KATHLEEN
The Andros rooftop was quiet at 10 AM.
No champagne flutes, no string quartets—just the wind and the distant hum of the city below. Kathleen stood at the railing, fingers gripping the cold metal. She hadn't slept. Hadn't changed. The same black dress from last night clung to her like a second skin, the fabric wrinkled from hours of pacing her hotel room.
Ava had begged her not to come. *"He's playing you, Kathleen. Again."*
Maybe.
But if there was one thing Kathleen Palmer understood, it was the art of turning weakness into leverage.
The door behind her opened.
She didn't turn.
Carl's footsteps were measured, deliberate. He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
"You came," he said.
She kept her eyes on the skyline. "Start talking."
A pause. Then, quieter: "I owe you that."
She turned then, and the rawness in his expression almost undid her. No suit today—just a gray Henley and dark jeans, his hair tousled like he'd been running his hands through it all night.
He looked human.
That pissed her off more.
"Why the charade?" she demanded.
Carl exhaled. "At first? Business. SafeHaven's tech is a threat. I wanted to assess it."
"By *flirting* with me?"
"By understanding you." His gaze locked onto hers. "But then I did."
Kathleen's pulse kicked. She crossed her arms. "And the proxy offer?"
"Standard acquisition tactic."
"Bullshit. You *lied* to my face."
"I *omitted.*"
"Semantics."
Carl stepped closer. "You're right. I should've told you who I was."
She scoffed. "Would it have changed anything?"
"Yes." His voice dropped. "I wouldn't have gotten this close."
The admission hung between them, heavy as the velvet sky last night.
Kathleen turned back to the railing. "SafeHaven isn't just a company to me."
Carl stilled. "I know."
"No. You *don't*."
She closed her eyes. The memories came anyway—the group homes, the flickering fluorescents, the nights spent listening for footsteps outside her door.
"When I was twelve," she said, "a foster brother hacked into my laptop. Posted private photos. School admin called it a 'prank.'" Her nails bit into her palms. "No one protected me. So I taught myself to code. Built my own firewalls. Made sure no one could ever do that to me—or anyone like me—again."
Silence.
Then—
Carl's hand covered hers on the railing. His grip was warm, rough with calluses. "Kathleen."
She yanked away. "Don't."
"I'm not your enemy."
"Aren't you?" She faced him, eyes burning. "You were going to take SafeHaven and gut it. Just like you did with all those other companies."
Carl flinched. "That's not—"
"Ava pulled the records. I *saw* what you do."
For the first time, Carl looked uncertain. "Some of those deals were necessary. Others…" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm not proud of them."
Kathleen studied him—the tension in his shoulders, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. The man beneath the empire.
"Why did you text me?" she asked.
Carl met her gaze. "Because I want you to know the truth."
"Which is?"
"That I'm not letting you walk away."
Her breath caught.
Then his phone rang.
Carl cursed under his breath, glancing at the screen. "I have to take this."
Kathleen stepped back. "Of course you do."
He grabbed her wrist before she could leave. "*Wait.* This isn't over."
She pulled free. "Isn't it?"
The door slammed behind her.
---
CARL
Carl stared at the empty rooftop, Kathleen's words still ringing in his skull.
*No one protected me.*
His phone buzzed again. Hansen.
He answered with a snarl. "*What?*"
Hansen's voice was too cheerful. "Board's asking about the SafeHaven deal. They want an update."
Carl clenched his jaw. "Tell them it's handled."
"And if they ask *how*?"
"Lie." He hung up.
His penthouse was too quiet when he returned. Too sterile. The walls were lined with modern art—cold, expensive, meaningless.
Except for one photo.
A framed snapshot of his niece, Alina, grinning on a swing set.
Carl picked it up, thumb brushing the glass.
Kathleen's voice echoed in his mind. *You were going to gut it.*
He set the photo down hard.
Then he grabbed his keys and left.
---
AVA
Ava Lopez was elbow-deep in Harris Consolidated's dirty laundry when her phone lit up.
**Kathleen:** *He knew.*
Ava groaned. "Dios mío, this man."
She typed back: *And you're still talking to him because…?*
Three dots appeared. Disappeared.
Then: *Because I want to know why he cares.*
Ava threw her phone onto the couch. "*Unbelievable.*"
Her laptop screen displayed a buried SEC filing—a Harris subsidiary quietly buying up SafeHaven's debt.
Ava smirked. "Gotcha."
She screenshot the evidence and attached it to an email.
**To:** Kathleen
**Subject:** PROOF. He's still playing games.
**Body:** *He owns your loans. That's his leverage. Call me.*
She hit send.
Then she poured herself a vodka shot and prayed her best friend wasn't about to do something stupid.