Chapter 3: Due Diligence

Chapter 3: Due Diligence

The east wing of the 80th floor was less an office and more a gilded cage. It was a sterile expanse of white walls, chrome, and glass, offering a spectacular, vertigo-inducing view of the city Elara was beginning to despise. It was a space designed to impress and intimidate, a far cry from Innovatech’s chaotic, vibrant headquarters, with its scuffed floors, collaborative whiteboards covered in frantic genius, and the constant smell of burnt coffee. Here, the air was filtered, silent, and cold. It smelled of Caden Blackwood.

Leading her team of five—her loyal, brilliant, and now utterly terrified inner circle—into this lion’s den was the hardest thing Elara had ever done. She saw the apprehension in their eyes as they set up their laptops at the stark white workstations he had provided. They were a special forces team being absorbed into an unfeeling borg collective, and she was the commander who had led them into the trap.

“Think of it as an away game,” she’d told them that morning, her voice ringing with a confidence she didn’t feel. “We’re on their turf, so we have to be smarter, faster, and more prepared than ever. Don’t let them see you sweat.”

But it was hard not to sweat under the omnipresent, invisible gaze of Caden Blackwood.

He let them stew for three hours. Three hours of her team jumping at shadows and Elara pretending to be engrossed in financial statements, her entire nervous system screamingly aware that he could appear at any moment. When he finally did, it wasn't with an announcement. The ambient hum of the floor simply changed. A hush fell. He was just… there.

He stood at the entrance to their designated wing, hands in the pockets of his flawlessly tailored charcoal trousers. He wasn't looking at the team; his gaze was locked solely on her. Those storm-grey eyes swept over her, a silent audit that made the memory of his hand on her wrist, his body caging her against the window, flash behind her eyes.

"Ms. Vance," he said, his voice a low, calm rumble that cut through the silence. "I trust the accommodations are to your liking. I wanted to ensure my team has full and transparent access to yours during this period of due diligence."

The words full and transparent access hung in the air, weighted with a meaning only the two of them understood. He was reminding her of her audacity, of the access she had taken.

Elara rose from her chair, her posture a study in defiance. "The accommodations are… sterile, Mr. Blackwood. But my team is adaptable. We're an open book. We have nothing to hide." She met his gaze without flinching. "Though I'm sure if you look hard enough, you'll find whatever you want to find."

A flicker of something—not amusement, but a predator’s appreciation for worthy prey—danced in his eyes. "I always do."

He walked through their space, a king inspecting a newly conquered province. He paused behind her lead programmer, a nervous young man named Leo, who immediately began typing nonsense code. Caden’s presence was a physical weight, sucking the oxygen from the room. The memory of being beneath his desk, surrounded by the dark, intimate space and the scent of his power, was a constant, suffocating phantom. Every time he spoke, she could feel the phantom vibration of his voice through the floor, just as she had then.

The days that followed were a masterclass in psychological warfare. They were buried in requests for data, summoned to endless meetings in frigid boardrooms where Caden would preside from the head of the table, silent and watchful. He’d trade barbs with her, veiled threats wrapped in corporate jargon.

"We've found a slight discrepancy in your Q3 growth projections, Ms. Vance," he'd say, his eyes glinting. "A little… overly optimistic, perhaps? It pays to be grounded in reality."

"We prefer ambition to stagnation, Mr. Blackwood," she would retort, her voice cool as ice. "It’s what makes innovation possible. Some might find that concept… foreign."

Each exchange was a parry and thrust, the memory of what happened in his office hanging between them like a razor wire. He never mentioned it directly, but it was in every lingering look, every word laced with double meaning. She felt like she was living with a ghost that only she could see. The smeared ‘Vengeance Red’ lipstick was a secret brand on her soul, a reminder of the line she had crossed and the terrifying new territory she now inhabited.

The breaking point came late one afternoon, a week into their forced cohabitation. Elara had escaped to the ridiculously opulent coffee bar down the hall for a moment’s reprieve. She was stirring a black coffee, her knuckles white around the ceramic mug, when his reflection appeared in the polished chrome of the espresso machine.

"Burning the midnight oil?" Caden’s voice was a low murmur right behind her.

She didn't turn. "It's four in the afternoon."

"For you, it must feel like midnight. You look tired." He moved to stand beside her, retrieving a mug with an unnerving lack of haste. "This level of scrutiny… it can be draining."

"My team and I are holding up just fine," she said, finally turning to face him. The space between them was charged, electric. "We’re used to hard work."

His gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure you are. You're very... hands-on. Willing to get on your knees to do what needs to be done to close a deal."

The insult was a direct hit, a poisoned dart aimed at her pride. The air left her lungs. The rage she'd felt that first day came roaring back, hot and blinding.

"And you’re willing to sit on your throne and suffocate any potential competitor," she shot back, her voice a low, furious whisper. "But I saw you, you know. That day in your office. Behind all that bluster and control. You were rattled."

He leaned in, his personal space invading hers completely. His clean, expensive scent filled her senses. "Rattled? No. Intrigued, perhaps. You presented an unforeseen variable. An asset, or a liability. That's what this entire process is about, isn't it? Determining value."

He took a step closer, backing her against the cold marble counter. It was a deliberate echo of their confrontation at the window, a reminder of who was in control. His grey eyes were dark, intense.

"And I've been doing my due diligence, Elara," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near-inaudible vibration that resonated deep in her chest. "On your company. And on you. And I've found a few vulnerabilities. Things that could be… exploited. Things that could make this entire hostile takeover very, very painful for you."

Her heart hammered. This was it. The threat made plain.

"But," he continued, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, "I'm also a man who appreciates... creative solutions. Perhaps there's an addendum to this deal that could be mutually beneficial. Something that isn't on the official paperwork."

He held her gaze for one more loaded second, the unspoken proposition hanging thick and heavy in the air between them. Then, he straightened up, took his coffee, and walked away without another word, leaving her trembling with a toxic mixture of fury and a terrifying, undeniable flicker of anticipation.

He had laid his new terms on the table. This was no longer just about the company. This was about her. And he was demanding her unconditional surrender.