֍֍֍ ֍֍֍֍֍֍

ONE LAST ACT OF FAVOR

I woke slowly, my muscles aching in that deep, satisfying way from the night before of an endless blaze of passion where Harper's skin had slid against mine, her gasps mingling with my groans as we had chased release after release until exhaustion claimed us.

My hand reached out instinctively, fingers brushing the cool fabric where her warmth had been, the indentation of her hip faint but telling. The air hung heavy with the scent of us of her musk vanilla shampoo...but she was gone.

Fear flickered in my chest as I sat up, my heart quickening with the thought that she might be in the kitchen, brewing coffee with that knowing smile she had worn after our confessions. I had hoped the fire between us, the burning love that had ignited like a spark to dry tinder, the promising horizon we had sketched in breathless murmurs, had swayed her from her path.

"Harper?" I screamed.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the wooden floor cold under my bare feet, sending a shiver up my spine that matched the growing unease twisting in my gut.

"Harper?" I called again, my voice rough from sleep and the night's exertions, echoing off the walls of the small living room as I padded out.

The morning light filtering through the grimy window to illuminate the clutter of takeout boxes from our late-night snacks, her notebook flipped open on the coffee table with scribbled notes on Atlas's facade, my laptop still humming softly where I had set up the secure line for her potential stream.

The flash drive.

My eyes darted to the table, and the absence struck me like a fist to the solar plexus. It was gone too, vanished, just like her.

Panic clawed at the edges of my mind, but I pushed it down, searching the apartment methodically, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I checked the bathroom; her toothbrush was still in the holder, damp from use, but her go-bag was missing from under the sink. I went to the bedroom again to check her closet. It was lighter; a few clothes were gone, too.

The realization sank in at once.

She'd taken the drive. Which meant that she had finally decided to use it for her own good, to vindicate her journalism career by exposing the cartel operations I'd confessed to.

"Shit! Goddamn"

I had hoped our passionate sex, and the burning love that had blazed between us of the promising future, would sway her, burn faster and deeper than her dead career. But she was gone. Her decision was made.

The betrayal stung at me deeply, like a knife twisting in an old wound. I sank onto the edge of the bed, holding my head in my hands, letting my fingers dig into my scalp as if to hold back the flood of thoughts crashing through me.

What would she do with it exactly? Would she stream it live from some safe house, or leak it to her old contacts, watching the viral spread from afar? And the cartel would all be exposed because I had chosen her over them, just as she had chosen revenge over us?

The apartment suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in with the weight of my betrayal, the multi-billion-dollar empire's destiny now hinged on a woman I'd loved enough to betray everything.

But I owed them. The brothers and the cartel, because they were family, forged in blood long before Harper had walked into Club Eden with her piercing gaze and turned my world upside down.

Even in my rebellion, even as hatred for Zane's refusal to spare her simmered, I couldn't let them walk blind into the inferno I had ignited. My sworn duty tugged harder at me. I grabbed my burner phone from the duffel I had packed the previous night and dialed Zane.

The line rang twice, three times, each tone a hammer blow to my resolve. He answered on the fourth, his voice a low growl that sent a chill skittering down my spine, the kind that raised the hairs on my arms. "Noah. Where the hell are you? You better have a damn good explanation, or so help me..."

"Zane, listen," I interrupted, my voice steady despite the sweat beading on my forehead. I paced the small space, "I'm at Harper's. I... I gave her the drive. It has a recording of everything. The tech investments masking shipments, laundering through startups, your orders on hits. She's going to stream it. Vindicate her career. The empire, it's over."

Silence stretched on the line, while I listened as Zane's breath came heavy yet controlled, but I could picture his jaw clenching, his eyes narrowing like a storm gathering force. "You what? After I ordered her handled? Noah, you've gone soft. That journalist's exposé nearly gutted us. And you hand her the keys? Disloyalty like this... It's death. The cartel doesn't forgive traitors."

The threat hung heavy, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged beast, the apartment's walls seeming to close in further, the light from the window now harsh and accusing. My worry about Harper spiked. What would he do now? Rally the brothers for a counterstrike? Hunt us both with the precision of a guided missile?

