Chapter 4 Blood and Black Roses

The black roses felt like a funeral shroud in my arms. I stared at the card, the ink of Clara's "C" looking like a hooked claw. She hadn't even been out of the building for twenty minutes, and already, she was reaching back from the shadows to wrap her fingers around my throat.

I didn't throw them away. I walked back into the boardroom, dumped the bouquet into the trash can next to the CEO's chair, and took one single thorn-covered stem with me.

I needed the sting to remind me that the world I'd just inherited was paved with glass.

I changed into a spare silk blouse I kept in my locker emerald green, the color of envy and cold hard cash. By the time I hit the lobby, the transformation was complete. I wasn't the girl who had been detonated this morning. I was the girl who had survived the blast.

Keon was leaning against a black Maybach, the city traffic swirling around him like he was the eye of a hurricane. He didn't look up from his phone until I was five feet away. His eyes did a slow, predatory sweep from my heels to my new collar.

"Green suits you," he remarked, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in my lower back. "It's the color of people who know how to take what they want."

"It's the color of people who are tired of being stepped on," I corrected, sliding into the leather interior of the car before he could open the door for me.

He followed, the door closing with a heavy, expensive thud that sealed us in a world of silence and sandalwood. As the car pulled into the New York rush, Keon didn't speak. He just watched me. The silence wasn't awkward; it was a test. He was waiting to see if I'd crack and start babbling.

I didn't. I pulled the black rose from my bag and laid it on the console between us.

Keon's gaze dropped to the flower, then back to my face. "A gift from a fan?"

"A threat from a ghost," I said. "Clara sent them. She's already moving."

Keon reached out, his long fingers hovering over the petals before he plucked the card from the stem. He read it, a dark, amused hum vibrating in his chest. "She's efficient. I'll give her that. Most people wait until the body is cold before they start the haunting."

"You don't seem worried," I said, my pulse jumping as he leaned closer to me, the scent of him rain and expensive cigars filling my lungs.

"Why should I be? I didn't hire you to be protected, Louisa. I hired you to be a weapon. If you're worried about a few dead flowers, then I've made a very expensive mistake." He leaned back, his grey eyes turning to flint. "The restaurant we're going to belongs to a man who owes me a favor. It's private. No cameras. No Clara. Just the terms of our new arrangement."

We arrived at a discreet townhouse in the Upper East Side. No sign, just a heavy iron door. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of searing steak and vintage wine. We were led to a corner booth shrouded in velvet curtains.

"Drink," Keon commanded, nodding toward the wine the waiter had poured without asking. "You look like you're ready to bolt."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, taking a sip. The wine was tart and expensive. "I want to know the catch, Keon. You didn't just give me a throne because you liked my code. You want something."

Keon set his glass down, his expression shifting into something lethal. "Vale and Associates is a shell. Arthur Vale has been skimming off the top for years, using Clara's father to hide the trail. I bought the firm to get to the data they're hiding in the offshore accounts. Data that can bring down three other firms in this city."

My breath caught. "You're not just buying a firm. You're starting a war."

"I'm ending one," he countered. "And I need someone on the inside who isn't tainted by the old guard. Someone who can navigate the system, find the hidden ledgers, and hand them to me. In exchange, I give you the power to bury Clara Bennett and Ethan Blackmore so deep they'll never see the sun again."

He leaned across the table, his hand sliding over mine. His touch was electric, a searing heat that made my skin prickle. "But you have to belong to me, Louisa. Professionally. Geographically. Completely. You'll move into an apartment I own. You'll answer my calls at 3:00 AM. You'll be my shadow."

The "Slow Burn" I'd felt in the elevator was now a roaring fire. The way he said belong to me wasn't just about business. It was a claim.

"And if I say no?" I whispered.

"Then you go back to that office, deal with the security escort that's probably still waiting for you, and try to find a job in a city where Clara Bennett has already blacklisted your name." He tilted his head, a lock of dark hair falling over his brow. "But you won't say no. You've tasted blood today, Louisa. You liked the way it felt to see her break."

He was right. I hated him for it, but he was right. I looked at the black rose on the table and then at the man across from me-the most dangerous thing I'd ever encountered.

"I want one more thing," I said, my voice steadying.

Keon's eyebrows rose. "Ambitious. I like it. What?"

"I want Ethan gone. Not just fired. I want him to watch me take everything he ever wanted. I want him to see me with you and realize exactly what he threw away for a promotion he'll never get."

Keon's smile was slow, dark, and utterly devastating. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a keycard, sliding it across the table toward me.

"The penthouse at The Ashford. Your things are already being moved." He stood up, towering over the table. "Welcome to the dark side, Louisa. Try not to lose your soul too quickly. I'd like to be the one to take it."

He turned to leave, but stopped, looking back at me. "By the way, Ethan is already waiting for you at your old apartment. He thinks he can talk you back into his bed. He thinks you're still the girl who needs his protection."

My grip tightened on the keycard. "What should I do?"

Keon's eyes flashed with a wicked glint. "Show him the roses, Louisa. Show him how much you've grown."

He walked away, leaving me with the bill and a choice. As I stepped out of the restaurant and into the cold night air, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan.

Lou, please. I'm at your door. We can fix this. I love you.

I looked at the black rose in my hand, its thorns pressing into my palm. I didn't feel love. I felt the sharp, cold edge of revenge.