Zane slowly circled the living room, his eyes raking over Bridget with unapologetic amusement.

Bridget gripped the hem of the oversized shirt, pulling it down as far as it would go. "Mr. Sterling, please, it's a misunderstanding. I am just an employee."

Jevon's patience snapped. He grabbed Zane by the collar of his expensive leather jacket and shoved him toward the entryway. "Get out."

Zane threw his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. "An employee? Really? Since when do Rocha employees wear the CEO's custom Tom Ford shirts with no pants on?"

Jevon's mind raced. He couldn't let Zane scare her off, but he couldn't tell the truth either. He needed an excuse that explained her presence in his private sanctuary.

"She's working on a highly confidential project directly for me," Jevon lied smoothly, his voice flat and cold. "The data is sensitive, so she's reporting here, after hours."

Zane stopped laughing. He looked at the two plates of perfectly plated truffle pasta on the table. He walked over, picked up a fork, and took a bite. He chewed slowly, his eyes widening in exaggerated surprise.

"Wow," Zane said, turning to Bridget. "You must be working on a very appetizing project. You're a culinary genius, Ms. Confidential."

Bridget's face burned so hot she thought she might pass out. She knew Zane knew Jevon cooked it. She gave a stiff, humiliated nod.

Jevon glared at Zane. He walked into his bedroom and returned with a pair of grey sweatpants. He shoved them into Bridget's hands. "Go put these on."

Bridget grabbed the pants and practically sprinted back to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Bridget sat stiffly at the far end of the long dining table, wearing the baggy sweatpants. She kept her eyes glued to her plate, mechanically twirling the pasta around her fork.

Jevon sat at the head of the table. Zane pulled out the chair right next to Bridget and sat down, ignoring Jevon's death glare.

Zane poured himself a glass of red wine and leaned toward Bridget. "So, Ms. Frank. How old are you? Where are you from? What department do you actually work in?"

Bridget swallowed hard. She answered his rapid-fire questions in a tiny, nervous voice, feeling like she was under interrogation.

Jevon slammed his silver fork down onto his plate. The loud clatter echoed in the room. "Zane. Enough."

Zane ignored him completely. He took a sip of wine and dropped the bomb. "A beautiful girl like you must have a great boyfriend. What does he do?"

The air in the room instantly evaporated. Jevon's fingers clamped around the stem of his wine glass so hard the crystal groaned. His dark eyes locked onto Bridget's face, waiting.

Bridget's chest tightened. The image of Jacob and Chloe flashed in her mind, sending a fresh wave of nausea through her.

"I'm single," she said quietly, staring at her lap.

Jevon's rigid jawline instantly relaxed. A dark, triumphant heat flared in his eyes.

Zane caught the micro-expression on his best friend's face. He immediately leaned in closer to Bridget. "Single? New York men are blind. You know, Jevon here is single too. And he is incredibly loyal."

Bridget frowned, completely missing the subtext. She thought Zane was just being an obnoxious Hollywood wingman. She desperately wanted to change the subject.

"How is the filming for your new action movie going?" she asked.

Zane's eyes lit up. He started talking animatedly, waving his hands around to describe a stunt sequence, completely monopolizing Bridget's attention.

Jevon watched them laugh together. A violent surge of jealousy clawed at his chest. He stretched his long leg out under the table and kicked Zane's shin with brutal force.

Zane gasped, choking on his wine. He glared at Jevon, rubbing his leg under the table.

Jewen calmly ate his pasta"Your agent called me, Zane. He needs to speak with you immediately."

Bridget sensed the sudden hostility. She quickly put her fork down. "I'm full. I'll clean up the kitchen."

"Sit down," Jevon commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. He stood up, towering over the table. He looked at Zane. "My office. Now."

Zane winked at Bridget, stood up, and followed Jevon down the dark hallway toward the cigar room.

The heavy oak door of the cigar room clicked shut, sealing them in absolute silence.

Zane instantly dropped the playful idiot act. He crossed his arms, his face deadly serious. "What the hell are you doing, Jevon? If you're just playing games with some poor girl from the office, stop it before it gets messy."

Jevon didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the climate-controlled humidor, pulled out a Cuban cigar, and sliced the end off with a silver cutter.

Zane snatched the silver lighter from Jevon's hand. "I'm serious."

Jevon looked up. The cold, corporate mask was gone. His eyes were filled with a desperate, agonizing obsession.

"I looked for her for ten years," Jevon said, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.

Zane took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. "Wait. You mean... the girl out there... she's that girl? The one you've been looking for?"

Jevon put the cigar in his mouth, struck a match, and inhaled deeply. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and gave a single, heavy nod.

Zane dragged a hand down his face. He remembered the broken, terrified boy Jevon used to be after the kidnapping. "If you found her, why the hell are you playing this weird boss-employee game? Why don't you just tell her who you are?"

Jevon walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the glittering Manhattan skyline. His broad shoulders slumped slightly.

"She just caught her fiancé cheating on her," Jevon said quietly. "Her trust is completely shattered. If I tell her that the CEO she's terrified of is actually the weak, pathetic kid she had to protect ten years ago... she'll think I'm a psychopath. She'll run."

Jevon turned around, his eyes burning with a terrifying resolve. "I am going to make her fall in love with Jevon Rocha. Cleanly. No past baggage."

