Chapter 20 – Lines We Can't Uncross
The morning after Wexler's takedown should've felt like victory.
Instead, it felt like the calm before another storm.
Damian stood at the window of his penthouse office, his sharp silhouette etched against the sunrise. Elara watched him from the leather armchair, sipping coffee that had gone cold in her hands.
"You didn't sleep," she said softly.
"Neither did you."
She smiled faintly. "Touché."
The silence between them was heavy, not uncomfortable—just full. Full of unspoken things.
He turned toward her, dark eyes guarded. "The board will vote tomorrow. With Wexler gone, I have enough support to retain majority control. Barely."
"That's good," she said.
"It's temporary. Monroe's not done. He doesn't give up without blood."
Elara rose and walked over to him, placing a hand on his chest. "Then he's about to bleed."
Damian's mouth twitched—a ghost of a smile.
"I meant what I said yesterday," he murmured. "I'm not letting you go."
She leaned closer. "Then stop acting like I'm going to run."
He kissed her.
This time there was no hesitation, no walls, no strategies.
Just raw want.
He pulled her against him, and she felt the tension melt from his body as her fingers tangled in his shirt. The kiss deepened—months of unspoken desire surging to the surface.
She gasped as he backed her against the desk, lifting her effortlessly to sit atop it. Her legs wrapped around him as his lips trailed down her throat.
"We can't do this here," she whispered, breathless.
"You started it."
"I—" she laughed, only to moan as he kissed the hollow of her collarbone.
Then the phone rang.
They froze.
The shrill sound broke the moment like glass.
Damian cursed and stepped back, his hand brushing hers one last time before he answered.
"Voss."
His expression darkened instantly.
Elara slipped off the desk and straightened her blouse, watching him closely.
He ended the call a moment later.
"That was Juliette. We have a problem."
In the war room two floors down, Juliette had already pulled up the footage.
"Security team found this an hour ago," she said. "It's from a hidden camera in the executive conference room. Installed weeks ago. Likely during Monroe's infiltration."
The footage played.
It was grainy, but clear enough to see.
Elara, alone in the conference room. Flipping through documents. Photographing files with her phone.
"Damian, I swear—"
"I know," he said calmly. "You were looking into Monroe."
Juliette nodded. "We believe the footage was edited to remove context. Then sent to a private tech blog tied to Monroe's PR firm."
"They're going to leak it," Elara said flatly.
Juliette sighed. "Along with a new headline: 'VossTech CEO's Wife Caught Stealing Proprietary Data.'"
Damian folded his arms. "They want to destroy her credibility. If they succeed, it makes everything Wexler did look like a righteous purge."
Elara looked at them both. "So what do we do?"
Juliette hesitated. "There's another option. A dangerous one."
Damian raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
Juliette glanced at Elara. "We leak the full testimony. All of it. Gregory Vale's statement. The financial records. The connection between Monroe and Wexler. Everything."
"That would vindicate Elara," Damian said.
"And destroy Monroe's leverage," Juliette added. "But it will also reveal that VossTech has had possession of sealed federal documents. That could spark a legal backlash."
Elara took a shaky breath. "I can handle scandal. But not if it takes VossTech down with me."
Damian looked at her. His voice was steel. "This company was built on truth. If that truth burns it down, then so be it. But no one buries you while I'm breathing."
The next 24 hours were a whirlwind.
Damian's legal team reviewed the documents, working around the clock to prepare a press package. Juliette coordinated the media drop while tech security traced the source of the hidden cameras.
At 8:00 a.m. sharp, Damian stood behind a podium in VossTech's glass atrium.
Elara stood beside him—her head held high despite the whispers.
Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions. The tension was electric.
Damian's voice cut through it like a blade.
"There has been an attempt to undermine not only this company, but the integrity of a woman who has done nothing but seek the truth about her father's death."
He paused.
"I'm here to set that record straight."
The truth bomb dropped. A USB drive distributed to all major outlets. A public upload to the VossTech press site. Every document, every lie, every betrayal.
Gregory Vale's testimony. Wexler's financial trail. Monroe's secret partnerships.
The internet exploded.
An hour later, the top five headlines read:
"Gregory Vale Was Murdered to Protect Corporate Fraud."
"Wesley Wexler Tied to Monroe Industries Espionage Ring."
"Damian Voss's Wife Uncovers Billion-Dollar Conspiracy."
Elara stood in the hallway as her phone lit up with hundreds of notifications. Messages from old friends. From lawyers. From strangers.
Some called her a hero.
Others called her a scandal.
But for the first time, she didn't feel like a pawn anymore.
That night, the storm broke.
She stood on the balcony of the penthouse, the city lit beneath her like a living sea. Damian came up behind her, arms circling her waist.
"It's not over," he said quietly.
"I know."
"They'll come back harder."
"I'm ready."
He pressed his lips to her temple.
"You're not what I expected when I married you," he murmured.
She smiled, leaning into him. "You either."
They stood like that for a long moment—warriors who had fought their own hearts and finally surrendered.
And when they turned to go inside, the shadows behind them shifted.
A man sat in a parked car across the street, watching the light from the penthouse window.
He picked up his phone and made a single call.
"They're getting close. Move to phase two."