Grace Williams stared at her phone as the call timer ticked past 00:43:00.

Forty-three minutes of brutal negotiation with the city’s most dangerous man, and she’d somehow managed to secure terms that wouldn’t get her client killed, wouldn’t get her client arrested, and wouldn’t get anyone’s kneecaps turned into modern art. Her hands were still shaking, not because she was afraid of him, but because she’d spent nearly an hour walking a tightrope made of razor wire while pretending the wind wasn’t trying to throw her into traffic.

Across the conference room, Melissa Harper whispered, “Is he gone?”

Grace nodded and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since last Tuesday. She tossed the phone onto the mahogany table and collapsed into her leather chair, the kind that cost more than her first apartment deposit and still managed to feel like a stress fracture disguised as furniture.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of Williams & Associates reflected four women who looked like they’d just survived a natural disaster and were now trying to pretend they’d simply gone for a brisk walk.

“That voice, though,” Sarah Patel, the paralegal, fanned herself dramatically. “Even when he’s threatening to break kneecaps, it’s like butter.”

“Butter made of broken glass and bad decisions,” Melissa countered, but she was grinning.

Grace pressed her palms to her eyes.

Gene Wu Park.

The name alone made her pulse spike in ways that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the last three years she’d spent pretending she didn’t dream about him. Three years of negotiating deals across phone lines and conference tables, maintaining her mask of professional ice while her heart did gymnastics every time he said her name.

“Come on, Grace.” Lisa Nguyen, her junior associate, leaned forward with that knowing smirk younger lawyers wore like a badge. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. The tension between you two could power this entire building.”

“There’s no tension,” Grace said.

The lie tasted bitter. She tried to dress it up with logic anyway. “There’s a client-attorney relationship built on mutual respect and the understanding that he could have me killed if I screw up his contracts.”

“Mutual respect?” Sarah laughed. “Girl. The man calls you at midnight just to hear your opinion on wine pairings. That’s not respect. That’s—”

“Stop,” Grace warned, but the word didn’t land with the authority she wanted because she was smiling despite herself, traitorous warmth spreading through her chest.

Melissa gathered her files. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. I’m betting you don’t sleep much.”

Grace straightened papers that didn’t need straightening, the classic move of a woman trying to control something, anything, because her life refused to behave.

She shouldn’t have admitted anything. Not here. Not to them. Not ever.

But the adrenaline was crashing now. Her body was coming down from the cliff edge. And something broke loose inside her, something that had been held shut with sheer willpower for years.

“I’m in love with him,” Grace said.

Silence hit the room like a tidal wave.

Sarah’s hand froze mid-fan. Melissa’s brows lifted so high they nearly escaped her forehead. Lisa gripped the edge of the table like it was the only solid thing in a tilting world.

Grace didn’t stop. Once a truth gets air, it becomes hungry.

“I’ve been in love with him since the first time he walked into this office,” she continued, voice cracking on the words that had been living in her throat for three years. “Since he looked at me with those dark eyes and asked if I was brave enough to represent a monster. I should’ve said no. Any sane person would’ve said no. But I took one look at him and thought, ‘This is the man who’s going to ruin my life, and I’m going to let him.’”

Melissa’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Grace—”

“Every negotiation is torture,” Grace said, wiping at her eyes and hating that they were wet. “Because I have to sit across from him and pretend I’m not memorizing the way he moves. The way his jaw tightens when he’s thinking. How he drums his fingers against the table when he’s about to make a dangerous decision. I know his tells better than I know my own.”

Lisa whispered, “Oh my God.”

“Three years of midnight calls where we talk about everything except what I want to say,” Grace went on, the confession pouring out now, unstoppable. “Three years of him sending black roses to my office. Black roses, because of course he would. With notes that say ‘for keeping me honest’ when all I want is for him to be dishonest with me for once. To drop the crime lord mask and just be Gene Wu. Just be the man who quotes poetry in Korean and remembers I take my coffee with too much sugar and once told me I had a warrior’s spirit.”

Sarah reached for her hand. “Does he know?”

Grace laughed, but it came out choked. “God, no. He can never know.”

“Why?” Melissa asked softly.

Because the answer had teeth.

“Men like Gene Wu Park don’t fall in love with women like me,” Grace said. “They fall in love with power and danger and the thrill of the empire. I’m just the person who makes sure his contracts are airtight and his businesses look legitimate. I’m useful. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

“You don’t know that,” Lisa argued.

