Stranded On An Island With My Boss. She Said: “If No One Comes… Will You Stay With Me?”
I didn’t wake up on a beach. I woke up in the wreckage of a plane that should have been on a straight shot to San Juan. Metal groaned. Salt stung my throat. My ears rang like someone had struck a bell inside my skull. For a second, my body refused to accept the situation. It searched for an explanation that fit the old world.
Turbulence, hard landing, a nightmare I’d laugh about later. Then the heat hit my face. Fire. I forced my eyes open and saw the torn fuselage, the jagged bones of seats, the shattered windows. Smoke rolled in thick, greasy waves. I tried to sit up and lightning shot through my shoulder. Don’t move. A woman’s voice snapped, not soft, not panicked, commanding.
I turned my head and saw her crouched in the aisle. Hair plastered to her face with sweat her blouse torn at the sleeve. Dirt streaked her cheek like war paint. Ara Vance, CEO of Vance Tech, my boss. Her eyes met mine, and for a second, the corporate world condensed into this one brutal reality. I’m getting you out, she said.
It wasn’t a promise dressed up for a meeting. It was an order. She ripped a strip of fabric from her own sleeve, wrapped it around my bleeding shoulder with efficient hands, and leaned in close enough that I could see the faint tremor in her fingers. “On three,” she said. One, two,” she yanked. Pain went white hot behind my eyes.
I bit down on a scream and tasted blood. “A good,” she said, breath sharp. “You’re still useful.” I would have laughed if the world wasn’t burning. Behind her, the fire crawled along the ceiling panels, hungry. I dragged myself forward, using the seat frames for leverage. Ara shoved debris out of the aisle with her boot, clearing a path.
She didn’t look back to see if I followed. She trusted I would. That trust absurd immediate kept me moving. We reached the torn side of the plane where sunlight poured in. The ocean was right there. So close it felt like a cruel joke. Waves slammed into the wreckage. The plane groaned like it was trying to die.
Aara looked at the water, then at the jagged metal edge, then at me. “Can you swim?” she asked. Yes, I said and then added because my brain was still trying to bargain with reality. Ma’am, she shot me a look that could have cut glass. Don’t call me that. Another explosion popped behind us. Heat punched the air. Move, she said.
We jumped. The water was a slap cold and violent. It stole my breath. My shoulder screamed. Salt flooded my mouth. I kicked anyway. Ara swam like she had a point to prove. Strong, clean strokes, no wasted motion. She didn’t flail. She didn’t panic. She did the work. I followed her toward the strip of beach ahead.
A curve of pale sand backed by green. We made it to shore and collapsed, coughing, dragging air into lungs that didn’t want to cooperate. For a moment, all I could hear was the ocean and our ragged breathing. Then, a distant boom rolled across the water as the plane sank. Ara pushed herself up on trembling arms and stared at the horizon where smoke smeared the sky.
Her jaw flexed. Then she wiped salt from her eyes with the back of her hand and said like she was starting a meeting. We need inventory. We need shelter. We need water. We need to assume no one is coming for at least 72 hours. Her voice didn’t shake. Her body did. That was the first time I saw the seam between who she was and what she made herself be.
You okay? I asked. She looked down at her hands like she’d forgotten they existed. Then she curled them into fists once. I’m fine, she said. It wasn’t true, but it was functional. I sat up slowly, ignoring the fire in my shoulder. Okay, I said. First thing, move away from the wreckage. If that fuel washes in, it’ll torch this beach.
All nodded immediately. No argument, no pride, just decision. lead,” she said. And just like that, the CEO of a billion-dollar company took orders from her junior logistics guy because the island didn’t care about titles. We found a line of palm trees and collapsed in their shade. I took stock. We were alone. No other survivors on the beach.
No shouting, no movement. All’s eyes tracked the shoreline, scanning with the same cold precision she used to scan quarterly reports. Her face didn’t crack, but her throat moved like she was swallowing something sharp. “We’re the only ones,” I said quietly. She didn’t answer.
She stood and walked back toward the surf as if she could out stubborn reality. I watched her stop at the waterline, staring at the empty horizon. Then she bent down, grabbed a fistful of wet sand, and let it fall through her fingers. It wasn’t dramatic. It was worse. It was the only thing she could do with her hands that wasn’t breaking. I pushed myself up and followed her.
Ara, I said. She didn’t look at me. Don’t, she said. Don’t say it. I didn’t. Instead, I pointed back at the tree line. We need to get out of the sun. We need to find water that isn’t salt. We need to find anything useful from the wreckage before the tide takes it. Herhead turned, her eyes locked on mine. For a second, the woman behind the armor surfaced raw, furious, terrified.
