Morning came like a bruised sky; pale, tired, and heavy with rain.
Elena stood by the window of Adrian's penthouse, wrapped in his oversized shirt, watching the city wake beneath the storm. She hadn't slept. Every sound, every flicker of light in the distance made her flinch.
Last night's attack replayed in her mind on a vicious loop; the gunshot, the voice, the face she almost recognized.
You should've stayed dead.
Her reflection in the glass looked almost like a stranger again.
Adrian emerged from the kitchen, two mugs of coffee in hand. His left arm was bandaged, the cut shallow but angry. He looked tired too - eyes shadowed, jaw tight. But he still managed a small, weary smile.
"You look like you fought a hurricane."
She gave a humorless laugh. "Feels like I did."
He handed her the mug, sitting beside her on the low couch. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet between them wasn't awkward, it was full, heavy with what they couldn't yet say.
Finally, she broke the silence. "He knew my name. Not just the one I use now, the old one."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Then someone inside Phoenix gave him access to classified records. Only three people could've pulled that off."
"Ryan," she said quietly. "Crane. Or… you."
His gaze snapped to hers. "You really think I'd do that?"
Her eyes softened. "No. But I think someone close to you could've done it without you knowing."
He nodded slowly. "Then we start there."
An hour later, they stood in the operations lab, the hum of computers surrounding them like static.
Ryan was already there, sleeves rolled up, typing furiously. When he saw them, he stopped. "I was just about to call you. We got something from the security logs."
Adrian folded his arms. "Show me."
Ryan projected the footage onto the large wall screen. It showed the west wing corridor from last night, a flicker of motion at 10:47 p.m., right before the alarms.
A man in a maintenance uniform entered the hallway, pushing a cart. His face was hidden under a cap.
"Watch closely," Ryan said.
The man paused near the camera, then tilted his head, just enough for the lens to catch his profile.
Elena's breath caught. "That's him."
Adrian frowned. "The shooter?"
She nodded. "Same height. Same build. That's the man who came to my apartment."
Ryan zoomed in, enhancing the footage. "Facial scan's partial, but I can cross-match it against our contractor database."
He typed rapidly, the room filled with the click of keys and the low hum of machines.
A moment later, a name appeared on the screen.
Evan Crane.
Adrian froze, "What the hell"?
Ryan blinked. "Wait, Crane? As in Crane Crane?"
"No," Elena whispered, reading the fine print. "Evan Crane. His son."
The air in the room went cold.
Adrian's expression turned unreadable. "Crane has a son?"
Elena nodded slowly. "From his second marriage. Born overseas. He used to work as an intelligence analyst before disappearing two years ago."
Ryan exhaled sharply. "And now he's working under a fake ID in your building. Jesus."
Adrian's voice was calm, but his eyes burned. "Get me every record, every photo, every piece of data tied to Evan Crane. I want to know where he's been, who he's been talking to, and what he's planning."
Ryan hesitated. "That might take a while. He's using deep obfuscation protocols. The data could be layered."
Adrian's tone sharpened. "Then peel it back. I don't care how long it takes."
Ryan nodded, then looked at Elena. "You sure you're okay?"
She forced a small smile. "I've been worse."
He returned to his terminal, but something in his eyes flickered; pity, maybe, or something darker.
When they stepped outside, Adrian's phone buzzed. He checked the screen, frowning.
"What is it?" Elena asked.
"My mother," he said, surprised. "She wants to meet. Says it's urgent."
Elena's stomach tightened. "Now?"
He nodded. "She never calls unless something's wrong."
They drove across the city in silence. The rain had eased into a fine drizzle, turning the streets silver and quiet.
Adrian's mother, Margaret Cole, lived in a glass estate overlooking the harbor; elegant, detached, and spotless, just like the woman herself.
She greeted them with her usual composure — warm enough to seem kind, cold enough to remind you she was dangerous when she wanted to be.
"Adrian," she said, kissing his cheek lightly. "You look exhausted."
"Long week," he said dryly.
Her gaze flicked to Elena. "And this must be Ms. Brooks. The designer causing all the noise."
Elena offered a polite smile. "Only the good kind, I hope."
Margaret's lips curved faintly. "That remains to be seen."
Adrian exhaled. "You said it was urgent?"
Her expression shifted. "It is. I received a call this morning, from Daniel Crane."
Elena stiffened. "He called you?"
Margaret nodded. "He sounded… almost regretful. Said something about unfinished business. He wanted to speak to you both."
Adrian frowned. "Why would he call you?"
Margaret hesitated, then looked at her son with an expression Elena couldn't quite read. "Because your father owed him something."
Silence.
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she poured herself tea. "Before your father died, he made a deal with Crane. A private agreement, one I only learned about after his funeral."
Elena leaned forward. "What kind of deal?"
Margaret's eyes flicked to her. "Protection. Your father was trying to shield the company. But in return, he gave Crane access to something, a project no one was supposed to know existed."
Adrian's blood ran cold. "Phoenix?"
Margaret's silence was answer enough.
Elena's voice dropped to a whisper. "That's why Crane wanted us dead. He couldn't risk anyone exposing the truth."
Margaret looked at her, eyes full of quiet regret. "You have no idea how far this goes, my dear. Crane isn't just protecting a secret, he's protecting his heir."
Adrian blinked. "Evan."
Margaret nodded slowly. "And if he's here… it means Crane's finally ready to take back everything he lost."
The drive back was quiet. The city lights flickered like warning signs through the windshield.
Finally, Elena spoke. "You think your mother's telling the truth?"
Adrian's hands tightened on the wheel. "She doesn't lie. Not about things like this."
"Then we have to move fast," Elena said. "If Crane and his son are working together, they'll come for both of us."
Adrian glanced at her, a hard edge in his voice. "Then let them come."
But deep down, she saw it; the fear he wouldn't admit.
Because this wasn't just corporate war anymore. It was family.
Later that night, Elena sat at her desk in the safehouse they'd rented, sifting through old files, piecing together fragments of the past.
A small notification blinked on her laptop.
Incoming message: Unknown sender.
She hesitated, then opened it.
A single line appeared on the screen.
"You trust the wrong man."
Below it, a photo loaded.
Ryan.
Standing beside Evan Crane.