GARRISON

"Garrison?" Roxie gasped, her voice slicing through the pitch-black room like a physical blade.

I heard the sudden, sharp rustle of fabric as she scrambled upward, followed immediately by the dull, painful crack of her knee slamming hard against the edge of my obsidian desk.

She winced, a tiny, breathless cry of pain escaping her lips as she lost her balance entirely in the void.

"Don't move, Roxie," I barked through the darkness, my voice sounding rougher than I intended, raw with an alarm I couldn't contain.

I reached out blindly, my eyes straining against the suffocating shadows, but I was a second too late. Before she could steady her feet, the hollow scrape of wood told me she had tripped over the leg of the desk chair, tumbling headfirst into the empty space between us.

She expected to hit the hardwood floor. Instead, her hands collided hard against my chest, striking a wall of solid muscle. I caught her mid-air, my reflexes taking over before my brain could stop them, my strong arms locking tightly around her slender waist to brace for the impact. But her swiftness was too fast, her center of gravity completely thrown off.

The force of her fall knocked me off balance. Together, we crashed backward onto the soft, midnight-blue silk mattress of the king-sized bed.

The breath was knocked completely out of her, escaping in a soft, stunned gasp against my collarbone.

She was pinned flat on top of my chest, her fingers tangled in the fabric of my shirt, her small frame molding perfectly to mine. The absolute darkness of the room swallowed us whole, leaving me trapped in a hell of my own making.

Having her in my arms like this was pure, unadulterated agony.

In the pitch-black silence of the penthouse, the only sounds left were the violent lashing of the rain against the glass balcony doors and the frantic, rabbit-like thumping of Roxie’s heart beating directly against my ribs.

Her scent… that infuriating, treacherous mix of vanilla and New York rain filled my lungs, erasing every corporate strategy, legal protocol, and basic moral code I had spent my life mastering.

My hands were still locked tightly around her waist. Even through her clothes, her skin felt like live electricity against my palms. Every dark, primitive instinct in my body screamed at me to roll her over, pin her beneath me on these sheets, and finish the kiss we had started at the St. Regis bar.

She's your sister, my brain snarled, a cold, violent dose of reality trying to break through the fog of desire. You share a grandfather. You touch her, and you destroy everything.

"Garrison," Roxie whispered. Her breath brushed warm and agonizingly sweet against my neck.

She didn't move. She didn't try to pull away. She was trembling, her small fingers still gripping my shirt like I was the only stable thing left in a world that had just been stripped of its light. "The elevator... Arthur... what do we do?"

I swallowed hard, forcing the gravel out of my throat as my hands slowly slid from her waist. It took every single ounce of my willpower to release her, to force my arms back to my sides. I sat up on the edge of the mattress, the cold air of the room instantly rushing into the heated space she had just occupied.

"We get off this bed," I said, my voice dangerously low, rigid, and completely devoid of inflection. "That’s what we do."

I stood up, crossing the room blindly until my hand swept across the cold obsidian of the desk. My fingers locked onto my phone, and I flicked on the flashlight screen. The harsh, white beam cut through the bedroom like a weapon.

Roxie was still on the bed, shielding her eyes from the sudden brightness. Her hair was messy, her lips were parted, and she looked utterly flushed and breathless. I ripped my eyes away from her before I could lose my mind completely.

I aimed the beam of light toward my laptop. The screen was black. The internal battery had been fried by a remote digital pulse.

"Arthur didn't just lock us in," I said, my corporate focus slamming back into place as a cold, calculating rage took over. "He took down our specific grid. He knows we recovered the security footage. He knows I saw his face on that camera."

"But why?" Roxie asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She stood up carefully, keeping a very deliberate, safe distance from me. "He’s your family lawyer. He’s been with your grandfather for thirty years. Why would he sabotage the hotel and trap us here?"

"Because he isn't working for my grandfather anymore," I growled, walking out into the dark living room with the phone light guiding the way. I approached the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows and looked down.

Far below on the street, the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers were gathering like insects. "He's working for whoever wants to buy Vance International at a discount. If the hotel loses its five-star rating, the board will panic. They'll force me out."

I paused, a chilling realization locking my joints. I turned the light back toward Roxie, who had followed me into the living room, her eyes wide.

"Garrison? You're looking at me weird," she whispered, stepping back.

"Arthur knew about your mother's debt," I said slowly, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in a terrifying picture. "My grandfather left that note in the will, but Arthur was the one who processed it. What if your mother's underground lender in Ohio isn't a separate problem? What if Arthur is the one pulling the strings on both ends?"

Roxie’s face drained of color. "You think... you think Arthur is the lender?"

"I think whoever is trying to destroy my company is the exact same person trying to liquidate your life," I stated, my voice echoing grimly in the empty penthouse.

Suddenly, a strange, metallic scratching sound vibrated through the glass walls. It wasn't coming from the elevator, and it wasn't the rain.

It was coming from the private outdoor balcony.

I whipped the phone light toward the glass doors.

Outside, silhouetted against the glowing lights of the New York skyline, a dark figure in heavy rain gear was adjusting a mechanical glass-cutter against our balcony window.

They weren't just trying to ruin the stock price anymore. They were coming to eliminate the heirs.

Before Roxie could scream, I lunged across the space, grabbing her by the waist once more and tackling her flat onto the hardwood floor just as the massive glass pane shattered into a million pieces.