Absolutely! I've reformatted Chapter 5 with proper spacing, paragraphs
The office emptied slowly, like blood draining from a wound.
By 7 p.m., the top floor was a ghost town. Lights dimmed automatically in unused sections. The city beyond the windows glittered cold and indifferent, a million lives moving while mine stood still.
I stayed at my desk, pretending to work. Every minute stretched into eternity.
Dominic hadn't spoken to me since the boardroom. He'd taken calls, signed documents, left for an off-site meeting, and returned without a glance in my direction.
But I felt him. Always. Watching. Waiting.
At 8:17 p.m., the intercom buzzed.
"My office. Now."
No please. No extension.
I stood on legs that felt borrowed.
The contracts were already spread across his desk like a battlefield. Thick stacks, red tabs marking clauses, two crystal glasses and a bottle of something dark and expensive beside them.
He didn't look up when I entered.
"Close the door."
I did. The click sounded final.
He poured two fingers of liquor into one glass, slid it across the desk toward the chair opposite him.
"Sit."
I didn't touch the drink.
He leaned back, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms corded with tension and faint old scars I didn't remember from before.
We stared at each other across the polished wood. Minutes passed. Or hours. Time lost meaning.
Finally, he spoke.
"Harlan."
One word. Again. Like a blade pressed to my throat.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
"I told you—I don't—"
"Don't lie to me again." His voice was quiet. Deadly. "Not tonight."
He stood. Walked around the desk until he was in front of me. Loomed.
"Six years ago," he said, "someone took forty-three thousand dollars from the lining of my mother's old coat. Money I'd saved for her final treatment. Money that would have bought her three more months. Maybe six."
His eyes never left mine.
"You knew where it was. You were the only one."
Tears welled, hot and sudden.
"I didn't take it," I whispered.
"Then who did?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
He waited. When I stayed silent, something in his face shattered—just for a second—before the mask slammed back.
He laughed, low and bitter.
"Right. Still protecting someone."
He reached past me, picked up my untouched glass, and drank it in one swallow.
Then he leaned in, hands bracing on the arms of my chair, caging me. His face inches from mine. Breath warm with whiskey and rage.
"Tell me, Aria," he murmured. "Was it worth it? Whatever he gave you—was it worth watching my mother die?"
A sob tore out of me before I could stop it.
"No," I choked. "God, no. Dominic, I—"
His hand shot up, fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. Eyes wild now. Control slipping.
"Then why?" he demanded, voice breaking. "Why did you leave me to bury her alone? Why did you let me hate you?"
I couldn't hold it back anymore. The truth clawed its way out.
"Because he said he'd kill you."
The words hung in the air.
His grip loosened. Just slightly.
"Who?" he asked, barely audible.
I shook my head, tears streaming.
"If I tell you, he'll come for you. He's more powerful now than he was then. He has everyone—judges, police, people like the ones you just fired today. You go after him, you die."
His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. Rough. Almost tender.
Then his expression hardened again.
"I'm not the boy you left behind, Aria. I'm worse. I've done things that would make you run again."
He leaned closer. Our lips almost touched.
"I'm not afraid of ghosts."
"You should be," I breathed.
His eyes dropped to my mouth. For one endless second, I thought he'd kiss me.
Instead, he pulled back abruptly. Turned away. Poured another drink with shaking hands. Drank it.
Then, quietly: "Get out."
I stood, legs trembling.
"Domi—"
"Get. Out."
I walked to the door. Hand on the handle. Stopped.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to his back.
He didn't respond.
I opened the door. And froze.
The gray-haired assistant was standing in the hallway, face pale. Behind her—two men in dark suits. Security. But not ours.
One held up a phone. On the screen: a photo. Me. Leaving the building last night. The stranger from the lobby.
The other man stepped forward.
"Miss Vale," he said politely. "Mr. Harlan would like a word."
My blood stopped moving.
I looked back at Dominic. He'd turned. Seen them. His face went very, very still.
The man smiled.
"Now, Miss Vale. He doesn't like to wait."
Dominic moved—fast. Placed himself between me and the door. Body blocking mine completely.
The man's smile widened.
"Mr. Cross. This doesn't concern you."
Dominic's voice dropped to something feral.
"Touch her, and it will."
The air crackled. Tension thick enough to choke on.
Then the man's phone buzzed. He answered. Listened. Eyes flicking to Dominic. Finally, he nodded.
"Understood."
He hung up. Looked at me.
"Mr. Harlan sends a message."
He held up the phone again. This time, a video. Grainy security footage. An apartment building. My apartment building. The camera zoomed in on a window. My window. And inside—clear as day—my little brother, Ethan, home from college for the holidays. Asleep on my couch.
The man smiled.
"He says you have until tomorrow night to come alone. Or the next message won't be so polite."
The phone lowered. The men turned and left. Silence roared in their wake.
I slid down the door until I hit the floor. Sobbing. Couldn't stop.
Dominic knelt in front of me. Hands hovering—like he wanted to touch me but didn't know how anymore. His voice was raw.
"Who is he to you?"
I looked up at him through tears.
"The man who took your money," I whispered. "The man who made me run."
I reached for his hand. Desperate.
Dominic's fingers closed around mine. Hard. Almost painful.
"Then we go together," he said. His eyes—dark, burning, terrifying—met mine.
"And this time, Aria…"
He pulled me to my feet. Pressed me against the door. Face inches from mine. His voice a vow.
"This time, he bleeds."
End of chapter 5