Ethan
The week after Olivia's weekend meeting was one of the longest of my life. She was a ghost. She'd leave the farmhouse before I woke up and come home long after I'd gone to bed, falling into an exhausted sleep almost immediately. She claimed she was drowning in trial prep for the fraud case, but I knew it was a lie. There was a new tension in her, a coiled, secret fear that she couldn't hide from me, no matter how hard she tried.
I saw the case file for the Connolly investigation on our kitchen table one morning. She'd left it there by mistake, and the name, in bold, black letters, sent a chill down my spine. She was on the case. The one she had promised to be careful with. The one that was a hornet's nest.
I confronted her that night. "You're on the Connolly case," I said, my voice tight. "Don't lie to me, Olivia. I saw the file."
She sank onto the sofa, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I didn't want you to worry."
"Didn't want me to worry?" I exploded, my own fear turning to anger. "Olivia, these are dangerous people! A witness just disappeared. This isn't some corporate fraud case. This is the mob."
"I know what it is," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "And I know what I'm doing."
"Do you? Because it looks like you're in over your head."
"I have it under control," she insisted, but her eyes betrayed her. They were filled with a deep, weary anxiety.
I knew I couldn't stop her. She was a prosecutor. This was her job, her calling. But I also knew I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. If she was going to walk into the lion's den, I was going to make sure she had a goddamn army at her back.
I still had connections from my college days, friends who had gone on to work in private security, in data analysis, in places both official and unofficial. And my work with the foundation had given me a different kind of power—a network of influential people who owed me favors.
I made a call to Jake, who now ran his own successful cybersecurity firm.
"Jake," I said, my voice low. "I need a favor. A big one. And it's off the books."
I told him everything I knew about the Connolly case, about Olivia's involvement, about my fear for her safety. "I need to know what she's walking into," I said. "I need intel. Surveillance. Anything you can get me on Michael Connolly and his organization. I want to know his every move."
Jake was hesitant. "Ethan, this is risky. This is not our world."
"She's my world," I said, my voice raw. "And she's in trouble. Are you in or out?"
There was a pause. "I'm in," he said finally. "For Olivia."
For the next few days, I lived a double life. By day, I was the respectable head of the Brooks Foundation, attending board meetings and reviewing grant proposals. By night, I was running a shadow investigation, coordinating with Jake and my other contacts, building my own file on the Connolly organization. The information he fed me was terrifying. Connolly wasn't just a mob boss; he was a monster, with a history of violence and intimidation that went back decades. And his son, Sarah-Jane's husband, was even worse.
I was sitting in my home office late one night, staring at a satellite photo of the Connolly estate—a sprawling, fortress-like compound on the coast—when Olivia came in. She was holding two glasses of wine.
"You're working late, too," she said, her voice soft. She placed a glass on my desk. "Truce?"
"Truce," I agreed, my heart aching with the weight of the secrets I was keeping from her. She thought she was protecting me by not telling me the details of her case. And I was protecting her by building a secret intelligence operation behind her back.
"I'm sorry I've been so distant," she said, curling up in the armchair opposite my desk. "This case… it's just… a lot."
"I know," I said. "Just… be careful. Please."
"I will," she said, but her eyes drifted to my computer screen, to the satellite photo of the Connolly estate. Her brow furrowed. "What is that?"
I froze. I had been caught. "It's… research," I stammered. "For a potential grant. A land conservation project."
She looked at me, her gaze sharp, analytical. She was the best prosecutor in the city. She could spot a lie a mile away. But she didn't call me on it. She just nodded slowly, a sad, knowing look in her eyes.
"Of course," she said. "Land conservation."
She knew I was lying. And I knew she knew. We were both so determined to protect each other that we had built a wall of secrets between us. The intimacy we had fought so hard to win was being eroded by the very danger that threatened to tear us apart.
Later that night, as I lay in bed beside her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, I felt a profound sense of failure. I had promised to be her partner, to stand by her while she conquered the world. But now, as she faced the biggest fight of her life, I was in the shadows, a silent, secret guardian. And I had a terrible feeling that my protection might not be enough.