The rain hadn't let up.
From the floor-to-ceiling windows of Steele Enterprises' top floor, the city blurred into a monochrome haze, the drizzle soft but relentless, much like the tension simmering in the room.
Isabella Reyes stood at the far end of the glass-walled conference room, arms folded, gaze sharp. She was reading the latest security reports spread across the table, but her focus kept drifting—back to the man seated at the opposite end.
Alexander Steele.
He was just as cold and sharp as his reputation had promised. Impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, every inch of him precise, controlled—except those eyes. Steely gray, calculated. She'd seen men like him before. Men who used silence as a weapon, who thrived on control.
But she wasn't here to be intimidated.
"I don't have time for bureaucracy, Mr. Steele." Her voice cut through the silence like a blade. "I need full access to your logistics database. Not summaries—everything. If there's a leak in your chain, it won't be in a sanitized report."
Alexander's gaze lifted from his laptop, calm but unyielding.
"I don't hand out full access to my systems without cause, Captain Reyes. Trust is earned."
Her jaw clenched. He was testing her.
She took a step closer, voice lowering, steady but edged with something dangerous.
"Let me be clear, Steele. This isn't about trust. This is about national security. Your company's shipments were compromised. Lives were lost. And if you think I'll waste my time playing corporate power games while there's a traitor bleeding intel, you're mistaken."
The room felt smaller somehow. Quieter.
Alexander closed his laptop with measured calm, standing to his full height. He was tall, just enough to meet her eye-to-eye—but not enough to intimidate her. Nothing could.
"You seem to be under the impression that you're in charge here," he said, voice low and smooth, as though he thrived in this very type of tension. "This is my company. My rules. So unless you have proof someone in my organization is responsible for those deaths you mentioned, you're on my time."
Isabella didn't blink.
"I lost two men."
The words were quieter, but they struck deeper than any threat could have.
Two men. Their faces—Gonzalez. Park. Brave, relentless soldiers who had trusted her leadership. Gone, because someone had sold them out.
Her grip on the edge of the table tightened, but she refused to break eye contact.
"I'm not asking for your help, Steele. I'm telling you I'm going to find the leak. Whether you cooperate or not determines how messy this gets for you."
A pause.
For the first time, Alexander saw it—the crack beneath her steel exterior. Grief. Controlled, contained, but real.
And something about it stirred an unfamiliar ache in his chest.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand along the edge of his cufflink as if measuring his next words carefully.
"Two days. You have two days, Captain. My head of security will grant you access—limited access—to the shipping records. But I expect results."
Isabella nodded stiffly, accepting the compromise. It wasn't enough, but it was a start.
She gathered the files from the table, the tension lingering like static in the air. Before she could leave, his voice stopped her.
"Captain."
She turned, meeting those cold, calculating eyes once more.
"Control is a dangerous thing to lose," he said softly.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
Because he was right.
And somehow, he knew.
But what Alexander Steele didn't know—what neither of them realized yet—was that the cracks were already starting to show between them.