CHADLABS Scholarly Hub
Eleanor
The elevator ride up to the executive floor felt longer than usual. Eleanor clutched her tablet like a lifeline, her palms slightly clammy, heart knocking wildly against her ribs. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach—restless and relentless. After the gala, after that dance, she hadn’t slept a wink. Her body still remembered the way Marcus had held her. The warmth of his breath against her neck. The press of his palm at the small of her back. The possessive edge in his voice.
What had it meant?
She stepped out into the office and immediately felt the weight of gazes. Not overt, not cruel. But knowing. Curious. A few glances from the junior staff, the kind that made heat crawl up her neck. Lea had warned her—the gala hadn't gone unnoticed. And neither had the chemistry.
Eleanor smoothed her skirt, inhaled deeply, and crossed the lobby with practiced calm. But her heart was a riot of nerves and need. She hadn’t seen Marcus since the gala. Hadn’t spoken to him. And part of her—traitorous, dangerous—was hungry for it. For him. To know if that dance had undone him as thoroughly as it had unraveled her.
As she passed by his office, she glanced once at the closed door, lips parting slightly.
Was he in? Would he call her in? Her body tingled at the thought, and she quickly turned to her desk, forcing her hands to stay busy, her thoughts to stay tame.
But inside, Eleanor was drowning in tension.
Marcus
He had come in early.
Earlier than necessary. Earlier than sane.
Because part of him had wanted to be alone in that office, where the air still held traces of her perfume. Where he could sit behind his desk and imagine ordering her inside, locking the door, and telling her to bend over that damn table.
He could still see her on the dance floor. The arch of her neck. The way her lips had parted when he whispered against her ear. The way her body had melted into his, perfectly, naturally, like she'd always belonged in his arms. He'd had to walk away or he would have done something unforgivable.
Even now, just thinking about her made his cock swell painfully against his slacks. He looked down and swore under his breath, palming himself briefly to calm the ache.
"Damn it, Eleanor..."
He needed to focus. He needed to breathe.
He reached for his laptop to distract himself.
And that’s when he saw it.
The email.
Subject line: CONFIDENTIAL: Eleanor Quinn
No sender. No trace.
His blood went cold.
Fingers stiff, he opened the file. The email thread unspooled before him—a trail of messages between Eleanor and a high-level OmniCorp executive. Each line dripped with the implication of betrayal. Of shared secrets. Confidential merger information. Timelines. Strategizing.
It was too specific to be generic gossip. Too detailed to ignore.
He felt the floor drop from beneath him.
"No. No. This—this can’t be..."
His breath hitched, chest tightening with something sharp and cold. The words blurred before his eyes.
Had she been using him?
All this time?
That kiss. That night in Chicago. The gala. Her breathy moans still echoed in his ears. Her body wrapped around him like she needed him.
He clenched his jaw.
"Damn. I am such a fool."
Eleanor
The message came at 9:03 sharp.
Mr. Sterling would like to see you. Now.
Her pulse jumped.
She rose, smoothing her blouse, fixing her hair with trembling fingers. It was time. She would walk into his office, he would say something cryptic and heated, and she'd fall apart all over again. Just like Chicago.
But when she opened the door, the air was different.
Frigid.
Marcus didn’t look at her. He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
"Sit."
Her brows furrowed. She lowered herself slowly, eyes scanning his unreadable expression. He didn’t meet her gaze. Didn’t offer her coffee. Didn’t even breathe like the man who’d once kissed her like he was starved.
A printout slid across the desk.
"Explain this."
Eleanor looked down.
Her stomach turned to ice.
Emails. Her name. OmniCorp. Secrets.
She scanned the lines in disbelief. "This isn’t—this isn’t real. I never—Marcus, I swear to you, I never wrote these."
"They came from your company account. With your credentials."
"I don’t care how authentic it looks, I didn’t send these. I would never betray this company. And I would never betray you."
He leaned forward, voice low and hard. "You expect me to believe that?"
She flinched. She looked at him, pleading with her eyes, but the trust she had hoped to find was clouded by doubt, a deep-seated suspicion that pierced her heart more than any accusation. The warmth of their shared intimacy in Chicago now felt like a cruel mirage, replaced by the stark reality of his distrust. Her world, which had felt so close to shifting, now teetered precariously on the brink of collapse.
"After everything, after the timing of your convenient appearance in my life?"
Her breath caught. "Don’t do that. Don’t make this about us when this is a lie."
"Is it? Because right now, Eleanor, I don’t know what to believe."
The words hit her like a slap.
A long silence stretched between them.
She rose slowly, her spine stiff.
"Then maybe you never really knew me."
Her voice cracked on the last word, but she held her head high as she turned and walked out.
Her knees didn’t give way until she made it to the ladies' room. And even then, she didn’t cry.
Not yet.
Because something deeper was cracking inside her—a betrayal not just of her character, but of the fragile, precious thing she thought they were building.
Marcus didn’t trust her.
And that, more than anything, broke her heart.
