Morning After

Victoria woke to sunlight streaming through her bedroom windows and the immediate, disorienting memory of what Marcus had said to you last night.

You're more beautiful when you're angry or laughing.

She pressed her palms against her eyes, as if she could physically push the memory away. It was inappropriate. He was her employee. She was his boss. There were boundaries, lines that professionals didn't cross, and Marcus Cole had stepped right over them with seven words that had kept her awake until dawn.

Except he'd been right. The emerald Valentino wasn't her color. Her stylist had pushed it, insisting it photographed well, but Victoria had felt like she was wearing someone else's skin all night.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to the empty room. The master suite of her Pacific Heights mansion was absurdly large—fifteen hundred square feet with a sitting area, a fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay. Richard had always loved grand gestures. Victoria just felt lost in all the space.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. 6:47 AM. A text from Jennifer: Morning! The gala raised $4.2 million. Chronicle wants an interview. Also Mrs. Chen increased her commitment to $500K. You were amazing last night!

Victoria typed back a quick thank you, then scrolled through the overnight emails. Forty-three new messages. Three from women asking for help, which she flagged for immediate response. Two from other foundations wanting to collaborate. One from her lawyer about a new case they were taking on—a tech CEO accused of coercing multiple female employees into signing NDAs after assaulting them.

She'd read them all later. Right now, she needed coffee and distance from her own thoughts.

Pulling on her robe—silk, monogrammed, a gift from Richard that she'd kept out of spite—she headed downstairs. The mansion was silent except for the soft footsteps of her housekeeper, Rosa, who'd been with her since the divorce.

"Buenos días, Ms. Victoria," Rosa called from the kitchen. "I made your coffee. And Mr. Cole is in the breakfast room."

Victoria stopped mid-step. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Mr. Cole. He said you had an eight o'clock meeting?"

She didn't have an eight o'clock meeting. Victoria's confusion must have shown on her face because Rosa added, "He's been here since six. Said he needed to discuss security protocols."

Of course he did. Because apparently Marcus Cole didn't believe in boundaries or normal working hours or giving her space to process the fact that he'd seen through her so completely last night.

Victoria found him in the breakfast room, sitting at her antique oak table with a laptop open and a cup of coffee that Rosa had obviously provided. He stood immediately when she entered, professional as always, as if he hadn't called her beautiful twelve hours ago.

"Ms. Ashford. I apologize for the early intrusion, but we need to discuss something urgent."

He was back in his uniform—dark suit, white shirt, no tie. His expression was unreadable, all business. Victoria felt suddenly aware that she was in her robe with her hair unbrushed, no makeup, completely unprepared for whatever this was.

"What's wrong?" She poured herself coffee from the carafe Rosa had left, buying time.

Marcus turned his laptop toward her. On the screen was a photograph—Victoria on the terrace last night, taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. The angle was from outside the property, probably from the street or a neighboring building. She was in profile, champagne glass in hand, and the photo was time-stamped 9:47 PM.

The exact time she'd been talking to Marcus.

"Someone was watching the gala," Marcus said quietly. "This was posted to an anonymous forum at three this morning with the caption: 'Rich bitch thinks she's safe.' There were also detailed notes about your security patterns, the guardhouse blind spots, and speculation about your schedule."

Victoria's hand tightened on her coffee cup. "Do we know who posted it?"

"My team is tracing the IP address, but it's routed through multiple proxies. Whoever this is, they're sophisticated." He closed the laptop. "I'm recommending we increase your security detail immediately. Two additional guards during public events, and I want to personally accompany you anywhere outside this house for the next two weeks."

"Personally accompany me?" Victoria raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have other responsibilities?"

"Not anymore. As of this morning, you're my only responsibility."

Something in the way he said it made her pulse quicken. She set her coffee down carefully. "Marcus, is this about last night? Because if you think I'm some fragile—"

"Last night I told you the truth." His voice was calm, steady. "You were wearing armor, and I saw through it. Today, someone is actively threatening you, and I'm going to make sure they can't get close enough to hurt you. These are separate issues."

"Are they?"

For the first time, his professional mask cracked. "No," he admitted. "They're not. Last night I crossed a line. I shouldn't have said what I said. It was inappropriate, and I apologize."

Victoria should have accepted the apology, should have been relieved that they could move past this and maintain their professional relationship. Instead, she heard herself ask, "Do you regret saying it?"

Marcus held her gaze. Outside, a foghorn sounded from the bay, low and mournful. Rosa's footsteps moved past the door toward the laundry room. The entire house seemed to hold its breath.

