Cynthia brooks was in the dim hotel room Alexander pushed her into "for her safety," the silence felt like it pressed against her chest, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were listening. She had been here for days — cut off, tucked away like a secret.
Stay here. Don't ask questions. Don't go home.
His voice still echoed in her mind.
She obeyed.
She stayed.
But she didn't stop thinking.
She wrapped her blanket tighter around herself as she stared at the ceiling. She'd barely slept. She couldn't stop imagining what danger Alexander wasn't telling her about. Why he was acting like someone was hunting her.
And why he looked so afraid the night he sent her away.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark room.
Her heart jumped.
A part of her hoped it was him.
But the number wasn't saved.
No name.
Just a random string of digits.
She frowned and swiped the notification open.
At first, she didn't understand what she was looking at.
A photo.
Lydia. Smiling. Holding documents in the office days ago.
Cynthia blinked. Why would someone send her a picture of Alexander's new assistant? It was harmless, just Lydia sorting files. Maybe she sent it by accident?
Another image came in.
This one taken outside the building — Lydia stepping into a cab.
Then another.
Lydia talking to security at the company entrance.
Then another.
Her stomach twisted.
Someone had been watching her.
Watching Lydia.
Watching both of them.
A chill ran across Cynthia's skin like icy fingers.
The number texted again.
"Is this who he replaced you with?"
Her breath caught.
Her hands trembled.
Before she could respond, another message arrived.
"Pretty girl. Wrong place.wrong assistant.
Cynthia felt her pulse spike. "What… what does that mean?" she whispered into the empty hotel room, but nobody answered except the hum of the air conditioner.
Another photo came in.
This one was different.
It was blurry. Dark.
Lydia was on the ground — not moving.
Cynthia's blood froze.
She slapped a hand over her mouth to stop the sound that nearly escaped her. Her entire body shook.
"No… no, no, no—" she whispered.
Her vision blurred with tears. She blinked fast, trying to breathe, trying not to believe what she was seeing.
Her mind raced.
Who sent this?
Why?
Why her?
Her phone buzzed again.
"Tell your boss he should've listened."
Cynthia's heart thundered so hard she felt it in her fingertips. Her breaths turned shallow, sharp. Her hotel room suddenly felt too small, too airless.
The unknown number sent one last message.
"You're next."
Cynthia dropped the phone like it burned her.
She stood there frozen, breath shaking, staring at the carpet through blurred vision.
Everything made sense now — the warnings, Alexander pushing her away, the fear in his eyes when he told her to leave.
Because Lydia wasn't just a replacement.
A mistake.
A message.
Someone had thought she was Cynthia.
And killed her for it.
Her knees weakened. She collapsed onto the edge of the bed, gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles turned white.
It should've been me.
That thought hit her like a tidal wave.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow her heartbeat, but panic clawed up her throat. Tears streamed down her face, hot and uncontrollable.
She didn't want to believe the photo.
She didn't want to believe Lydia was gone.
She didn't want to believe she had anything to do with it.
But the messages didn't lie.
Someone was hunting Alexander.
And now they were hunting her.
Her phone buzzed again — a call this time.
The same unknown number.
Cynthia stared at the screen, frozen. The phone vibrated in her hand, louder and louder, filling the room with an unbearable buzzing.
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
The call ended.
A voicemail appeared.
Her throat tightened as she played it with trembling fingers.
Static crackled for a few seconds.
Then a distorted voice whispered:
"He can't protect you forever."
The message cut off.
Cynthia's tears spilled harder. She curled into herself, shaking uncontrollably, burying her face in her hands. Her mind flashed back to Lydia's smile, her gentle voice, her nervous laugh in the hallway.
Gone.
Because of me.
Because she walked into the wrong office.
Because someone thought she was Cynthia.
A sob tore out of her before she could stop it.
She didn't know how long she cried. Minutes. Hours. Time didn't feel real anymore. The hotel room felt colder, the shadows darker, the silence heavier.
When she finally sat up, wiping her face with trembling hands, one thought took over her mind.
She needed Alexander.
He had answers.
He knew this world.
He knew the danger.
He should've told her from the beginning.
She grabbed her jacket and her room key, hands shaking, breath uneven.
She wasn't staying hidden.
She wasn't waiting to die.
Alexander voss was going to tell her the truth — whether he wanted to or not.
Because Lydia deserved justice.
And Cynthia deserved answers.