CHADLABS Scholarly Hub
Chapter 14 – Secrets and Shadows
Eleanor
The next morning dawned grey and dismal, as if the sky itself understood the storm raging beneath her skin.
Eleanor sat on the edge of her bed, unmoving, the kiss still burning on her lips like a brand. Her pulse hadn’t stopped racing since she stepped away from Marcus in that elevator. Since she’d run from the weight of what they’d done—and everything it threatened to unravel.
She shouldn’t have kissed him back.
She shouldn’t have let herself remember how his touch felt—how it had always felt.
But she had. And it had wrecked her.
Every brush of fabric against her skin made her too aware of her body—how it had come alive under his hands, how her nipples still ached from the phantom brush of his chest against hers. And worse… the traitorous throb low between her thighs that returned every time she remembered his voice, rough and wanting, whispering her name like it tasted different on his tongue.
She clenched her legs together instinctively, trying to suppress the pulsing need, but it only made her more aware of it. Of how close she’d come to surrendering everything.
And what would happen if he ever found out the truth?
That she wasn’t just some ex-lover from a forgotten night.
That he had a son.
Her hands trembled as she picked up the phone. She dialed her mother’s number before she could overthink it.
“Mom? I was wondering… could Leo stay with you for a few weeks?” Her voice cracked despite her best effort to sound casual. “The merger’s gotten intense. I don’t want him around all the late nights.”
Her mother didn’t hesitate. “Of course, darling. We’ve missed him anyway. Are you okay?”
Eleanor swallowed the guilt. “Just tired.”
That was true. But exhaustion didn’t explain the ache blooming in her chest. Or the secret she was burying deeper by the day.
When she hung up, her phone buzzed again.
Lea.
“El,” her friend said without preamble, “what happened? You sounded weird last night.”
And just like that, Eleanor broke.
“It was him,” she whispered. “Marcus. We kissed.”
“You kissed Marcus Sterling?” Lea’s voice sharpened. “In the elevator?”
“It just… happened. It wasn’t supposed to. But it felt like…”
“A flashback?” Lea asked quietly.
Eleanor’s silence was answer enough.
“Oh, El,” her friend sighed. “You’re hiding his son and making out with him after hours? You’re living in a Greek tragedy.”
Eleanor laughed bitterly. “Don’t remind me.”
Marcus
Eleanor didn’t show up to the office that day.
Technically, she was working remotely. Everything was in place—emails sent, documents filed, timelines followed.
But Marcus felt her absence like a missing limb.
He’d tried to concentrate—buried himself in spreadsheets, investor calls, anything—but his brain betrayed him every time.
She haunted him.
He could still feel her pressed against him—her lips opening under his, the way she’d melted into his hands. His body remembered too. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, jaw tight as he adjusted the front of his trousers.
He was already hard.
Fucking useless.
The memory alone had his cock stiffening again, throbbing with frustration he had no way to soothe. Not here. Not like this.
He cursed under his breath and loosened his tie.
He hadn’t meant to cross a line. Hadn’t meant to crave her like this. But something about her—something beyond the obvious—felt like home. Like déjà vu he couldn’t shake.
She wasn’t just another woman.
He’d tasted something he didn’t understand… and it terrified him.
That night, as the rain returned and the city turned to blur behind his office window, he stood with a glass of scotch in one hand and regret wrapped around his throat like a noose.
She was avoiding him.
And he couldn’t even blame her.
But the restraint he’d barely managed last night? It was already splintering.
Eleanor
She couldn’t sleep.
Even in the safety of her apartment, with classical music playing softly and Leo’s things packed neatly by the door, Eleanor felt unraveled.
She paced the room barefoot, blouse clinging to her skin, every nerve lit like a live wire.
She had tried to work. Had opened her laptop, positioned her fingers over the keys.
Nothing.
The moment she closed her eyes, she felt his mouth again—the warmth of it, the hunger. The way he’d groaned when she leaned into him. The pressure of his thigh brushing hers.
And the worst part? Her body responded again.
A sharp, needy ache bloomed between her legs, and she squeezed her thighs together, desperate to ignore the pulse at her center. But her body betrayed her, remembering how his hand had hovered near her waist, as if he wanted to grip her, bend her, claim her.
And God… she wanted him to.
She hated herself for it.
Because no matter how much she craved the feel of him inside her again, how much she wanted to give in to that dark, familiar rhythm… she couldn’t.
Not with Leo at stake.
Not with the truth still hidden.
The Next Morning
Eleanor arrived before sunrise, hoping to steal a few moments of control before the day began.
She didn’t expect to see Marcus already there.
His office lights were on, jacket tossed over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled high on his forearms. He looked exhausted and dangerously alive all at once.
She froze in the doorway.
He looked up. Their eyes met across the glass.
He rose slowly, walked to the threshold between their spaces.
Neither of them smiled.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” he said quietly.
She straightened her spine. “I work here.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
A silence.
“Last night shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened. “Probably not.”
“But it did.”
“It did.”
Her grip tightened on the folder in her hands. “We need boundaries.”
“I agree.”
But he said it with a tone that sent a shiver down her spine.
She turned slightly, needing air, needing distance, but he followed—close but not touching.
“I don’t want to talk about the merger,” he said.
“Then what do you want?”
He took a step closer. Then another.
“I want to remember why you feel so familiar.”
She inhaled sharply, heat flooding her belly.
His hand lifted—not touching, just hovering near her cheek again, like a ghost of the kiss that still haunted them both.
“I want to hear you say my name again,” he murmured, “when you’re not guarded. Not afraid.”
Her knees almost buckled.
“Marcus—”
“I won’t kiss you again,” he said, voice like gravel and fire, “unless you ask me to.”
And then, just like that, he stepped back.
The space between them buzzed like a live current. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t look away as he returned to his desk.
Neither did she.
And though the kiss hadn’t happened again, her body felt lit from within—her panties damp, her thighs clenched, her heart pounding like a war drum.
The tension between them had become a living thing.
A quiet, hungry storm—waiting to consume them both.
