "I knew your father."
She sat. "Then tell me something only he would've shared with someone he trusted."
Aaron's eyes sparkled. "He used to call you 'Rook.' You always played chess on his tablet. He said you moved like the Rook—direct and dangerous."
Elara swallowed. That… wasn't public knowledge.
"So," she said. "Why did Monroe frame him?"
Aaron's smile faltered. "I never said they did."
"But they did, didn't they?"
He sipped his wine slowly. "Gregory Vale was too loyal. He refused to leak information about VossTech, even when we threatened everything. Your father was a decent man. And he paid the price."
Her stomach clenched. "You blackmailed him."
"We made him choose: loyalty or survival. He chose you."
She blinked. "What does that mean?"
Aaron leaned closer. "He took the fall for something he didn't do to keep someone else alive. That someone… is you."
Elara's blood ran cold. "What?"
"Monroe was planning to make you disappear. A leverage point. Gregory refused. He signed a deal, took the embezzlement charge, and went off the grid with our help. He's not dead, Elara."
The world tilted.
Aaron lowered his voice. "But if you keep poking the bear, the deal won't hold. Monroe doesn't leave loose ends."
Elara stumbled into the office less than an hour later, face pale, hands trembling. Damian stood immediately from behind his desk.
"What happened?" he asked, voice tight.
"I think my father's alive," she whispered.
Damian stared at her. "What?"
"Monroe Industries faked everything. They threatened to use me to control him. He vanished to keep me safe."
She dropped into the chair across from his desk, dazed. "Everything I've believed for the last ten years… was a lie."
He moved around the desk and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his without thinking. "Elara."
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked gently.
"Because I don't know who else I can trust."
Silence stretched between them. Then, for the first time, his voice softened.
"You can trust me."
She didn't pull her hands away.
That night, Elara stood at her bedroom window, staring at the skyline. The city looked different now—more dangerous, more alive. She could feel the game changing, the pieces shifting on a much larger board than she'd ever imagined.
Her father was alive.
Monroe Industries wanted her gone.
And Damian Voss, the man she'd sworn to hate, was now the only person who seemed to be fighting with her instead of against her.
The door creaked behind her.
She turned.
Damian stood there in his dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves still rolled up.
"I need you to see something," he said.
She followed him to his private study. He pulled a folder from his safe, handed it to her without explanation.
Inside were surveillance photos—fuzzy, black-and-white. A man. Late fifties. Beard. Baseball cap. But there was no mistaking the eyes.
Gregory Vale.
Taken just three months ago.
Her hands shook.
"You knew," she whispered.
"I suspected," Damian said. "But if I had told you too soon, it could've put him in more danger."
She looked up, her throat tight. "Why are you showing me now?"
His expression was unreadable. "Because you're not a pawn anymore. You're my partner. And you deserve the truth."
Elara closed the folder.
For the first time since her marriage began, she felt something shift in her heart.
Not love.
Not yet.
But something closer than fear.
Hope.