“I do,” Grace said, standing up too fast, the motion sharp and defensive. She straightened her blazer, trying to rebuild the armor that had just crumbled. “And it’s fine. It has to be fine because the alternative is walking away, and I can’t do that. I’d rather have him in my life as a client than not have him at all.”

Then a sound cut through her words.

A tiny, tiny sound that made her blood turn to ice.

Her phone screen was still glowing on the conference table.

Active call.

Gene Wu Park.

Time stopped.

Grace’s vision tunneled to that small green indicator, to the devastating proof that the call had never ended. That somewhere across the city, Gene Wu Park had heard every single word.

“Oh my God,” Melissa breathed.

Grace lunged for the phone, fingers numb, heart trying to hammer its way out of her chest. The screen confirmed her nightmare.

Connected.

He’d been connected this entire time.

How long had he been listening? Since she ended the business call. Since she’d said his name. Since she’d said, “I’m in love with him.”

Her thumb hovered over the end-call button, but her body forgot how to function because in the silence on the other end of the line, she heard breathing, steady and controlled.

The breathing of a man who’d just heard his lawyer confess feelings she’d hidden for three years.

Then Gene Wu Park’s voice came through, dark as midnight and twice as dangerous.

“Grace Williams,” he said. “Don’t hang up.”

The phone nearly slipped from her hands.

Around her, the conference room had become a freeze-frame: Sarah’s eyes wide as moons, Lisa still gripping the table, Melissa gesturing violently to hang up, to run, to do anything except continue this conversation.

Grace turned away from them and pressed the phone tighter to her ear, as if she could crawl through the line and see his face.

“Mr. Park,” she said, and somehow her voice came out steady. A minor miracle. “I didn’t realize I was still on the line.”

His tone gave nothing away. Smooth and controlled, like always.

“Clearly.”

Heat flooded her face.

Professional Grace would apologize. She’d laugh it off as office banter. She’d rebuild the wall brick by careful brick.

But professional Grace had just burned to the ground, and what rose from those ashes was something raw.

“How much did you hear?” she asked.

A pause stretched like piano wire.

“Enough,” he said.

Melissa mouthed, Stop. Please stop.

Grace didn’t.

“I should explain—”

“Don’t.” The word cracked through the line like a whip. “Don’t you dare explain it away. Don’t make it smaller than it was.”

Grace’s breath caught. She knew Gene Wu’s voice like a language she’d studied in secret. The subtle shift when he was bluffing. The dangerous quiet before he struck.

But this… this was uncharted territory.

“What do you want me to say?” she whispered.

“Did you mean it?” Each word was precise, controlled. “When you said you’d rather have me in your life as a client than not have me at all.”

Grace swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Good.” Something rustled on his end, like he was standing. “Because you’re going to have me in your life in a very different capacity.”

Her heart stopped.

“Be at your office tomorrow morning,” Gene Wu said. “Seven a.m.”

“Gene Wu—”

“Don’t be late, Grace.”

The call ended.

Grace stared at the black screen of her phone like it had just handed her a verdict.

Behind her, chaos erupted.

“What did he say?” Sarah rushed forward.

Grace sank into her chair, reality crashing down in heavy waves. “He wants to meet tomorrow.”

Lisa grabbed her shoulders. “And what else? You can’t just leave us hanging after that.”

“I don’t know,” Grace whispered. “I don’t know what he wants.”

Melissa’s expression shifted from shock to concern. “Maybe call in sick tomorrow. Give it time to—”

“Blow over?” Grace laughed, and it sounded unhinged. “I just confessed three years of feelings to the most powerful crime boss in this city. This isn’t something that blows over. This is something that gets you disappeared.”

“He wouldn’t hurt you,” Sarah insisted, clinging to hope like a life raft. “You’re his lawyer. He needs you.”

Grace wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

She’d spent three years building a careful relationship that kept them both safe. Now those boundaries were obliterated, and she had no idea what waited on the other side.

That night, sleep was impossible. Grace lay in her apartment, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word. The command in his tone. The way he said, “Don’t make it smaller.” Like he’d been waiting for her to finally say it out loud.

At 3:00 a.m., her phone buzzed.

An unknown number, though she knew exactly who it was.

Black roses don’t mean what you think they mean.

Her heart stuttered.

She typed back: Then what do they mean?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Finally: Tomorrow.

