Evelyn was still at her desk when the building had mostly gone quiet. The lights in the office were dimmer now, but Xander's floor was never fully dark. She had learned that quickly. Someone was always watching. Security never slept.
She adjusted the folder in front of her and glanced toward Xander's office. The glass wall was clear. He was inside, on a call, his voice low and steady. He hadn't looked at her in several minutes, which was unusual.
Since agreeing to be his mistress, things had changed in small ways.
He kept her close.
Not in public. Not in obvious ways. But he made sure she was always near him. Late meetings. Private dinners that were called "work events." Files he insisted only she handle. Schedules that revolved around his movements.
She told herself it was good.
Access was access.
Still, it was exhausting to carry two lives in one body.
Her phone vibrated softly on her desk.
Unknown Number.
Her stomach tightened.
She didn't answer. She let it ring out.
A second later, a message came in.
STOP DIGGING.
No name. No explanation.
Her fingers went cold. She stared at the screen, then quickly locked it and slipped the phone into her bag. She forced her face to stay calm.
Xander stepped out of his office almost immediately.
"You're tense," he said, like he had been watching her the whole time.
"I'm fine," she replied.
He looked at her for a long second. "You're lying."
She met his eyes. "I'm tired."
That was close enough to the truth.
"Pack up," he said. "You're coming with me."
"For what?" she asked.
"Dinner. Work dinner."
She stood. "You said we were reviewing contracts."
"We will," he said. "Over food."
She didn't argue. Arguing never worked with him.
They left the building together. His hand rested lightly at her lower back as they walked, firm but not gentle. It was possessive. She noticed how the security guards looked at her differently now. They knew.
Inside the car, he glanced at her again. "You've been distracted all day."
"I have a lot on my mind."
"About me?"
She didn't answer fast enough.
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Dinner passed in a blur of quiet conversation. He talked about business. She listened. She asked questions when needed. She smiled when expected.
At one point, his fingers brushed hers on the table.
"You don't pull away anymore," he said.
"I learned not to," she replied.
That earned her a look she couldn't read.
When he dropped her off later, he didn't ask to come inside. He just said, "Lock your door."
"I always do."
"Tonight, check twice."
That made her pause. "Why?"
"Because I said so."
He waited until she was inside before driving away.
Evelyn leaned against the door for a moment, heart racing. She didn't know if he was being careful or controlling. Maybe both.
Inside her apartment, everything looked normal.
Too normal.
She walked through slowly. Bedroom. Bathroom. Kitchen.
Her laptop was on the table where she left it.
But it was open.
She was sure she had closed it.
Her breath caught. She moved closer and touched the mouse. The screen flickered. A folder was open.
The Mia Langford file.
Her chest tightened.
Nothing was missing. Not yet. But the access log had changed. Someone had opened it.
She shut the laptop quickly and locked it in her drawer.
That was when her phone rang again.
This time, it was a known number.
"Detective Hart," a male voice said calmly. "Sorry I'm late."
She froze. "Who is this?"
"Ryan Cole. I was assigned as your partner weeks ago. Took some time to clear other work."
She swallowed. "You're calling now?"
"I just got clearance to meet you," he said. "Thought it would be good to finally talk."
She hesitated. Then, "Where?"
"Your choice."
"Tomorrow," she said quickly. "Public place."
"Of course," he replied. "I'll let you decide."
The call ended.
Evelyn stared at her phone long after the screen went dark.
The next meeting happened quietly. A small café. Nothing special.
Ryan Cole looked exactly like his file photo.
Soft smile. Clean clothes. Calm eyes.
"Evelyn," he said warmly, standing. "Finally."
"Ryan," she replied, sitting.
"I've heard a lot about you."
"From who?"
"Our director," he said easily. "Said you were sharp. Dedicated."
She didn't relax.
They talked about neutral things first. Work conditions. Office politics. Complaints about management.
Then she slid a flash drive across the table.
"Everything I have so far," she said. "Notes. Timelines. Files."
He picked it up. "You've been thorough."
"I will try."
"I'll back it up," he said. "Clean it up. Maybe see what you missed."
She watched his hands carefully. "I'll need it back."
"Of course," he said. "Later today."
She nodded, though something twisted in her chest.
They parted politely.
Back at her apartment, she waited.
Hours passed.
No message.
She finally called him.
"Ryan," she said. "I need the files."
A pause. "That's strange."
"What is?"
"The drive isn't opening properly," he said. "Might be corrupted."
Her heart slammed. "What do you mean corrupted?"
"I mean the data isn't loading," he replied calmly. "I'm trying to recover it."
"When did this happen?" she asked.
"Not sure," he said. "Could've been before you gave it to me."
She clenched her jaw. "Send it back. Now."
"I will," he promised. "I'll do my best."
The drive arrived later that night.
She plugged it in with shaking hands.
Error.
Files unreadable.
Months of work. Gone.
She sat there, staring at the screen, breathing hard.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number again.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STOPPED.
Her blood ran cold.
She looked around her apartment slowly.
For the first time, she wondered if the danger wasn't coming from where she expected.
Someone had been close.
Close enough to touch her work.
Close enough to smile at her over coffee.
And suddenly, she wasn't sure who she could trust anymore.