Reclaimed Fortune

Malachi stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes snapped toward me, cold and assessing.

“Is there a problem here, Miss Knight?” Malachi asked, his voice dark and dangerous.

“No, Mr. Sterling,” I said quickly. I grabbed Vanessa's arm, my nails digging ruthlessly into her silk sleeve. “My friend was just leaving.”

Victoria let out a mocking, elegant laugh. “Keep your personal trash off company property, junior.”

I dragged Vanessa through the revolving glass doors and shoved her onto the busy sidewalk. “Do not ever come near me again.”

“You cannot shut me out!” Vanessa dropped her sweet facade. Her face twisted with bitter, venomous jealousy. “Preston is looking for you. He wants you back now that he realizes you actually have talent. You cannot hide from us, Zara!”

I walked away, my hands shaking violently. Preston wanted me back? It made my stomach churn with disgust. I was completely surrounded by enemies, both inside and outside the office walls.

It was 11:00 PM. The drafting floor was completely empty, bathed in the soft glow of the metropolis skyline. I was rubbing my aching lower back, staring at a complex blueprint, when the scent of cedar filled the quiet air.

Malachi placed a hot cup of black tea on my desk.

I jumped, my chair rolling back. “Mr. Sterling.”

“You are the only one left in the building,” he noted. He leaned against my cubicle wall, crossing his arms. The harsh office lighting cast deep shadows over his chiselled face. He looked exhausted, and for the first time since we met, he did not look angry.

“I needed to finish the load-bearing calculations,” I whispered, pulling my blazer tightly across my stomach.

He looked down at the blueprints. His eyes widened slightly. “You solved the eastern cantilever issue. James said it would take a team of senior architects a month to figure this out.”

“I do not give up easily,” I replied.

Malachi looked at me. He really looked at me. He saw the dark circles under my eyes, the frayed edges of my jacket, and the absolute determination in my posture. He realized I was not a gold digger.

“Who are you, Zara Knight?” he murmured. He reached out, his warm thumb gently brushing a smudge of graphite off my cheek.

My breath hitched. The air between us ignited, thick with undeniable, magnetic tension. I looked up into his stormy grey eyes, and for one terrifying, beautiful second, I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him about the baby.