Then she blinked once and the CEO snapped back into place. “Fine,” she said. “We work. We worked. We scavenged until our hands were scraped and bleeding. I found a torn emergency kit washed up in the shallows.” Half the contents were ruined, but there was a small flare gun, two soggy protein bars, and a packet of water purification tablets sealed in plastic like a miracle.
All found luggage wedged in coral, her skirt soaked hair plastered to her neck. She dragged it out with a grunt like she was moving furniture, not luggage. Inside was a soaked blazer, a broken laptop, a cracked phone, and a small ridiculous luxury, a lipstick tube. She stared at it for a second, then snapped it shut and tossed it aside. No distractions, she said.
I found a piece of torn seat cushion foam and a strip of aluminum, a signal mirror. I muttered more to myself than her. She watched me angle the metal toward the sun, testing the flash. You know how to do that? She asked. Boy Scouts, I said. Aara’s mouth twitched almost a smile. Almost. Then the wind shifted and brought the smell of smoke again.
She turned and looked at the interior of the island. Dense green shadows unknown. We need shelter, she said. Not in the open. I agreed. Storms, heat, animals. We need something covered. Higher ground if possible. Aar’s gaze swept the treeine. Then we go, she said. We walked. My shoulder burned with every step. Aara didn’t slow down. But she didn’t speed up either.
She kept pace with me. That was the first act of service. Not dramatic. Just a decision to match my damaged rhythm. We found a shallow cave cut into a limestone ridge about 50 yard inland. It wasn’t deep, but it was shade and it was dry. Inside, the air was cooler. The sound of the ocean faded to a constant low thunder.
I dropped the salvage at the entrance and sat down hard back against rock. All hovered, scanning the cave like she expected it to betray her. “Good enough,” I said. She nodded once and surprised me by sitting down across from me, her knees drawn up. For a second, she looked smaller. Then she lifted her chin and said, “Plan.
” So, we planned like we were in a conference room and not a cave. I broke down priorities. Fire, water, food signal. Ara took each task and assigned herself a portion like she was delegating a project. “I’ll handle shelter reinforcement and inventory,” she said. “You’re going to handle the shelter?” I asked.
She stared at me like I just questioned gravity. Yes. Then she stood, grabbed a fallen palm frond, and started dragging it toward the cave. No complaint, no hesitation. Competence. I pushed myself up, winced, and went to find water. The island was green, but that didn’t mean it was generous. We found a small trickle of water running down a rock face about a/4 mile inland.
It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t salt. I dropped to my knees and held my cupped hands under it, letting it drip into my palms. The water was cool and tasted like stone. The Lara knelt beside me and watched the trickle with calculating eyes. We need to collect it, she said. I know, I said.
She looked around, then stood and walked back into the brush without a word. 10 minutes later, she returned with a piece of broken plastic part of a seatback and a length of torn fabric. She turned it into a crude funnel and filter. She held it up like she just presented a prototype. Better, she said. I stared at her.
“You did that in 10 minutes.” “I run a company,” she said. “I can make a funnel.” Then she pressed the fabric into place, hands moving fast, competent. Respect shown in motion. We brought water back to the cave in improvised containers, hald coconuts, a broken bottle, anything that held liquid. The sun dropped and the island cooled.
Night came fast and with it fear. The darkness on an island isn’t like the darkness in the city. In the city, darkness is a backdrop. Here it was a living thing. The treeine turned into a wall. Every rustle sounded like teeth. All sat at the cave entrance, staring out her knees, drawn up arms wrapped around them like she was holding herself together.
I built a small fire just outside using dry palm husk and a spark from the flare gun striker. The flame caught small but steady. The warmth hit my face and I exhaled for the first time since the crash like my lungs had been waiting for permission. Ara watched the fire like it was a language she didn’t speak.
“You okay?” I asked again. She didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “No, one word. Honest. It felt like a crack in a dam. I didn’t push. I didn’t lecture. Instead, I reached into the salvage pile, pulled out one of the soggy protein bars, and held it out. Allar stared at it like it was beneath her. Then her stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl.
Her eyes flicked to mine irritated. I didn’t smile. I didn’t tease. I just held the bar out steady. After a beat, she tookit and bit down. The bar was mushy and tasted like cardboard. All chewed with controlled disgust. Then she swallowed and said like she was reporting a metric. Calories. Calories. I agreed.