Grace arrived at her office at 6:45 a.m., fifteen minutes early because she couldn’t stand waiting at home like a condemned woman in a dress rehearsal.

She’d changed outfits four times before settling on a charcoal suit that made her feel armored. The elevator doors reflected dark circles under her eyes that concealer couldn’t quite erase.

The office was empty and silent except for the hum of the ventilation system, like the building itself was holding its breath.

Grace made coffee she didn’t want and wouldn’t drink just to keep her hands busy. She reviewed contracts she’d already reviewed. She checked emails that didn’t matter.

At exactly 7:00 a.m., the elevator chimed.

Gene Wu Park stepped into her office like he owned it, which, given his investment in the building, he technically did.

He wore a black suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. His dark hair was swept back. His face held that same controlled intensity she’d admired and feared for three years.

But something was different.

The way he looked at her had changed, like he was seeing her without the professional filter they’d both maintained.

“You’re early,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“So are you,” Grace answered, and hated that her voice sounded too soft. “I haven’t slept.”

He crossed the room and stopped a careful distance away. Close enough that she could see the faint shadow along his jaw, the way his tie was slightly loosened, the tiny cracks in the armor.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Gene Wu began.

Grace’s throat tightened. “Mr. Park—”

“Gene Wu,” he corrected, eyes locked on hers. “After yesterday, I think we’re past formalities.”

“All right,” Grace said, forcing steadiness. “Gene Wu. Why are you here?”

“Because I have a proposition.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folder. “And because you were wrong about something.”

Grace’s hands trembled as she took it. “What’s that?”

“You said men like me don’t fall in love with women like you,” he said quietly. “You said you’re just useful. That you’d only ever be useful.”

Grace swallowed. “This is not—”

“Open it,” he said, voice gentle in a way that felt more dangerous than threats.

Grace opened the folder with numb fingers.

Photographs.

Her brother Tommy at an underground casino. Stacks of chips. A man with a tight smile leaning too close. A ledger with numbers that made her stomach drop.

God.

The numbers.

“Your brother owes two hundred thousand dollars to the Crimson Dragons,” Gene Wu said, voice calm like he was discussing a lease agreement. “They’ll come to collect in seventy-two hours. And when they do, they won’t be kind.”

Grace’s world tilted.

“How do you—” Her voice caught. “How do you know about Tommy?”

Gene Wu stepped closer. “I know everything about you, Grace Williams.”

Betrayal tasted like copper.

“You knew,” Grace whispered. “And you didn’t tell me.”

“I was waiting for the right moment,” he said, and there it was: the truth, ugly and precise. “The right leverage.”

Grace jerked away from him, fury igniting in her chest like gasoline finding flame.

“Leverage,” she spat. “You’re using my brother as leverage.”

“I’m offering you a solution.” His voice stayed maddeningly calm. “The Crimson Dragons are animals. They won’t just take Tommy’s money. They’ll take pieces of him. Fingers first. Then worse.”

The folder slipped from Grace’s hands. Photos scattered across her desk, Tommy’s face staring up at her from a dozen angles.

Her baby brother. The kid she’d raised after their parents died. The one who promised he was done with gambling.

Grace’s hands curled into fists.

“What do you want?” she asked, and the words came out cold.

Gene Wu didn’t flinch.

“Be my fiancée,” he said.

Grace laughed, sharp enough to cut. “Excuse me?”

“Six months,” he clarified. “My family has been pressuring me to settle down. Traditional values. Legacy. Respectability. They think a wife will make me stable.”

“And you think I’m desperate enough to agree to this,” Grace said, voice shaking with rage.

“I think you love your brother enough to do anything to save him,” Gene Wu replied.

Then he stepped closer and lowered his voice, a blade wrapped in silk.

“Six months. Convince my family I’m domesticated. In exchange, I clear Tommy’s debt and make sure the Dragons never touch him again.”

Grace’s mind raced.

Six months pretending to be engaged to the man she’d been in love with for three years.

Six months performing devotion for his parents while knowing he’d watched her brother spiral and waited for the moment it could be useful.

“You’re a bastard,” she whispered.

“I’m a pragmatist,” he said, but something flickered in his eyes too quickly to catch. “I need someone my family will believe. Someone intelligent, strong enough to handle my world. You’re perfect.”

“Perfect,” Grace echoed, tasting bitterness. “Yesterday you heard me confess I’m in love with you. Today you’re blackmailing me into a fake engagement. How romantic.”

