The words burned on her phone screen: You have less time now.
Claire stood still in the middle of the sidewalk, the stream of people flowing around her. For a moment, the city noise faded, replaced by the rush of blood in her ears. She didn't need to guess who sent it, there were only a handful of people who could. But the tone was different from Evan's usual precise threats. This wasn't negotiation. It was a warning.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket and started walking again, blending into the crowd. Her mind was already working…if Evan wanted her to feel cornered, he would do it in person, not over an anonymous text. Which meant someone else was moving in the background. Someone who knew enough to get close.
By the time she reached her apartment, the sun was low over the skyline, streaking the glass towers in orange and gold. She locked the door behind her and left the lights off, moving quietly through the rooms. Old habits. Her father used to say if you want to know if you're being watched, you have to look for what isn't there, an open window that should be closed, a moved cup, a light left on.
Everything was exactly as she left it. That didn't make her feel better.
She pulled the curtains shut and sat at her desk, opening her laptop. The first thing she checked was her email…nothing unusual. Then the company's financial reports. Still the same numbers, still bleeding cash. Her phone buzzed again, a single notification lighting the screen. No name. No subject line.
An image loaded slowly, each pixel sharpening until she saw herself. She was stepping out of Lee Group's building earlier today, head high, jaw set. Whoever took it had been standing across the street.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She could call the number back. She could forward it to Kangwoo. She could even show it to Evan and demand answers. But every instinct told her that would give away too much. If someone wanted her to know they were watching, the only reason to respond would be to let them know it worked.
Instead, she closed the laptop and went to make tea.
The water had just started to boil when her intercom buzzed. The sound was sharp in the quiet apartment. She didn't move at first. The buzzer went off again, this time followed by a voice.
"Claire Yoo Areum," a man said. Not a question. Not a greeting. Just her full name, spoken with the weight of someone who expected her to open the door.
She pressed the intercom button. "Who is this?"
"You don't know me," the voice replied, calm, steady. "But I know why Lee Hyunsik is in a hurry. You want to hear it, you'll have to let me in."
Her grip on the button tightened. "If you know anything about me, you know I don't open my door to strangers."
"Then we'll both lose," the man said, and the line went dead.
She stood there, staring at the panel, until the kettle whistled sharply behind her. When she turned back to the window, she saw nothing unusual. Whoever he was, he was gone.
The tea sat untouched on her counter.
That night, she dreamed of corridors that stretched on forever, each door marked with her name. She woke before dawn, the dream dissolving into the shadows of her room. The sky outside was still the color of ink.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, the sender was not anonymous.
Evan: Be ready by eight. You'll want to see this.
She almost laughed. He didn't ask. He never asked. She typed back nothing and set the phone face-down on the nightstand.
By eight, she was in the back of his car, the tinted glass shutting out the city. Evan sat beside her, perfectly composed in a dark suit, his gaze on the passing streets.
"Who's watching me?" she asked.
His eyes slid to hers briefly. "Plenty of people watch you now."
"That's not what I mean."
He didn't answer immediately, and the silence told her more than words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet enough that it forced her to lean closer.
"You're not the only one with something to lose," he said. "But you're the only one who doesn't know what's at stake."
She studied him, searching for cracks in that unreadable mask. "Then tell me."
"Not yet."
The car slowed in front of a building she didn't recognize…tall, narrow, with a façade of dark stone and no sign above the door. Kangwoo was already there, holding it open.
Inside, the air was cool and faintly scented with cedar. They walked down a corridor lined with framed photographs, none labeled, each one a slice of some private world, hands shaking over a table, a champagne glass raised in a toast, a boardroom mid-argument. She had the sense these were moments not meant to be captured, yet here they were, preserved.
They entered a small room at the end of the hall. A projector screen glowed with a paused image: her father, seated across from a man she had never seen. The man's face was sharp, all angles and shadow.
"Who is that?" she asked.
Evan didn't answer. He pressed a button, and the video began to play. Her father's voice was low, urgent, the man's responses colder, clipped. She couldn't hear every word, but one phrase cut through the static.
"…before they find out."
The video ended abruptly.
Claire turned to Evan. "What is this?"
"This," he said, "is why you have less time than you think. And why, when I tell you to trust me, you will."
She felt the ground shift under her. Every instinct screamed that this was only a fraction of the truth but it was enough to make her realize something she had been avoiding.
She wasn't just playing Evan's game anymore. She was already inside it.