We sat in silence and listened to the ocean. At some point, Allara’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Her breath slowed. The fire crackled. I watched her stare into it, and I realized something that hit me harder than the crash. All didn’t know how to stop working. Even when the work was survival, even when she was allowed to breathe, she didn’t know how to be helpless. The island didn’t care.
It was going to teach her, and I was going to be the one standing next to her while she learned. Day two, the heat came early. The sun climbed and turned the sand into a skillet. We moved our fire pit closer to the cave entrance to keep it shaded. Ara woke before me and was already sorting supplies when I opened my eyes.
She’d stacked coconuts in a neat row, separated the purification tablets into two piles, and lined up our makeshift containers like she was preparing a presentation. You didn’t sleep, I said. I slept, she lied. Her eyes were red. Her hair was tangled. She’d slept like an exhausted human. She just couldn’t admit it. Okay, I said. Today we need a better shelter structure and a signal. Aara nodded.
We need to be visible from the air. Exactly. We cut palm fronds and built a crude leanto at the cave mouth to block wind and rain. All worked without complaint, hauling branches, weaving leaves, tying knots with strips of cloth. Her blouse, once pristine white, was now stre with dirt and salt.
The fabric clung to her skin in the heat. The collar hung open from torn buttons. She didn’t care. She just worked. At one point, she reached up to wipe sweat off her forehead and her hand came away with a smear of ash. She stared at it, then laughed one short, sharp disbelieving. God, she muttered. I glanced at her.
“What?” she looked at her filthy hands. “If anyone at the office could see me right now, they’d die of shock,” I said. Her eyes flicked to mine. For a second, she smiled. real. Then she picked up another branch and got back to work. We built a huge SOS sign on the beach using driftwood and dark rocks. I dragged logs into place with my good arm.
All carried smaller pieces and arranged them like she was laying out a boardroom seating chart. Precise, no wasted motion. When it was done, we stood back and stared at it. It looked pathetic against the vast beach, but it was something. A message to the sky. We took turns scanning the horizon until our eyes watered.
No planes, no boats, nothing. By afternoon, the hunger started to bite. The protein bars were gone. Coconut water helped, but it wasn’t enough. We need food, ara said. I know, I said. Fish, crabs, anything. Ara looked at the ocean like it was a hostile market. I’ll learn, she said. And she did.
I showed her how to make a crude spear from a long branch, sharpening the end against rock and hardening it over fire. Ara watched every motion like she was absorbing a training module. Then she took the branch and did it herself. Han’s steady eyes narrowed in concentration. By the end, she held a rough spear and tested its weight.
“Okay,” she said. We waited into the shallows at low tide, stalking small fish trapped in tide pools. missed the first five times. Each miss tightened her jaw. On the sixth attempt, she jabbed too hard, slipped, and landed on her knees in the water with a splash. She froze. Then she slammed the spear into the sand, stood up, dripping, and marched out of the tide pool like she was going to fire the ocean.
I watched her stalk toward the beach, pick up her cracked satellite phone, dead useless, and try to power it on again like she could intimidate it into working. Nothing. Her hand tightened around it. Then she hurled it into the sand hard enough that it bounced. She stood there breathing hard, shoulders heaving. No words, just fury and motion.
I didn’t step in front of it. I didn’t tell her to calm down. I walked up behind her, picked the phone up, gently brushed sand off it, and set it on a rock out of the way. Then I handed her the spear back. Again, I said. She looked at me like she wanted to bite. Then she took the spear and walked back into the water again.
By sunset, she caught a fish. It was small. It was bony. It was barely a meal. But when she held it up dripping and triumphant, her face lit with something that wasn’t CEO or survivor. It was human. I did it, she said breathless. You did, I said. She stared at the fish like it was proof that she still mattered.
Then she looked at me and said softer. Thank you. I didn’t answer with words. I took the fish, cleaned it with a sharp piece of shell, and cooked it over the fire. Then I handed her the first bite. Acts of service. Respect. Day three brought rain. A tropical downpour that turned the world into water. The cave stayed dry, but the wind drove mist inside and soaked everythingnear the entrance.
We huddled closer to the back, wrapped in damp fabric, listening to the storm roar. Lara sat with her knees drawn up arms around them. She was cold. I could see it in the tightness of her shoulders, the way her breath came shallow. I stood ignoring the ache in my shoulder and adjusted the leanto, tightening the palm frrons, adding another layer.