Gene Wu’s jaw tightened. “I’m saving your brother’s life.”

“You’re manipulating me.”

Grace scooped the photos back into the folder with shaking hands.

“This is what you do,” she hissed. “Find people’s weaknesses and exploit them. I thought I was different.”

He moved closer, voice low. “You thought what?”

Grace’s chest rose and fell. “That yesterday meant something.”

He looked at her like her words hit a place he kept hidden behind steel.

“Get out of my office,” Grace said, voice cracking. “You want an answer? Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll be your fake fiancée and smile for your family and play the beautiful woman who tamed the big bad wolf. But don’t expect me to pretend this is anything other than what it is.”

“Extortion,” she finished.

For the first time since she’d known him, Gene Wu looked genuinely thrown.

“That’s not what this is,” he said quietly.

“Then what would you call it?” Grace demanded. “You’re holding my brother’s life hostage unless I agree to your terms. That’s textbook coercion.”

His certainty wavered. Just slightly. Like even he could hear how ugly it sounded when said aloud.

“My family dinner is this Saturday,” he said, voice carefully neutral, retreating to logistics because emotions were dangerous. “I’ll send a car at six. Wear something that doesn’t scream corporate assassin.”

Grace’s laugh was exhausted. “I’m a lawyer, not a miracle worker.”

He turned toward the door, then stopped.

“That confession yesterday,” he said without facing her, “the one you think I’m exploiting? You weren’t wrong about everything.”

Grace’s heart lurched. “What does that mean?”

Gene Wu looked back at her, and for just a moment the mask slipped.

“It means black roses don’t mean ‘for keeping me honest,’” he said. “In Korean flower language… they mean ‘you’re the only one.’”

Then he was gone.

Grace stood in her office, surrounded by the wreckage of her life, and realized she’d stepped into a story that wasn’t going to let her leave with her shoes clean.

The rest of the day passed in a haze.

Grace called Tommy. He denied everything until she said “Crimson Dragons.” Then his voice broke, sobbing apologies, swearing he’d been about to tell her, claiming he had a plan.

“It’s handled,” Grace said, voice hollow. “Just stay away from casinos. All of them.”

“How did you—”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” she said, and hung up.

That evening, Melissa arrived at her apartment with wine and takeout like she was staging an intervention.

“Sarah told me what happened,” Melissa said. “Well, the version where your terrifying client overheard your confession. Not whatever happened this morning because you’ve been ignoring our texts all day.”

Grace let her in. She didn’t tell her about Tommy’s debt or the arrangement. She couldn’t. Saying it out loud would make it real in a way she wasn’t ready to survive.

“He wants me to meet his family,” Grace said instead, which was technically true.

Melissa nearly dropped her wine glass. “He what?”

“Saturday dinner.”

Melissa stared at her. “Grace. The man heard you say you’re in love with him, and now he’s taking you to meet his family. That’s not professional anything. That’s… terrifying.”

“I was going to say promising,” Melissa added, softer. She squeezed Grace’s hand. “Maybe he feels the same way.”

Grace thought about the folder of photographs, the calculated calm in Gene Wu’s eyes, the way he’d said “you’re the only one” like it cost him something.

Maybe Melissa was right.

Or maybe Grace was about to learn just how deep Gene Wu Park’s manipulation could go.

Saturday arrived too quickly.

Grace stood in front of her closet at 4:00 p.m., surrounded by rejected outfits like a tornado had hit. Everything screamed either courtroom warrior or trying too hard. Nothing said: I’m fake engaged to your son, but please believe it’s real.

She finally chose a deep emerald dress, elegant without being flashy, traditional enough to suggest respect, fitted enough to remind Gene Wu exactly what he was risking by playing games with her heart.

The car arrived at six. Not Gene Wu’s usual driver, but a younger man who introduced himself as Minjun and treated her with careful deference that felt rehearsed.

They drove forty minutes into the hills where old money lived behind gates and gardeners. The Park estate made Grace’s breath catch.

Traditional Korean architecture blended seamlessly with modern luxury. Curved rooflines and stone paths led to a mansion that felt both ancient and contemporary, like it had survived centuries and still managed to keep perfect skin.

Gene Wu waited at the entrance.

He’d traded his sharpest suit for something softer, still expensive, still tailored, but less weapon and more man.

“You’re punctual,” he said, offering his arm.

