First Rule: Don't Fall For The Enemy

CHAPTER 24

MIRA'S POV

I couldn't sit still. The apartment felt like a cage, the walls closing in on me with every passing minute. I'd been pacing for hours, wearing a track in the carpet between the living room and kitchen, checking my phone obsessively for any word from Adrian or Jesse.

Nothing. Complete radio silence from both of them.

"Come on, come on," I muttered, hitting Jesse's number again. It went straight to voicemail, just like the last ten times I'd called.

"Jesse, it's me. Again. Please call me back. We need to talk about what happened today. About what you're planning to do." I paused, hearing the desperation in my own voice. "Please don't do anything stupid. Call me."

I hung up and immediately tried Adrian's number. Same result—voicemail after two rings.

"Adrian, it's Elise. I know you're angry, and you have every right to be, but please let me explain. What you saw tonight, what you think you know, there's more to the story. Please call me back."

I threw my phone onto the coffee table and resumed pacing. Where the hell could Jesse be?

He hadn't been home in three days, not since our fight about my feelings for Adrian. I'd been telling myself he was just cooling off, staying with a friend from work, but after what happened this afternoon...

"He wouldn't," I said aloud, trying to convince myself. "He wouldn't betray the mission just to hurt me."

But even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself. Jesse was hurt, angry, and feeling betrayed. And a hurt Jesse was a dangerous Jesse, I'd seen him operate when emotions were involved, and it was never pretty.

I tried his number again. Voicemail.

"Jesse, please. Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't. We can work this out. We can salvage the mission, get the evidence we need without destroying everything. Just... please call me back."

The apartment felt suffocating. I needed air, needed to move, needed to do something other than pace and worry. But I couldn't leave, what if Jesse came home? What if Adrian called?

I slumped onto the sofa, pulling a throw pillow against my chest. The silence was deafening, broken only by the tick of the wall clock and the distant sound of traffic outside. Every minute that passed felt like another nail in the coffin of everything I'd worked for.

"Think, Mira," I whispered to myself. "Where would he go? What would he do?"

But I already knew the answer. He must have told Adrian everything about me, about the mission, about why I was really there. And then everything would be over.

"He wouldn't," I repeated, but my voice lacked conviction. "He knows what this means. He knows what Dad died for."

I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, desperate for any distraction from the spiral of anxiety consuming me. Maybe if I could focus on something else, anything else, I could calm down enough to think clearly.

The local news was on, some story about a subway delay that had affected thousands of commuters. I flipped through channels mindlessly, sitcom reruns, a cooking show, a documentary about penguins. Nothing held my attention for more than a few seconds.

"—developing story about billionaire CEO Adrian Roth—"

My finger froze on the remote button. The news anchor's voice was professional, measured, but the words made my blood turn to ice.

"—caught on camera this afternoon in what appears to be a violent altercation outside a Manhattan café—"

"No," I breathed, turning up the volume with shaking hands.

The screen filled with grainy cell phone footage, clearly shot by a bystander. I watched in horror as the scene played out, with Adrian grabbing Jesse by the throat, me trying to intervene, the crowd gathering around us.

"—sources close to the situation suggest the fight was over a woman, identified as Elise Hart, Roth's executive assistant—"

My face filled the screen, a professional headshot from the company website that made me look polished and innocent. Then the footage again, showing Adrian's protective fury as he confronted Jesse.

"—witnesses report that Roth appeared to be defending his assistant from what looked like an aggressive confrontation—"

"Oh God," I whispered, sinking deeper into the sofa cushions.

"—this latest incident adds fuel to rumors about an inappropriate relationship between the billionaire CEO and his much younger employee—"

The anchor's voice continued, but I couldn't process the words anymore. The screen showed more footage, photos of Adrian and me leaving various business events together.

"—questions are being raised about corporate ethics and workplace relationships at Roth Corporation—"

Then Jesse's face appeared on screen. A professional photo, probably from his security company's website, showing him in uniform with that easy smile I'd fallen for two years ago.

"—the other man involved in the altercation has been identified as Jesse Morrison, a security guard who works in the same building as Roth Corporation—"

The footage played again, this time in slow motion. I watched Adrian's fist connect with Jesse's jaw, watched Jesse hit the pavement, watched myself grab Adrian's arm to stop him from advancing.

"—while representatives from Roth Corporation have declined to comment, sources suggest this incident may have serious implications for both the company's stock price and ongoing federal investigations into the corporation's business practices—"

Federal investigations. The words hit me like a sledgehammer.

"—we'll continue to follow this developing story and bring you updates as they become available—"

The anchor moved on to a story about a house fire in Queens, but I couldn't hear anything over the ringing in my ears. The remote slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

Jesse had done it. He'd actually done it.

Not by telling Adrian the truth directly—that would have been too clean, too simple. Instead, he'd orchestrated this. The confrontation at the café, making sure there were witnesses, making sure someone would film it. He'd created a scandal that would force federal investigators to look more closely at Adrian, at Roth Corporation, at me.

"You bastard," I whispered, tears burning my eyes. "You absolute bastard."

I fumbled for my phone, dialing Jesse's number with shaking fingers. This time, he answered on the first ring.

"Did you see the news?" His voice was calm, almost casual.

"How could you?" The words came out as a sob. "How could you do this to him?"

"To him? What about what he did to me? What you both did to me?"

"This wasn't about you, Jesse. This was about justice, about the mission—"

"The mission was fucked the moment you fell in love with him." His voice was cold, emotionless. "At least this way, we get results."

"Results? You've destroyed everything! Adrian's reputation, the company, my cover—"

"Your cover was blown the moment you chose him over the job." I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "This just speeds up the timeline."

"You've ruined him," I whispered.

"I've exposed him. There's a difference."

"He doesn't deserve this—"

"Doesn't he? He's a criminal, Mira. He's stolen millions, bribed officials, laundered money through offshore accounts. He deserves everything that's coming to him."

"That's for the courts to decide, not you!"

"The courts needed evidence. Now they have a reason to look harder." Jesse's laugh was bitter. "You should be thanking me. I've handed you the biggest corporate takedown of the decade."

"At what cost?"

"At the cost of your delusions." His voice softened slightly. "Come home, Mira. Come back to reality. We still have work to do."

The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone in horror. On the TV, the news had moved on to weather, as if the destruction of my entire world was just another story to fill airtime.

My world tilted, and I slumped further into the sofa, clutching the throw pillow like it could somehow anchor me to solid ground.