Rain slapped my back. All watched me from the cave. When I came back in dripping, she held out a strip of cloth without a word, a torn piece from her skirt. “Wrap your shoulder,” she said. It wasn’t gentle. It was care. I took it and wrapped the fabric around my shoulder, tightening it until the pressure steadied the ache.
Ara’s eyes tracked the motion. Then she looked away fast like watching me hurt was too much. The storm raged for hours. At one point, thunder cracked so loud the cave vibrated. Aara flinched. Not big, just a small jerk of her body. Then she forced herself still. I sat beside her, leaving a few inches of space. I didn’t touch her. I just sat.
After a minute, Aara shifted closer until her shoulder brushed mine. It wasn’t intimacy, it was instinct. We sat like that while the storm tried to tear the island apart. At some point, Aara’s hand slid to my forearm, fingers curling once. A silent request. I covered her hand with mine and held it steady, her breath hitched. Then she exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding her lungs hostage.
After the storm, the world was washed clean. The air smelled like wet leaves and salt. The beach was littered with driftwood and debris. We rebuilt again and again. Days blurred into a rhythm of survival. We collected water. We hunted small fish. We ate coconut flesh until our mouths achd from chewing. We repaired the shelter. We fed the fire.
We scanned the horizon. All’s hands hardened. Her movements got more confident. She stopped flinching at the sound of the spear striking sand. She stopped hesitating before wading into the water. She started making decisions without looking to me first. Confidence growing. One afternoon, we found a cluster of wild berries near the ridge.
Aara crouched and stared at them like they were a trap. “Are these safe?” she asked. I hesitated. “Not sure.” Ara didn’t reach for them anyway. She stood and said, “Then we don’t gamble. It was simple, practical. It was also her. Back in the corporate world, she’d been the queen of calculated risks. Here she chose caution.
Respect shown through restraint. That night, as we sat by the fire, watched the flames and said without looking at me. I keep thinking about the office. Why, I asked? She swallowed. Because it’s the only place where I know the rules. The fire crackled on the island. The rules were physics. Hunger, heat, cold, pain.
No contracts, no leverage, just reality. You learn fast, I said. All let out a breath that might have been a laugh. You sound like you’re evaluating me. I am, I said. Her eyes flicked to mine. And she asked. I shrugged, keeping my voice neutral. You’re improving. Twitched. High praise. From me? Absolutely, I said.
She shook her head once, then leaned back against the rock. Her posture relaxed. Then she said quietly, “I didn’t know you were like this, like what I asked.” She gestured at the cave, the fire, the shelter. “Competent,” she said. I stared at her. “You think I’m incompetent in the office?” she said, then corrected herself. “No, I think you were invisible.
You made things run so smoothly no one saw the work. I didn’t know what to do with that. So I picked up a piece of driftwood and fed it into the fire. Acts of service. Controlled emotion. All watched the motion. Then she said softly, “I’m seeing it now.” I looked at her. Her eyes held mine. “No games, just truth.” My chest tightened.
I looked away first. Day seven brought the first real danger that wasn’t hunger or weather. A reef shark. We were waiting in the shallow spears in hand, scanning for fish. The water was clear enough to see the sand ripples under our feet. Aara moved beside me, spear held tight, eyes narrowed. She was getting good. Then the water temperature shifted.
A cold slice through warm. My instincts screamed. Back, I said quietly. All froze. What? I grabbed her wrist, firm controlled, and pulled her behind me, spear angled down. She didn’t yank away. She didn’t argue. Her fingers tightened around my wrist. In return, a mutual signal that she understood.
A gray shape slid through the water, smooth and silent. Not huge, but close enough. Aar’s breath hitched. I kept my voice low. Slow, don’t splash. We moved backward, inch by inch, eyes locked on the shape. The shark circled once, then vanished into deeper water. We didn’t stop moving until our heels hit dry sand.
Ara stared at the ocean chest, rising fast. Then she looked at me. “You knew,” she said. “I felt it,” I said. Her mouth opened, then shut. She swallowed. Then she lifted her hand and touched my forearm where I’d grabbed her wrist. Not a caress. A check, agrounding. “Thank you,” she said, voice rough. I nodded once. Then I turned and walked back to the shelter because if I stayed looking at her, I’d do something reckless.
That night, Aara couldn’t sleep. I could tell by the way she kept shifting the way her breath stayed shallow. I sat at the cave entrance, watching the dark. At some point, Aara moved closer and sat beside me. Silence stretched. Then she said, “If we die here, I didn’t look at her.” “Don’t,” she exhaled sharp. “Just listen.” I did. Her voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it.