“You’re paying me to be,” Grace replied, but she took his arm anyway, feeling his solid warmth through the fabric.

His voice dropped low enough that Minjun couldn’t hear. “My family can’t know this is an arrangement. You need to sell this.”

Grace looked up and smiled with all her teeth. “I’ve been selling things I don’t believe in for years. This won’t be any different.”

Something dark flashed in his eyes, not anger, not exactly. Something like regret.

Before he could respond, the door opened.

Mrs. Park stood framed in golden light, elegance effortless, wearing a hanbok that looked like art turned into clothing. Her eyes swept over Grace with surgical precision.

Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

“So,” Mrs. Park said, English accented but flawless, “you’re the one who’s been keeping my son honest.”

Grace blinked. “Ah. Yes. I suppose I am.”

“Come inside,” Mrs. Park said warmly. “You must be freezing.”

Inside, the home was stunning. Modern minimalism mixed with traditional Korean art. Wealth without noise. Power without shouting.

Mr. Park appeared from what looked like a library. He was shorter than Gene Wu but carried himself like a man who’d never questioned his right to command. His handshake was firm, his gaze sharp.

“A lawyer,” he said, like he was solving a puzzle. “That explains the way you look at contracts. I read your work on the warehouse acquisition. Impressive.”

“Thank you, Mr. Park.”

Grace felt Gene Wu’s hand settle at the small of her back, proprietary and warm, and she hated how her body responded like it believed the lie.

Dinner was served in a room built for twenty but made intimate by the four of them. Dish after dish arrived: kimchi, bulgogi, japchae, soups rich with care, food that felt like tradition given form.

Mrs. Park asked gentle questions about Grace’s family. Grace edited out the dead parents and the years of raising Tommy alone. She focused on education, career, discipline.

Then Mrs. Park smiled knowingly.

“And how did you two meet?”

Gene Wu’s thumb traced slow circles on Grace’s knee under the table, and the touch made concentration impossible.

“She walked into my life and told me I was making a mistake,” Gene Wu said smoothly.

“I was more diplomatic,” Grace protested.

“You told me I was being an idiot,” he corrected, eyes meeting hers with a dangerous spark.

Mrs. Park looked delighted. “And when did you know you loved him?”

Grace nearly choked on her water.

This was the performance. The lie she needed to sell.

But the words that came out weren’t calculated.

“The first time he sent black roses to my office,” Grace said quietly.

Gene Wu went still.

“I didn’t understand what they meant,” Grace continued, voice soft, honest in a way that startled her. “I thought they were a joke or a threat or just another game. But he kept sending them. Every month. Without fail. And I started waiting for them. Started checking my desk every morning, hoping to see that black velvet box.”

She looked at Gene Wu. Let him see something real flicker beneath the pretense.

“I think I fell in love with him one black rose at a time.”

The table went silent.

Mrs. Park’s eyes glistened.

Mr. Park cleared his throat roughly like he didn’t do emotion in public.

Gene Wu stared at Grace like she’d just exposed a nerve.

“Well,” Mrs. Park said, voice thick with happiness. “Then we should start planning a wedding.”

Grace’s heart dropped straight through her ribcage.

The ride back to Grace’s apartment was suffocating.

Gene Wu sat beside her in the back seat, close enough to feel his heat, far enough to feel the distance as a choice.

“You were convincing,” he finally said.

“That’s what you’re paying me for,” Grace replied, staring out the window.

“Grace,” he said, and his tone held something sharp. “Don’t.”

She turned to face him. “Don’t analyze what I said in there. Don’t pick it apart looking for truth versus performance. You got what you wanted. Your mother is already planning centerpieces.”

The car stopped.

Grace reached for the door handle, but Gene Wu caught her wrist.

“The black roses,” he said quietly. “You really waited for them?”

Grace’s throat tightened. “Every month. For three years.”

He released her hand like it burned.

“Good night,” she said, and stepped out.

Inside her apartment, Grace lasted exactly five minutes before the tears came. Not delicate crying. The ugly, gasping kind that shook her entire body.

She’d just spent three hours selling a fantasy to his parents while sitting next to the man who’d coerced her into this nightmare.

The worst part was that some of it hadn’t felt like acting.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Gene Wu: Thank you for tonight.

Grace typed back: Send Tommy’s debt clearance paperwork by Monday.

Three dots appeared.

Then: Already done. Check your email.

Grace opened her laptop with shaking hands.

