Scott hadn't been able to get Passion Coleman out of his head since that strange, icy encounter. She'd been different, not her usual composed, razor-edged self. There was a crack, barely there, but enough to make him look twice. Now, he was obsessed with finding out why. He stood in his private study, shirt sleeves rolled up, staring at the records Armand had pulled for him. He'd quietly tasked his tech guy to run background searches on Passion Coleman. He didn't want the curated business profile, but the girl before the glamour. And what he found was nothing. The trail was too clean. Too convenient. And if there was one thing Scott Bishop knew, it was that the truth always left a little dirt behind. Something definitely didn't sit right. She hadn't always existed as Passion Coleman. That much was clear now. There was a sharp cutoff, a name change, sealed files, the suspicious kind of funding trail that started with ghost companies. Whoever she'd been before Passion, she'd erased it well. But now, Scott wanted to dig her out of her hiding place, piece by piece.
So when he got a notification that she'd checked into the luxury fitness club downtown, a place with more private lounges than yoga mats, he didn't hesitate.
Passion wasn't expecting him. She was in a black, minimalist workout set, glistening with sweat and power after a boxing session. Her hair was pulled into a high, sleek ponytail, towel on her shoulder and she was halfway through a water bottle when he stepped into the room like he owned it. She stiffened, just a flicker, and turned to face him with an expression that didn't bother pretending.
"I assume this isn't a coincidence," she said, not even bothering to mask her annoyance.
"Nice to see you too," he replied, closing the door behind him.
The air between them thickened instantly.
"I came to talk," Scott said. "Or maybe to understand why the most controlled woman I know nearly bit my head off in public the other day."
"I was in a bad mood."
"You don't do moods. You do power plays, optics, and cold detachment."
Passion stepped closer, towel around her neck, eyes like slits of smoke. "Bold of you to assume you know me. I guess you've been watching me too closely."
"And you've been hiding too much."
There it was, the line neither of them had crossed. Until now.
Something in her broke. Maybe it was the emotion still riding her veins from the morning's news. Maybe it was how he looked at her, not with suspicion anymore, but concern. Or maybe it was just that she was tired of holding everything in.
She moved first. Her lips found his with a kind of violence that spoke of frustration and desire in equal parts. Scott responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in as if this was what he came for all along. She was fire in his arms, furious, unforgiving, beautiful. And he was the match daring to touch flame.
The towel dropped. So did her control. It wasn't soft or romantic. It was raw, impatient, electric. They stumbled toward the private suite at the back, barely making it through the door before she pushed him against the wall again, teeth catching his lower lip.
"You're not supposed to get to me," she breathed.
"Too late," he muttered, lips trailing fire down her neck.
It was reckless. She knew it.
But for once, she didn't stop.
They didn't hold back. There was no pretense, only tension and heat, the kind that made forgetting who they were feel like relief.
And in the quiet aftermath, tangled in silk sheets and silence, Passion lay awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She'd gone too far. Played with fire too long. She'd given him something he shouldn't have a piece of herself. She'd like to believe she had initiated it all just to get him off her back with the questions but she knew that wasn't the entire truth.
Scott, still catching his breath, turned his head slowly toward her.
"Who are you really, Passion?"
She didn't answer. She simply stood, calm and distant again, reaching for her robe as if nothing had happened.
But it had.
And now, there was no going back.
********
Elsewhere, at the Coleman offices, Aria stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, phone pressed to her ear.
"Did you get the files?" she whispered.
The voice on the other end was careful, muffled. "Yes, but not everything you asked for. A few of the subsidiaries are firewalled. They're connected to shell corporations, probably old ones."
"Keep digging," Aria said, eyes scanning the stall doors, heart racing. "If she's tied to them, I need proof."
She ended the call and smoothed her skirt. No one suspected her. She was just the loyal, tireless assistant. But Aria had grown tired of shadows and secrets. Passion had built an empire, but Aria knew no one climbed that high without blood on their hands. And if she could uncover the right secret, she'd have leverage powerful enough to finally step out of the sidelines.
Powerful enough to either join Passion or destroy her.