"No," he finally said. "I don't regret it. But that doesn't make it right."

"What if I don't want you to take it back?"

The words hung between them, dangerous and electric. Victoria couldn't believe she'd said them out loud. Five years of careful control, of protecting herself, of never letting anyone close enough to hurt her again—and here she was, all but inviting her head of security to breach every wall she'd built.

Marcus's jaw tightened. "Ms. Ashford—"

"Victoria. You called me Victoria last night."

"Victoria." Her name sounded different in the morning light, more intimate somehow. "I work for you. There are rules, professional boundaries—"

"I know the rules. I wrote half of them in the foundation's employment handbook." She moved closer, drawn by something she didn't want to name. "But you stood on that terrace last night and saw me. Not the foundation director, not Richard's ex-wife, not the woman in the expensive dress. You saw me. No one's done that in five years."

"I see you every day." His voice had dropped lower. "That's the problem. I see you at three in the morning when you can't sleep. I see you cry reading emails from women you're trying to help. I see you laugh with your scholarship recipients like they're your own daughters. I see you pretending to be fine when you're falling apart. And yes, I saw you last night, hiding on that terrace from a party you threw to help people, because you're so busy saving everyone else that you've forgotten how to save yourself."

The truth of it hit her like a physical blow. Victoria felt tears prick her eyes and blinked them back furiously. She didn't cry. She hadn't cried since those first three months after Richard left, and she wasn't about to start now.

"That's not fair," she whispered.

"No, it's not. None of this is fair." Marcus took a step toward her, then stopped himself, his hands clenching into fists at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her. "You're brilliant and kind and you're changing hundreds of lives, and you deserve someone who sees that. But I'm your head of security. My job is to keep you safe, not to—"

"Not to what?"

"Not to want you the way I do."

The confession hung in the air between them. Victoria's heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. This was insane. This violated every rule of professional conduct, every lesson she'd learned about protecting herself, every vow she'd made never to be vulnerable again.

And yet.

"Someone's threatening me," she said slowly, working through the logic even as her emotions pulled her in the opposite direction. "You need to increase my security. That means you'll be with me constantly for the foreseeable future."

"Yes."

"So we'll be spending a great deal of time together. Just the two of us, often."

"That's correct."

Victoria took a breath. "Then I suppose we'll have to figure out how to navigate this. Whatever this is."

Marcus's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "I can maintain professional boundaries. I've been trained for much worse situations than being attracted to my principal."

"What if I don't want you to maintain professional boundaries?"

"Victoria—"

"I'm not asking you to compromise my safety. I'm asking you to be honest about what's happening here." She moved closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. "Last night you saw through my armor. This morning you're trying to pretend that didn't happen. Which Marcus Cole do I get? The one who tells the truth, or the one who hides behind protocols?"

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, carefully, deliberately, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was feather-light, barely there, but it sent electricity racing down her spine.

"The honest answer?" His voice was rough. "You get both. I'm going to keep you safe, follow every protocol, maintain every professional boundary when we're in public. But when we're alone like this, I'm not going to pretend I don't see you. I'm not going to pretend I don't want to know everything about you—what makes you laugh at three in the morning, why you chose emerald last night when you clearly hated it, what you're running from every time you throw yourself into work."

"I'm not running from anything," Victoria said, but they both knew it was a lie.

"Yes, you are. You've been running for five years. And I think—" He stopped himself.

"You think what?"

"I think maybe you're tired of running. I think maybe you're ready to let someone catch you."

Before she could respond, Rosa's voice called from the kitchen: "Ms. Victoria? Your lawyer is on line one. Says it's urgent about the tech CEO case."

The spell broke. Marcus stepped back immediately, the professional mask sliding back into place. "I'll review the security footage from last night and have a full report by noon. We should also discuss your schedule for the next two weeks."

Just like that, they were back to business. But something had shifted, some invisible line had been crossed, and they both knew there was no going back.

"Fine," Victoria said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Come by my study at one. We'll go over everything then."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turned to leave, then stopped at the doorway. "Marcus?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For being honest."

She didn't wait for his response, just headed toward her study to take the call from her lawyer, to dive back into work, into the safe space where she knew the rules and controlled the outcome.

But for the rest of the morning, as she discussed legal strategies and reviewed case files, she could feel Marcus somewhere in the house, watching over her. Keeping her safe.

Seeing her.

And for the first time in five years, Victoria Ashford thought that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to be seen.