When Mr. Harper arrived at the office, his assistant, Emily, greeted him warmly.
"Good morning, sir."
There was no response. His expression was stone cold.
"Have you found anything yet?" he asked instead.
Emily's face fell. "No, sir. Nothing yet."
His jaw tightened. Without another word, Nolan strode past her desk, his footsteps echoing sharply against the marble floor. The atmosphere shifted the air itself seemed to brace for impact under the weight of his silence. Emily watched him from behind, his tall frame rigid beneath the black suit, every step carrying quiet authority. She followed him in silence.
Inside his office, Emily reached out to take his briefcase as he loosened his tie and sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. For a moment, he just stared out at the city skyline through the glass wall a perfect illusion of peace. But he knew better. Peace was something his family hadn't truly known in years.
"Keep trying," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "Search every name that came up in that file. I want results before the end of the day."
Emily hesitated. "Sir… if what we suspect is true"
He cut her off with a look. "Then we're already running out of time."
The air thickened. Emily nodded quietly and slipped out, carefully closing the door behind her.
Left alone, Nolan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as thoughts swirled. He couldn't afford the truth to surface not now. Not when everything depended on keeping the secret buried. Only he and Emily knew what had happened that night.
A soft buzz broke his thoughts. He reached for his phone.
A new message. No name. Just a line:
We need to talk.
It was from his wife, Clarissa.
Nolan's blood ran cold. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. He knew what this meant he had to tell her the truth before she found it out herself.
Meanwhile, at Westbrook High…
The sunlight felt too bright. The laughter too loud.
I drifted through the hallway as though in a fog. My friends waved, calling my name, but I barely noticed. The chatter, the squeak of sneakers, the bell it all blurred into background noise.
In class, my eyes stayed fixed on my notebook, though my mind was miles away back to that night. The silence. The tension. The shadow I'd seen moving in the garden beneath my window.
"Azalea?"
I blinked, snapping back to reality. Everyone was staring.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Are you feeling alright?" my teacher asked.
I forced a small nod. "J-just… tired."
It was a lie. I wasn't tired. I was terrified. Something was wrong in my family something big and deep down, I felt it had everything to do with me.
By lunchtime, I sat with Lila at our usual table, staring at my untouched food. Even when she cracked a joke, I forced a weak laugh just to keep her from feeling awkward. My spoon clinked softly against the tray, echoing the hollowness in my chest.
Then, out of nowhere, someone stepped into our quiet bubble.
The new kid from New York.
Christopher Gray.
He stood there, tray in hand, storm-gray eyes fixed on me like he'd been watching all along. The cafeteria noise faded until it was just the two of us, locked in an uneasy silence.
"Mind if I sit?" His voice was calm too calm, threaded with something I couldn't name.
"Uh, sure," I managed.
Lila shot me a confused look. Christopher sat down, ignoring the whispers from nearby tables. He didn't eat. Just leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving my face.
"You look distracted," he said.
I frowned. "And you look like you enjoy noticing things that aren't your business."
A faint smirk touched his lips. "Maybe. Or maybe I just notice what others pretend not to see."
My pulse quickened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent chills racing up my spine.
"You shouldn't ignore messages from unknown numbers."
The spoon slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the tray. "What did you just say?"
His expression stayed unreadable. "You think people can't see through your perfect life, Azalea? You'd be surprised how many are watching."
My throat went dry. "How do you?"
The bell rang, slicing through the moment like a blade. Christopher stood, pushing his chair back with a scrape.
"See you around," he murmured, and walked away leaving my heart pounding and my mind spinning.
I sat frozen, the cafeteria noise washing over me like waves underwater. Then, almost on instinct, I pulled out my phone. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through my messages dozens of unread texts from the same unknown number.
No way.
I opened the latest one, then tapped the profile icon.
And there it was.
Christopher Gray.
My breath caught. It was him. It had been him all along.
The mysterious texts. The unsettling words. All from the same guy who'd just walked away like nothing had happened.