There it was. Official documentation that Tommy’s debt to the Crimson Dragons had been paid in full, plus legal warnings and enforcement contacts that would keep them away permanently.

Dated yesterday.

Before the dinner.

Before she’d agreed.

Her phone rang.

She answered without thinking. “You paid it yesterday.”

“I was always going to pay it,” Gene Wu said, and his voice sounded rougher than usual.

“Then why the arrangement?” Grace demanded. “Why make me agree to this?”

Silence stretched so long she thought he’d hung up.

Then he spoke, and the words came out like they hurt.

“Because I’m a coward,” he said. “Because the only way I could have you in my life was to create a situation where you had no choice but to let me in.”

“That’s not having me,” Grace whispered. “That’s trapping me.”

“I know.” His breath hitched. “I’ve been obsessed with you for three years, Grace. Every black rose. Every midnight call. Every excuse I made to see you. It was never business. It was being near you without admitting what you meant to me.”

Grace pressed a hand to her mouth, tears spilling again.

“But I’m a monster,” Gene Wu continued. “My world destroys beautiful things. I’ve watched it happen. So I kept distance, told myself keeping you safe meant keeping you away. Then I heard you say you’d rather have me as a client than not at all, and I… I couldn’t let you go.”

His voice cracked.

“So I manufactured a reason to bind you to me.”

Grace laughed through tears, half heartbreak, half disbelief. “You could have just asked me out like a normal person.”

“Normal people don’t run criminal empires,” he said softly. “Normal people don’t fall in love with crime lords.”

Grace wiped her face. “But here we are.”

After that night, something shifted.

Gene Wu called less about contracts and more about everything else: his childhood in Korea, the weight of legacy, the isolation that came with power. Grace told him about raising Tommy, about law school nights fueled by caffeine and rage, about the exhaustion of being strong all the time.

Two weeks passed, then three.

They attended another family dinner. A charity gala where Gene Wu’s hand never left the small of her back. A gallery opening where he murmured translations of Korean poetry into her ear until she shivered.

The line between pretense and reality blurred until Grace couldn’t find it anymore.

Then on a Thursday at noon, Gene Wu appeared at her office with Thai food and that half smile she’d memorized years ago.

“Your assistant said you’ve been here since six a.m.,” he said, unpacking containers on her desk. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday,” Grace admitted, rubbing her eyes. “The Morrison case is killing me.”

“Take a break,” he said, handing her chopsticks. “The case will still be there in thirty minutes.”

They ate in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from knowing someone. His foot brushed hers under the desk, and neither of them moved away.

“My mother wants us at the estate this weekend,” he said carefully. “She insists on showing you her garden.”

Grace exhaled. “Fair warning: when a Korean mother shows you her garden, she’s picking the wedding location.”

Gene Wu’s mouth twitched. “Grace…”

She set down her chopsticks. “What are we doing?”

He blinked. “Eating pad thai.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, gesturing between them. “This was supposed to be fake. Six months. Then we go our separate ways. But it doesn’t feel fake anymore. At least not to me.”

His expression shuddered like she’d hit a place he couldn’t armor.

“I need to know if I’m the only one,” Grace said, words rushing out before courage could abandon her. “If I’m the only one who thinks about you constantly, who replays every conversation, who—”

Gene Wu stood abruptly and circled the desk.

Before Grace could process, his hands cupped her face and his mouth crashed against hers.

The kiss was desperate, three years of restraint shattering in an instant. Grace gasped, and Gene Wu deepened it, one hand sliding into her hair while the other pulled her closer. She tasted hunger and frustration and need.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Gene Wu rested his forehead against hers.

“You’re not the only one,” he whispered rough. “You’ve never been the only one.”

Grace’s phone rang.

An unknown number flashed urgently.

Years of lawyer instinct made her answer.

“Grace Williams,” she said.

“Ms. Williams,” a man’s voice snapped. “This is Detective Morrison. We’ve been trying to reach Gene Wu Park. His associate was just found dead, and we have reason to believe—”

The line went dead.

Grace stared at her phone.

Then at Gene Wu.

His face had gone white.

“Get down,” he growled.

Glass exploded inward as Gene Wu tackled Grace to the floor, his body covering hers.

Bullets tore through the office, shredding her desk, spraying plaster from the walls, destroying the framed diplomas she’d hung like proof she’d survived her past and built something clean.

The sound was deafening.

Then silence, broken only by car alarms shrieking below.

