Bound to the calloway's heir

HARVEY.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, the upload button on the publisher's portal staring back at me like a dare. One click, and this story will go live on the site's front page.

I sat back in my ergonomic chair and stared at the glowing screen of my laptop. The cursor blinked at the end of the document, mocking me with its finality.

Atlas Empire Built on Blood.

The title alone sent a shiver down my spine, not from fear, but from the rush of knowing I'd nailed the piece. Months of actively digging through leads, endless late nights fueled by all types of coffee and takeout, while piecing together the fragments I had gotten from anonymous tips and leaked documents, not to mention the gala and forced roleplaying of a charming reporter to perfection. Yet two people gave me cold feet about jumping at claiming the deserving reward for my hard work. Audrey Movitch and Noah Bennette.

I had carefully ripped off the Band-Aid that Zane Calloway and his brothers... Damian, Ethan, Noah, and Liam had painted a picture of Atlas to the world. My piece was going to give them all they needed to know that these men weren't just savvy business people running a high-stakes investment firm. But that Atlas Empire was a meticulously crafted facade, a front for their cartel operations. Drugs, shipments, money laundering, and brutal killings of their rivals. Then I would proudly get my crown yet... I hesitated. In Audrey, I had made a friend even though I was using her. She would have a hard time defending the brothers against the PR battle that would follow my story. Or she may lose her job. And Noah... God, Noah.

My bills were piling up and the exposé could be my breakout, enough to give me a huge safety from the financial noose tightening around my neck. But Noah... Would he see it as betrayal? Did I care?

Of course, I cared. That was why my stomach twisted into knots.

Shaking my head, I minimized the window and glanced at the TV in the corner of my living room, the news ticker scrolling silently. I needed a distraction, just for a minute, before I hit send. Grabbing the remote, I unmuted it, the anchor's voice filling the room mid-sentence: "...breaking news out of Los Angeles. Club Eden, the upscale nightclub in the heart of the city, is engulfed in flames. Fire crews are on the scene, but sources indicate it may be arson. No casualties are reported yet, but the blaze has destroyed much of the venue..."

Club Eden. Damian Pierce. Atlas Brothers.

My heart stuttered. That club was where it all began with Noah. As I processed my memory of the first night I met Noah, Images of him filled my head, and it was surreal. I could almost feel his hand on my lower back, guiding me through the throng. He had been frequenting Eden since Damian owned it and all I could think of at that moment was his safety.

Was he there when it happened? Had he been caught in it?

The thought hit me like a punch, my breath catching. I reached for my phone instinctively, thumbing through contacts to his name. My finger hovered over the call button. I needed to just check if he was okay. I did owe him that much.

Damn it, Harvey, you do care about this man. More than you should.

But no, I shouldn't. He was a case. A story. Caring about him blurred lines, and blurred lines get journalists killed or even worse, I could get discredited. And that would mean vacating this comfortable apartment and office. Never!

I set the phone down, the screen going dark as if echoing my resolve. The fire was probably cartel-related anyway, another thread on the web I had unraveled. If Noah was involved, he and his brothers would handle it. They always do.

Shrugging off the unease, I maximized the portal window again. "Darn the consequences."

The story was my ticket out of mediocrity. With a deep breath, I clicked upload. The progress bar filled agonizingly slowly, and I started to tap the desk with my fingers while I waited. Then, after what seemed like forever, the pop-up prompt displayed the words that told me I had successfully aired my story.

"Published. Live on site."

A wave of adrenaline crashed over me. It was done. The world would know Atlas's secrets, Zane Calloway's empire exposed as a cartel stronghold. Noah would hate me for it. Hell, he might come after me. But bills don't pay themselves, and the thirst for my survival trumped sentiment towards Noah, a one-night stand.

I pushed away from the desk, my legs shaky as I stood. A hot shower would wash away the guilt, or at least numb it for a while. Peeling off my sweatshirt and yoga pants, I padded to the bathroom, but something caught my eye through the parted window drape in the street below.

My apartment was on the second floor, overlooking a quiet residential block that had its private garage for its owners, but t hat night, a black sedan idled across the street, the engine had been turned off, but there was someone in the driver's seat. The driver's head was turned towards my window yet unmoving.

Paranoia prickled my skin as I recalled Noah's warning about being careful in my search. I had been careful, using only anonymous sources and encrypted files, but in this game, caution wasn't always enough. Clearly.