A shaky laugh escaped me. "God, Azalea… you're losing it," I whispered.
Maybe he was just teasing me his weird way of breaking the ice. The new kid trying to get under my skin.
But even as I stared at his name on the screen, unease twisted in my gut. Because even if it was Christopher… something about those messages still didn't feel like a joke.
However Across Town, Sunlight spilled through tall windows, washing the city in gold. Inside a quiet twelfth-floor office at The Harbor Wellness Center, Clarissa Harper's heels clicked softly against the floor composed, elegant, every inch the professional she was known to be.
A faint scent of lavender filled the air. The walls were painted in soft pink tones, reflecting her calm and order. Her desk was neat, lined with patient files and framed certificates.
She'd just finished a session with a young couple when her assistant, Marilyn, stepped in with a clipboard.
"Mrs. Harper, you have a thirty minute break before your next appointment."
"Thank you, Marilyn," Clarisa said with a polite nod.
Once the door closed, her composure slipped. She exhaled softly and reached for her burgundy Hermès bag. From inside, she pulled out her phone so she could send a text to her husband, she scrolled through her messages, and typed quickly:
We need to talk.
Then she hit send.
After a while, her phone began to ring it was her husband calling her, she pressed the yes icon and brought the phone to her ear.
"Clarisa, Nolan's deep voice came through, low and rough
, like he'd been battling his thoughts before dialing.
She drew in a steady breath. "I didn't expect you to call so soon."
"I couldn't ignore your message," he said quietly. "When my wife sends me 'we need to talk,' it doesn't exactly sound casual."
Clarissa leaned back in her chair, her fingers tracing the edge of her desk. "It wasn't meant to be casual. I think we've both been pretending things are fine when they're not."
She said, before Nolan could say something she quickly said. "Can you come home early we really need to talk" that was all she said then she hanged up on him.
As soon as she dropped her phone she quickly called for her work assistant Marilyn, telling her that something came up and she needs to go home as soon as possible.
Clarisa drove home faster than she intended, she didn't even bother to wait for her driver to come pick her up from work. Her husband's voice over the phone hadn't just sounded tense it had sounded afraid. And Nolan Harper was never afraid.
Not of business rivals, not of investors, not of anything.
Until now.
The sky darkened as thick clouds rolled in, their edges heavy and swollen with rain. They loomed low, rumbling softly, the kind of gray that promised a downpour any second.
However, somewhere In the Velmont estate, where a white Mansion stood elagantly beautiful, The backyard behind the white balcony was cloaked in the quiet hush of the evening. A faint breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of rain and something darker anticipation. The glow from the house lights spilled faintly onto the marble tiles, outlining the figure seated comfortably in the shadows.
Aiden sat back in a deep cushioned chair, his posture relaxed but deliberate. His jet-black hair caught the dim light, and his bare chest rose and fell with the calm rhythm of control. He wore only white tailored pants, their sharp contrast against his tanned skin giving him an air of effortless dominance. In his left hand, he held a glass of scotch, the amber liquid swirling lazily as he tilted it, catching tiny flashes of gold from the balcony lights.
He lifted his phone with his right hand, pressing it against his ear. His voice, low and husky, cut through the stillness.
"Has the contract been sent to them?"
There was a faint crackle from the other end, followed by a voice. "Yes, sir. It was delivered this morning."
Aiden leaned back further, one ankle resting loosely over his knee. "Did they reply?"
Silence lingered. Then came the hesitant response "No."
He stared out at the dark horizon, his gaze unreadable. The reflection of the drink shimmered in his eyes, and for a moment, the corner of his lips twitched not quite a smile, but something close.
The voice on the phone broke the silence again. "Is there anything you'd want me to do?"
Aiden took a slow sip of his scotch before answering, his tone calm, yet sharp enough to slice through the quiet. "Yes," he said finally, setting the glass down beside him.
"Make them accept the contract."
The line went silent. The air felt heavier after his words, as though the night itself was listening. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, and Aiden's gaze hardened his mind already three steps ahead, plotting what would come next.