The cursor slid across the blue screen, smooth and deliberate.
It hovered over the digital vault icon of Romano Holdings.
My breathing turned shallow, the air in my lungs freezing.
The folder opened, displaying columns of encrypted shipping logs.
A text box appeared on the screen.
*Thanks for the keys, Em.*
The words burned into my retina.
Suddenly, the puzzle pieces of the last two years fell into place with a sickening clarity.
Marcus had never loved me.
He had never even seen me as a partner, not even a deeply flawed one.
The shouting matches, the isolation, the constant demands for my phone passwords under the guise of jealousy—it was all a strategy.
He had targeted me from the very beginning.
He needed someone inside Romano Holdings who had direct administrative access to the shipping manifests.
An executive secretary who also handled the financial analysis was the perfect target.
I remembered the night he had thrown a glass vase against the kitchen wall because I was working late.
I remembered how he had pulled me into his arms afterward, whispering that he only did it because he missed me.
“Let me help you log into your work portal, sweetie,” he had said, wiping my tears with his thumb. “You’re too upset to type.”
He had memorized my keystrokes.
He had noted my secondary authentication protocols while I was too distracted by my own fear to notice.
By breaking my confidence, he ensured I would be too exhausted to check the system logs.
By keeping me in a constant state of panic, he kept my mind off the minor discrepancies in the cargo weights.
I had been his backdoor into the most powerful corporation in Chicago.
My hands trembled so violently that I had to sit back on the edge of the mattress.
The leather of the headboard felt cold against my bare shoulder.
I stared at the green light of my laptop camera, which had just flickered on.
He was watching me right now through the lens.
A heavy knock sounded at my door.
Before I could answer, the door swung open.
Adrian stood in the threshold, illuminated by the dim emergency lights in the hallway.
His tailored suit jacket was gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
He held a silver flashlight in one hand and a heavy black radio in the other.
“Emily,” he said, his voice low and steady. “The power grid for this wing just went down.”
He stepped into the room, his eyes instantly tracking the blue light of my laptop.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, though my voice cracked.
He closed the distance between us in three long strides.
He set the flashlight on the nightstand, its beam reflecting off the plaster ceiling.
“You’re shaking,” he said, his hand coming down gently on my shoulder.
His grip was firm, a solid weight in the dark.
“Look,” I said, pointing a trembling finger at the screen.
Adrian leaned over my shoulder, his scent of cedar and rain filling the space between us.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the cursor highlight another file.
“He’s using my credentials,” I said. “He’s been using them for months.”
Adrian did not look surprised, but his jaw tightened.
“Marcus,” he said.
“He didn’t just hurt me because he was angry, Adrian,” I said, the realization spilling out of me. “He did it to keep me distracted. He needed my login security tokens.”
Adrian’s eyes remained fixed on the screen as a command prompt window opened.
“He broke you so you wouldn’t look at the cargo weights,” Adrian said.
“Yes,” I said. “He wanted me too terrified to notice his footprints.”
Adrian reached down and slammed the laptop lid shut.
The room plunged back into near-total darkness, saved only by the flashlight’s glow.
“We’re cutting the external connection now,” Adrian said into his radio.
A crackle of static answered him.
“Sir, we have a localized signal jammer active near the eastern tree line,” a voice replied.
Adrian’s face remained impassive, but his fingers tightened around the radio.
“Find it and destroy it,” Adrian ordered.
“Understood, sir.”
The air in the room felt thick and cold.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the shivering.
“Are we safe here?” I asked.
Adrian looked at the dark window overlooking the expansive grounds of his estate.
The rain was beginning to beat against the glass, a steady, rhythmic drumming.
“My security team is the best in the Midwest, Emily,” he said. “Nobody gets past the outer gates.”
But even as he spoke, his eyes scanned the dark lawn below.
I wanted to believe him.
I wanted to feel the safety his wealth and power promised.
Then, a sharp, electronic chime cut through the silence.
It didn’t come from my personal phone, which still lay dead on the bed.
It came from the nightstand.
My Romano Holdings work phone, a secure device encrypted by Adrian’s own IT department, lit up.
The screen glowed a brilliant white.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the cold metal casing.
Adrian stepped closer, his shadow falling over the bed.
“Don’t touch it,” he said.
I ignored his warning and picked it up.
The lock screen displayed a single notification from an unregistered number.
The preview text was visible.
I read the words, and my blood ran completely cold.
Adrian leaned down, his eyes scanning the message over my shoulder.
The text message contained a photograph.
It was a grainy, night-vision image of the stone fountain in Adrian’s private courtyard.
The fountain was barely fifty yards from my bedroom window, deep inside the estate’s secure perimeter.
Below the photo was a single line of text.
*Beautiful garden, Emily. I’m closer than your billionaire thinks.*
The radio in Adrian’s hand crackled again, but the static was louder this time.
Adrian’s grip on my shoulder tightened.
The screen of the work phone flickered once, then stayed bright, illuminating the fear in my eyes.