Grabbing my binoculars from the shelf, which was a leftover from bird-watching days that now served for surveillance when needed, I crouched by the window, adjusting the focus until I had the car's plate in view. It was a California tag. I jotted the sequences down on a notepad, noting that the driver had shifted in his seat to light a cigarette, the flare illuminating his face. I saw the earpiece and wondered who he was. A Security detail? Clearly, he wasn't a cop because he was a bit too discreet to be one.

I fired up my laptop again, logging into a database I had been granted hacked access to years ago through a contact at the DMV. I entered the plate number and waited for the results to load.

When it did, I went through the profiles until I found the match. The number was registered to Sentinel Solutions, a private security firm. I did a quick web search on them to find out it was a high-end protection service whose clientele included corporate execs and...

"wait a sec," I said, wondering why the name seemed to ring a bell. I had seen that name somewhere and recently, too.

I checked through my referencing with my Atlas notes, and after a few minutes of turning pages, I found it. A footnote on payments from Atlas Group to Sentinel for consulting signed under Noah Bennette's name.

It didn't take me another hour to figure out that the man out there wasn't there to harm me, but to protect me. He had sent someone to watch over me, probably after whatever threats he had hinted at.

And there I was, having just detonated a bomb under his world. The story would hit the wires soon, trending by morning. Reporters would swarm Atlas HQ Feds might get involved if my evidence held up. Noah, with his fierce loyalty to his brothers, would be wrecked and betrayed by the woman he'd let in.

I sank onto the edge of the bed. Why did it hurt so much? I'd known from the start this was risky, that getting close to him was a means to an end.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back. No time for weakness. If Noah had protection for me, it meant danger was real, maybe from his enemies. Now mine too. I needed to move, pack a go-bag, and find a safe spot until the dust settled. But first, the shower.

I hurriedly got off the bed, peeled off my clothes and headed to the shower. Hot water poured over me, causing fog to form steam the mirror, but it did little to cleanse the regret ripping through my veins. As I lathered soap, all I felt was Noah's possessive yet tender hands on me, his breath hot against my neck as he murmured my name.

"No!" I hastily got out of the shower, wrapped my wet body with a towel before walking over to check my phone. There were notifications of emails from my editor waiting

"Harvey! You have done it again. Your story's blowing up! Great work!"

Other notifications of shares, comments, and others were there too. Like I had expected, the viral spiral was beginning. But there was no call from Noah. Yet.

He probably hadn't seen it. Or maybe he had, and silence was his response.

Pacing the room, I dressed quickly, choosing jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers for easy movement. The watcher outside hadn't budged as I peeked again, to confirm. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand answers, but that was suicidal.

Instead, I brewed some creamy coffee, the bitter aroma grounding me as I plotted next steps. Hole up in a motel? Call my old contact in San Francisco for a couch? Or... reach out to Noah to explain? No. That ship had sailed with the upload.

Men like Noah die for each other and now, I had thrust a knife into that bond.

My guilt gnawed deeper. What if the fire at Club Eden was retaliation? What if Noah had been there, hurt or worse?

I grabbed my phone again, typing a quick text.

"Heard about the fire. Are you okay?" But I deleted it.

Caring made me vulnerable, and vulnerability got one killed in his world.

Sipping my coffee, I scrolled through early reactions to the story. Noticing that Mainstream sites had picked it up and my byline was trending. Pride swelled, but so did fear. If Atlas retaliated, that watcher outside my building might not be protection but my killer.

It was time to run. I bolted the door, grabbed my keys. But as I slung a bag over my shoulder, my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I answered it anyway. "Who is this?"

A pause, then "Harvey. What the fuck have you done?" Noah's voice yelled into my ears; he was furious. He had seen the story.

"Noah... I-"

"Save it. You used me. And you must believe that your goddamn story is way more important than your life?"

"No! It started that way, but..."

"But nothing. You just painted a target on yourself. I can no longer protect you, Harvey." His tone shifted from anger laced with concern. "Get out of there. Now. My guy's outside..."

"Your guy? Yeah, I noticed. Protection or surveillance?"

"Both. Damn it, Harvey, I cared about you. Still do, fool that I am."

He hung up. I stared at the phone, heart torn between running for my life or going to him and explaining? The story was out, and the consequences were starting to barrel down.

But Noah... maybe there was a way to salvage us amid the wreckage.

Grabbing my bag, I slipped out the back, evading the watcher. As I hailed a cab, my mind was racing. What had I unleashed? And could I live with it?