Zane stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he let out a breath and shook his head. "You're insane. But fine. I'll help you."

They walked back into the living room. Bridget was sitting rigidly on the sofa, flipping nervously through an architectural magazine.

Zane walked over and sat down next to her, his entire demeanor shifting from flirtatious to deeply respectful. He poured her a glass of water and handed it to her.

"So, Bridget," Zane started, his tone casual. "I have this friend. He's been secretly in love with a girl for ten years. But he's terrified to tell her. What do you think she would do if she found out?"

Bridget lowered the magazine. She thought about Jacob's lies. Her chest tightened.

"It depends," Bridget said firmly. "If he was just watching from afar, imposing his own fantasy on her for a decade, then it's selfish deception. A real relationship needs honesty to begin. I hate liars."

Jevon, who had just poured himself a drink at the bar, froze. The crystal glass in his hand cracked under the sudden, violent pressure of his grip. The blood drained from his face.

Zane winced, realizing he had just stepped on a massive landmine. "Well, maybe he just didn't want to lose her-"

"A lie is a lie," Bridget interrupted, her voice hard. "I want simple, transparent relationships."

Jevon set the cracked glass down. He walked over, grabbed Zane by the back of his collar, and hauled him off the sofa.

"It's late," Jevon snarled. "You're leaving."

"I can't go to a hotel, the paparazzi are everywhere!" Zane protested.

Jevon pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant. "Alex. Book the entire top floor of the Four Seasons for Zane. Put it on my card." He hung up and shoved Zane toward the door.

Zane grabbed his jacket, shooting Bridget an apologetic look before fleeing the apartment.

The heavy door slammed shut. The silence in the apartment was suffocating.

Bridget stood up quickly, her heart pounding. "I should go too. I have work tomorrow."

Jevon didn't argue. He grabbed his car keys from the console table. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle ticked visibly.

"I'm driving you," he commanded.

The black Maybach glided silently over the Brooklyn Bridge. The interior of the car was pitch black, save for the faint glow of the dashboard.

Bridget pressed her shoulder against the passenger door, trying to put as much physical distance between herself and Jevon as possible. The air in the car was thick with a heavy, suffocating tension.

Jevon's hands gripped the leather steering wheel. His knuckles were bone white. Zane's stupid question and Bridget's brutal answer were playing on a loop in his head.

He hit a red light and slammed on the brakes a little too hard. He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto her profile.

"Do you really believe a ten-year secret is deception?" Jevon asked, his voice rough and tight.

Bridget frowned, confused by his sudden obsession with Zane's gossip. "Yes. If someone projects their own fantasy onto you for a decade without telling you, it's not love. It's a burden."

Jevon's chest seized. A sharp, physical pain radiated through his ribs. He turned back to the windshield. When the light turned green, he slammed his foot on the gas. The Maybach roared, throwing Bridget back against the leather seat.

He pulled up to the curb outside her new, rundown apartment building in Brooklyn. He didn't put the car in park. He just stared straight ahead.

"Get out," Jevon ordered, his voice devoid of all emotion.

Bridget flinched at his coldness. She quickly unbuckled her seatbelt, pushed the heavy door open, and stepped out into the freezing night. Before she could even close the door completely, the Maybach tore away from the curb, disappearing into the dark streets.

Bridget shivered, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. She hurried up the stairs to her tiny, cramped apartment.

She took a hot shower, trying to wash away the exhaustion of the day. She collapsed onto her narrow bed, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin. She grabbed her phone to set her alarm for the morning.

Without thinking, she opened Instagram. She typed "Jevon Rocha" into the search bar.

His profile popped up. It was unverified, with only a few dozen followers-all high-profile CEOs and board members. The grid was completely empty.

Just as she was about to close the app, a purple ring appeared around his profile picture. He had just posted a Story.

Bridget tapped it.

The screen filled with a photo of a piece of old, yellowed paper. On the paper was a crude, childish drawing done in crayons. It showed a little boy crying, and a little girl standing in front of him, holding a stick like a sword.

At the bottom of the screen, written in small, stark white text, was a single word:

Finally.

Bridget stared at the drawing. Her brain completely failed to connect the childish scribbles to the drawing she had made for Jerimy in the basement ten years ago. To her, it just looked like a drawing made by a five-year-old child.

Her heart stopped. The blood rushed out of her head.

A child.

Jevon Rocha had a child.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The ten-year secret Zane was talking about. Jevon's violent reaction to her calling it a burden. He wasn't hiding a crush. He was hiding a secret child! He had a baby mama somewhere, and he had finally found his lost kid.

A wave of absolute horror washed over Bridget. She was getting tangled up in a messy, high-stakes billionaire family drama. She was the naive employee sleeping with a man who had a secret family.

Panic gripped her throat. She tapped the three dots in the top right corner of the screen. Her finger trembled as she hit the red text.

Block User.

She threw the phone to the bottom of the bed and pulled the covers over her head, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Miles away, in the driver's seat of the parked Maybach, Jevon stared at his phone screen. He had posted the drawing in a moment of desperate vulnerability, hoping she would see it and remember.

Instead, the screen flashed a grey error message.

User not found.

Jevon's jaw clenched. The phone cracked under the brutal pressure of his grip.