Page 3 of Tempting My Nemesis

As the hours blur into a whirlwind of focus and determination, the sun slowly dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across my office. The once vibrant afternoon light fades, and artificial lights flicker on, illuminating the disarray of my workspace.

Laura clears her throat from the doorway, breaking the silence. Her concern is palpable.

“Laura, I’m fine,” I say without looking up. “I’m working on it.”

“You need a break,” she insists.

“I can’t stop,” I reply sharply, then sigh. “Thanks for worrying, but I’ve got this.”

She hesitates but nods, leaving me to my task. As she exits, I resume typing, organizing my desk into neat piles of things to tackle. The simple act of arranging papers feels like regaining some hold over the mess that’s become my life.

As I type another email, memories of my father flood my mind. “You always knew what to do, Dad…” I murmur to his photo on the desk.

The phone rings again—this time it’s one of our suppliers. “Zoe, we need payment by Friday.”

“I understand,” I say firmly. “We’re working on securing funds as we speak.”

“We can’t wait much longer,” he warns.

“I know,” I assure him. “Just give us a little more time.”

Hanging up, I feel a flicker of hope despite the pressure mounting around me.

I draft another email, this one to an investor who once showed interest in renewable energy projects. My hands aresteadier now as I work through emails and organize tasks for the team.

I’ll prove them all wrong.The thought becomes my mantra as I methodically move through each task.

Laura reappears with a cup of coffee, placing it on my desk without saying a word. Her silent support is both comforting and motivating.

“Thanks,” I say softly.

Weariness tugs at me, but I refuse to give in. The road ahead is long and fraught with challenges, but every small victory counts.

CHAPTER TWO

CALEB

Control. It's all about control. I skim through contracts on one screen, while encrypted data pulses on another. Metrotech’s skyline stretches beyond the towering windows of my office, a constant reminder of the empire I've built.

"Revised terms by noon. No exceptions," I say into the secure line I’m speaking on, my tone leaving no room for argument.

"Understood, Mr. Steele," the voice on the other end replies, clipped and efficient.

My assistant's voice breaks through the speaker, "The board meeting is in ten. Do you want me to push it back?"

"No. I’ll handle it." Weakness isn’t an option here. Not with everything teetering on the edge.

My fingers drum lightly on the desk—an unconscious habit from countless nights spent hacking away at unseen enemies. I switch my gaze to the encrypted terminal, where CipherClash's activity spikes again. Tension coils tighter in my chest.

Control is my lifeline, but the more I tighten my grip, the more it slips away. How long until everything falls apart?

"Caleb," my assistant prompts over the intercom, "the board meeting?—"

"I said I'll handle it." My voice sharpens, a steel edge slicing through any lingering doubts.

Every detail in this office is meticulously curated—sharp edges and sleek surfaces that reflect my need for order. Yet beneath this calm exterior lies a storm only I can see. My mind races, shifting seamlessly between corporate strategies and underground operations. Both worlds demand my attention, neither allowing for mistakes.

A new alert flashes on the secondary screen: an uptick in Silencebreakers' activity. My heart pounds harder against my rib cage.

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