Gene Wu’s hands checked her frantically. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Grace said, and her voice surprised her with its steadiness. Training clicked into place like an old lock. “They’re repositioning. We have maybe ninety seconds before the next wave.”

Gene Wu stared. “How do you—”

“Conference room,” Grace snapped, already moving, heels kicked off somewhere in the chaos. “They’ll expect us to go for the elevator or stairs. The conference room has a service door that leads to the maintenance shaft.”

“The maintenance shaft,” Gene Wu repeated, watching her work with terrifying efficiency. “How do you know—”

Grace yanked open the reinforced door she’d insisted on installing years ago. “Because I was an undercover agent for six years before I became a lawyer.”

The confession hung between them like a grenade.

His eyes narrowed. “Federal.”

“Started federal,” she said, pulling him into the conference room and locking it. “Then deeper. I was pulled out after a mission went sideways in Bangkok. They offered me witness protection or a fresh start. I chose the fresh start and became someone who didn’t have to pretend anymore.”

The door shook as bullets slammed into it.

Gene Wu’s gaze burned. “We’re discussing this later.”

Grace shoved the service door open. “Right now, you follow my lead.”

They disappeared into the maintenance shaft, tight and dark, smelling of dust and old metal. Behind them, the conference room door finally gave.

Footsteps pounded.

Multiple attackers, coordinated. Not random.

“Crimson Dragons,” Gene Wu said, voice grim. “Retaliation. I paid Tommy’s debt and cut off their revenue. They want blood.”

Grace led him through the passages with the confidence of someone who had memorized every exit in her building because once upon a time, exits were the difference between life and a body bag.

They emerged into the parking garage.

Gene Wu’s car sat there, miraculously untouched.

“Keys,” Grace demanded.

He handed them over without argument, watching her slide into the driver’s seat with the fluid grace of tactical training.

They were three blocks away when Gene Wu finally spoke.

“Who else knows about your past?”

“No one,” Grace said, scanning the mirrors. “The agency buried everything. As far as the world knows, I graduated law school and went straight into practice.”

“When did you know who I really was?” he asked, voice rough.

“First meeting,” Grace said, turning hard onto a side street. “Former intelligence doesn’t forget how to read people. I knew you were dangerous in thirty seconds. Mafia in three minutes. And I took you as a client anyway.”

“Why?” His question wasn’t just curiosity. It was something closer to hope.

Grace glanced at him. “Because I saw something in you that wasn’t monster. I saw someone carrying weight they never asked for. Someone trying to build something legitimate from a legacy of blood. Someone who quoted poetry and sent flowers and called at midnight just to hear another person’s voice.”

Gene Wu’s hand found hers on the gear shift. “I’m leaving it,” he said.

Grace’s heart jolted. “What?”

“The empire,” he said. “All of it. I’ve been building legitimate operations for five years. Quietly transferring power. Creating distance. Tonight was supposed to be my official exit.”

Grace swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to,” Gene Wu said. “After dinner. I was going to ask if you’d build something real with me. Not fake engagement. Real partnership. Real future.”

He squeezed her hand.

“I orchestrated Tommy’s debt because I’m a coward,” he admitted. “I needed an excuse to finally touch you. And I hated myself for it.”

Grace pulled into an empty lot and parked, engine idling. The city felt too loud, too normal, for what had just happened.

“You’re really leaving,” she whispered.

“I’m really leaving,” he said, eyes searching hers. “I want to wake up next to you without worrying someone will use you to hurt me. I want to take you to dinner without checking for threats. I want to build an empire that doesn’t require violence. And I want to do it with you. The real you. Not corporate Grace or undercover Grace. Just you.”

Grace’s throat tightened. “I’m a mess.”

“Good,” he murmured, and kissed her like he’d been starving. “Normal is overrated. Be broken with me. Be real with me.”

Grace kissed him back, tasting promise and possibility and the future they’d both been too afraid to reach for.

“For the record,” she whispered against his mouth, “I would’ve said yes without the blackmail.”

“I know,” Gene Wu said, and smiled, the real smile she’d been collecting for three years. “That’s why I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

They still had work to do: Dragons to handle, police to outmaneuver, families to convince, Tommy to protect, and Grace’s own past to reconcile with the woman she’d become.

But right now, in this moment, they were just Gene Wu and Grace.

Finally honest.

Finally together.

And instead of silence, they chose the harder thing.

They chose truth.

THE END