I keep thinking I spent my life building a company, building influence, building power, and none of it matters here. It matters, I said. She shook her head once. Not here. The ocean roared in the dark. Then Aara’s voice broke just slightly. If no one comes, Cade, “Will you stay with me?” It wasn’t a demand.
It was a plea. Her fingers trembled as they caught in my shirt knuckles whitening like she had to hold me down before fear carried her away. My heart slammed against my ribs. I looked at this powerful indomitable woman laid bare before me, offering me her vulnerability. I’m here, I whispered. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.
She swallowed hard like she was stepping off a ledge. Her hand slid to my forearm, fingers tightening. She didn’t say thank you. She just leaned her forehead against my shoulder and breathed. And in that moment, the island stopped being just a place. It became a decision. The next days were harder. Hunger sharpened. We rationed. We ate smaller fish.
We sucked coconut water and pretended it was enough. Allar’s cheeks hollowed slightly. My shoulders stayed angry. One afternoon, we climbed the ridge to get a better view of the ocean. The sun beat down. The rock under our hands was hot enough to burn. Ara moved carefully, but she didn’t stop. At the top, the world spread out blue and endless.
No ships, no planes, just water. Ara stood at the edge wind tugging at her hair. Her eyes looked empty for a second. Then she turned to me, jaw set. We keep going, she said. It wasn’t hope. It was Will. That night, I watched her sleep finally truly sleep. And something inside me tightened because I realized the most dangerous thing on this island wasn’t sharks or storms.
It was what was happening between us. In the office, the lines were clear. Here, the lines were gone, and I didn’t want them back. Day 10 brought another storm, worse than the first. Wind howled through the palms like a warning. The sky turned green gray. We reinforced the shelter as fast as we could, weaving fronds tighter, tying knots until our fingers cramped.
Ara worked beside me without hesitation, hair whipping into her face, hands moving fast. A gust ripped one side of the lean too loose. Ara grabbed it, braced her feet, and held on. The wind yanked her forward. I lunged and grabbed her waist, pulling her back into the cave. Her hands clutched my forearm tight. Mutual consent and panic.
We made it inside just as the rain hit like bullets. The storm raged all night. At one point, a branch snapped and slammed into the cave mouth. collapsing half the roof in a shower of debris and water. Ara, I scrambled toward her in the dark, chaotic mess. A rock cut my shin, pain flared.
Ara coughed, shoved wet leaves off her shoulders and pushed herself up. I’m fine. She snapped and then winced as she stood. She wasn’t fine, but she was moving. We spent the night bracing the entrance, dragging debris away, keeping the fire alive with wet wood that hissed and smoked. At dawn, the storm finally broke. The sky was a bruise.
The beach was wrecked. Our SOS sign was half destroyed. Driftwood scattered like bones. I stood in the sand, exhausted, staring at the mess. Aara walked up beside me, hair [clears throat] wild face stre with grime. She looked at the ruined sign and then at the ocean. Her shoulders dropped. For a second, she looked like she might collapse.
Then she straightened. Rebuild, she said. I stared at her. She glanced at me. What? You don’t quit, I said. Ara’s eyes narrowed. Neither do you. We rebuilt again. And that day, for the first time, I saw something else in Ara’s eyes when she looked at me. Not just trust, not just respect. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t strategic.
It was raw and inconvenient. It scared me because I wanted it back. That night after we ate a small fish and drank coconut water, sat by the fire and stared at me, not glancing, staring. Cade, she said, I looked up. She held my gaze like she was negotiating something with herself. Then she leaned in slow enough that I had time to stop her. I didn’t.
Her fingers touched my jawlight testing. My breath caught. She paused, eyes searching mine. You can tell me no, she said. My chest tightened. I didn’t answer with words. I stepped closer. That was my yes. Ara exhaled like she’d been holding her lungs hostage, then kissed me. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t practiced.
It was a collision. Salt and smoke and hunger andweeks of control cracking. My hand went to her waist. Firm grounding holding her steady, not pulling her, waiting for her to choose. She chose. Her hand slid into my shirt, gripping the fabric, pulling me closer. A clear signal in one motion. The fire crackled loud in the silence.
We broke apart, breathing hard. All’s forehead pressed to mine for a beat. Then she whispered. If we get out of here, I swallowed. When I corrected, her eyes flicked up sharp. I held her gaze. When we get out of here, we’ll deal with it. Ara’s mouth trembled. Then she nodded once. “Okay,” she said.