"I know the cost," I replied, my voice low, "But Zane, I'm out. For her. But I owe you this warning. You should focus on the cartel's fate. Without me, how do you hold it not scream about revenge?"

Zane's laugh was dark, it's bark that echoed through the phone, sending a jolt through me. "Curious? It's suicide, Noah. You think Atlas crumbles without you? I'll rebuild. Cut the losses, strike back harder. But you... Brother, you're dead to me. And Harper? She's first on the list."

The line went dead, the final click of a door slamming on my past. Harper had made her choice. And so have I.

HARPER.

The rain had stopped sometime in the day, leaving the city streets slick and gleaming under the gray sky. I gripped the steering wheel of my sedan, the leather worn smooth under my palms from years of drives chasing leads. The engine hummed steadily as I drove through the morning traffic, the wipers occasionally flicking away stray droplets that clung to the windshield like stubborn regrets.

All morning, I had been circling downtown loops of the city, side streets lined with coffee shops where I had once pounded out stories on my laptop, even past the old newsroom building where my career had died a slow death.

The radio droned in the background, some talk show debating ethics in journalism, but I barely heard it over the roar in my head. What to do? The flash drive sat in my glove compartment like a ticking bomb, hiding the evidence Noah had handed me. It was my salvation, the key to vindicating my ruined career, but using it meant torching whatever future I had glimpsed with him.

I thought back to that morning, Noah had been sleeping peacefully when I'd slipped from the bed, his hair tousled against the pillow, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sheet had slipped low on his hips, his face, usually etched with that hacker's intensity, had been soft in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away, making him look younger, almost innocent. If only he was

I had paused at the door, my heart twisting as I watched him, the room dim with pre-dawn light filtering through the blinds. Could I live without him? The question had echoed in my mind as I had quietly gathered my things. The night before had been endless with his hands exploring every inch of me, his lips murmuring promises of a life beyond the cartel. But now, in the cold light of day, those promises felt paper-thin against the weight of my oath as a journalist.

The traffic light turned red, and I stopped, the engine idling like my thoughts. Horns blared around me with drivers impatient in the morning rush, but I barely noticed, my fingers drumming on the wheel nervously. Ethically, using the evidence was right since the world needed to know about Atlas, the billion-dollar tech empire that was nothing but a glittering cover for Zane Calloway's cartel. It was the story that could revive my career and wash away the "conspiracy nut" label they had slapped on me after Noah's hacks debunked my first exposé. I had sworn to air the truth, to hold power accountable.

But at what cost? Ending what could be an epic love with Noah? The man who had chosen me over his brothers and his empire? The thought sent a pang through my chest.

The light turned green, and I accelerated, the car lurching forward as if mirroring my indecision. Could I live without him? The question looped on, with each repetition chipping away at my resolve.

I turned onto a familiar street that lead to the newsroom I once worked at while the wipers swished lazily, clearing droplets that distorted my view. My heart skipped again, a traitor beat, as I pulled into the parking lot, the tires crunching on loose gravel.

The building stared back at me, and I killed the engine, the sudden silence felt deafening. My hand reached for the door handle, but I froze.

Get out. Stream it. Reclaim your life.

Yet I couldn't.

The hesitation answered for me as minutes ticked by, and I didn't move. By not going in, I was choosing him over my career. Love over justice. The thought sent a wave of nausea through me, making my stomach twist, but I also felt a strange relief, like releasing a breath I had held too long.

But I wasn't one to give up easily.

The journalist in me rebelled, the oath to air the truth, a fire that refused to die. I started the engine again, the rumble vibrating through the seat, and pulled out, the tires spinning slightly on the wet pavement.

I wasn't going to the office but to Atlas. I was going to face Zane Calloway and his merry gang members. If I was going to burn it all, I would do it in person, see the gang's faces as it fell.

An hour later, I approached the towering glass penthouse, the Atlas Empire. My heart pounded. What was I doing?

Vindication or suicide?

I parked in the visitor lot just as my phone buzzed a text from an unknown number, probably Noah, realizing I was gone. I ignored it, my fingers trembling as I stepped out of the car. The rain had reduced to a drizzle, and it dropped on my skin, each drop reminding me of what I was about to unleash in that building.

Vindication or suicide?

The question lingered as I walked toward the entrance, but my decision was made.