Then she leaned in again, softer this time, and I kissed her like a promise I intended to keep. After that, the island felt different. Not easier, but less lonely. We moved around each other with a new awareness. Aar’s hand brushed mine when we passed coconut shells. My fingers lingered at her wrist when I handed her the spear.
Small touches, safe touches, but charged. We didn’t talk about it. We didn’t need to. We lived it. Day 12. The horizon changed. I was on the beach scanning the line between sea and sky eyes, raw from sunlare. Ara was behind me, weaving palm fronds into a tighter roof layer. Her blouse now more dirt than white. Her hair was pulled back with a strip of fabric.
Her skin was sun-kissed and scraped real. She’d made a crude leaf hat from woven palm strips to keep the sun off. It looked temporary. It looked ridiculous. It also looked like survival. The sight of her in that hat hit me harder than it should have. I turned to say something and saw the movement. a white shape on the horizon.
At first, I thought my eyes were betraying me. Then it grew. A large white cutter cutting through the calm morning sea with US Coast Guard stencled on the side. Aara saw it first. She stood at the mouth of the cave, pointing like she was afraid to blink. Relief hit. Then the second wave followed because rescue meant her name.
We walked down to the beach as the inflatable boat skimmed in. I stayed close out of habit. She let me until boots hit sand and uniforms closed the distance. Miss Vanceara Vance, the lead officer shouted. Aara’s posture snapped back into place. Spine straight, chin up. She tucked her hair behind her ear with a hand that still trembled.
“Yes,” she said. “We need medical transport and a secure line to New York.” A man in a dark suit stepped off the boat behind the medics. Another followed. Radios crackled. Camera shutters clicked from the cutter’s rail. Someone called her Ms. Vance again. Louder. A paramedic pressed a gentle palm to my chest. Sir, this way. Aara’s eyes found mine.
Salt. Smoke. The night she said, “Don’t leave.” My fingers closed around hers once. Her grip tightened back two beats before a hand guided her toward the boat. They loaded us into separate compartments. Her voice carried through the metal and engine noise sharp and controlled. Mine stayed swallowed as the island shrank to a green speck.
The surf erased our footprints. We survived the island. I wasn’t sure we’d survive the rescue. 3 weeks later, New York was glass cold and noise. I was on my knees in my apartment scraping old paint off a baseboard because fixing something small kept me from breaking something big. The door opened. Leo, my best friend, the closest thing I had to a brother, stepped in with a grocery bag and took one look at me.
They called. He said, “HR, they want you back.” I kept scraping. I said, “No.” Leo set the bag down quieter now. Because her name is on the door, because mine would always be under it, I said. My hand slipped. The scraper bit my thumb. I didn’t feel it right away. I love her. That’s why I left. If I’m in her world, it has to be on my feet.
Leo grabbed a paper towel, pressed it to my thumb without asking. acts of service. No speeches. He turned on the TV to fill the silence. Ara Vance, Liv CEO, addresses fraud allegations. Aar stood at a podium. Marcus Thorne stood behind her, smiling for cameras. Marcus leaned in. There were lapses in Ara cut him off.
She lifted a folder, then a tablet, turning both to the lights. These are the approvals he forged, she said. This is where the money went. Today, the board removes Marcus Thornne, effective immediately. Security stepped in. Marcus tried to talk. A guard took his elbow and walked him off anyway. Ara didn’t blink. And for the record, she said eyes hard into the lens.
Cade Mercer made the calls that kept us alive. He will not be scapegoed for anyone’s crimes. Leo muted the TV. She just protected you in public. A knock hit the door. Three firm wraps. I opened it. Ara stood there alone. No entourage, no cameras. A paper bag in one hand, an envelope in the other.
I brought food, she said, and a question. Leo lifted both hands and backed out. I’ll disappear. Ara stepped inside. She held up the envelope. Not a job offer, she said. A partnership, field division, rescue, logistics, survival, training, remote operations. You run it. Equity. Yourname on the door. If you never want to step into my tower again, you won’t have to.
My pulse thudded once slow and solid. And us, us is not a benefit package, she said. Us is if you choose it. if you still want me after the world came back. I stepped in hand at her waist, steady waiting, her fingers curled around my wrist. Don’t stop. So I kissed her firm, chosen safe. When we broke, I stayed close enough to feel her breath shake.
I can handle storms, I said. I can’t handle losing you. Then don’t, she whispered. I touched the envelope. Partners, I said, she nodded once. Partners. I turned the lock with a soft click and pulled her into warmth we had both earned.
