Elena's POV
The police question me for three hours.
They ask about Marcus. About my relationship with him. About the Christmas party photo. About the code theft. About the money I supposedly received.
I tell them the truth: I didn't steal anything. I didn't receive money. Marcus and I were just coworkers.
Everything except the most important truth—that Marcus is the real thief.
Detective Reeves doesn't believe me. I can see it in her sharp eyes. But without evidence, without proof, she has to let me go.
Don't leave town, she says as I stand to leave. We'll be in touch.
I walk out of the police station feeling like I've been hit by a truck.
James is waiting in the parking lot, leaning against a sleek car. Not Damien's—his own.
Rough morning? he asks.
You could say that. I slide into the passenger seat, exhausted.
He drives in silence for a few minutes. Then: You're protecting someone.
My head snaps toward him. What?
I've been watching. Listening. You're not guilty—I'd bet my career on it. But you're protecting whoever is. James glances at me. The question is why.
I'm not—
Elena. His voice is kind. I'm on your side. But I can't help you if you won't tell me the truth.
For a moment, I'm tempted. James seems genuine. Trustworthy. Like maybe he'd understand.
But then I remember the photo sent to the police. The anonymous threats. Someone is watching everything I do.
There's nothing to tell, I say quietly.
James sighs. All right. But when you're ready to stop carrying this alone, I'm here.
He pulls up to Vertex Tower. I expect him to drop me off, but he parks instead.
Damien wants to see you, he says. Conference room B. Now.
My stomach drops. More questions?
Not exactly.
Conference room B is full of people when I arrive.
Victoria sits at the head of the table, her expression smug. Three other team members. James. And Damien, standing by the window, his back to the room.
Have a seat, Ms. Ashford, Victoria says sweetly.
I sit, my nerves screaming danger.
We've been discussing your... situation, Victoria continues. The police investigation. The allegations. The fact that you're now under active investigation for corporate espionage.
I was cleared three years ago, I say.
Were you? Or did you just run before anyone could prove you were guilty? Victoria's smile is all teeth. Either way, it reflects poorly on Vertex. Having an employee under criminal investigation damages our reputation.
She's going to fire me. Right here, right now.
However, Victoria continues, Mr. Cross has made an unusual request.
Damien finally turns around. His expression is unreadable.
Given the ongoing investigation, he says, his voice professional and cold, and the fact that Ms. Ashford may be targeted by whoever filed the police complaint, I've decided she needs enhanced security measures.
Security measures? I repeat.
You're moving into the Meridian Towers. Penthouse level. Unit 59A. He says it like he's discussing the weather. Next to mine.
The room goes silent.
I can't afford— I start.
Rent-free, Damien interrupts. Consider it a company benefit. I've received threats recently—anonymous warnings about 'past mistakes.' Having you easily accessible for security interviews makes sense.
That's highly irregular, Victoria says, her voice tight with barely controlled fury.
I own the company. I decide what's irregular. Damien's gaze doesn't leave mine. Unless Ms. Ashford would prefer to refuse the offer?
It's not an offer. It's a trap disguised as protection.
But what choice do I have? I can't go back to my apartment—not after those threats. I can't afford anywhere else. And refusing would look suspicious.
When? I ask.
Tonight. I'll have your belongings moved from your current residence. He finally looks away from me, addressing the room. That's all. Meeting dismissed.
Everyone files out. Victoria brushes past me, her shoulder deliberately hitting mine.
Enjoy your new cage, she whispers.
I'm left alone with Damien.
You don't have to do this, I say quietly.
Yes, I do. He moves toward the door, pausing beside me. Someone filed a police complaint against you. Someone sent that photo. Someone wants you either arrested or gone. His voice drops. Until I figure out who, you're staying where I can protect you.
Or control me?
His jaw tightens. Both.
He leaves me sitting in the empty conference room, my life spiraling further out of control with each passing hour.
That evening, I stand in the doorway of unit 59A, staring at what will apparently be my home.
It's stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the entire city. Furniture that probably costs more than I've made in three years. A kitchen with marble counters and appliances I don't know how to use.
And there, on the far wall—a door. Not to the hallway. To the adjoining penthouse.
To Damien's home.
I walk over and try the handle. Locked from his side.
On the kitchen counter, I find a note in sharp, masculine handwriting:
Welcome home. -D
Home. As if this place could ever feel like home. As if living next to the man who thinks I betrayed him could be anything but torture.
My phone rings.
Unknown number.
My hand shakes as I answer. Hello?
Heavy breathing. Then a voice I recognize: Elena.
Marcus.
How did you get this number?
We need to talk. Tonight. His voice is urgent, scared. Underground parking garage. Level B3. Alone. Don't tell Damien.
Marcus, I can't
The police came to my apartment today. His voice cracks. They asked about you. About us. About that Christmas party photo. Someone's trying to connect us, Elena. Someone knows.
My heart pounds. Who?
I don't know! But we need to get our stories straight before— He stops. Just meet me. Please. One hour. If you ever cared about protecting Damien, you'll come.
He hangs up.
I stand in my beautiful prison, staring at my phone.
This is a terrible idea. Meeting Marcus in a dark parking garage, alone, without telling anyone. Everything about it screams trap.
But if someone really is trying to connect us, trying to expose what happened three years ago, I need to know who. I need to know what Marcus knows.
I need to protect Damien from the truth just a little longer.
I grab my jacket and head for the door.
The elevator ride down to B3 feels like descending into hell. The parking garage is dimly lit, shadows pooling between concrete pillars. My footsteps echo.
Marcus? I call out.
Silence.
Then, from behind a pillar: Over here.
I round the corner and freeze.
Marcus is there, but he's not alone.
Victoria Chen stands beside him, her arms crossed, her expression triumphant.
Hello, Elena, she says. So glad you could join us.
My blood turns to ice. What is this?
This, Victoria says, pulling out her phone and hitting record, is where you finally tell the truth. About what you and Marcus did three years ago. About the code you stole together. About your little conspiracy.
We didn't
The police have the photo, Marcus interrupts, his voice desperate. They're going to investigate us both. Unless we give them someone else to blame.
Understanding crashes over me like a wave.
They're going to frame someone else. Pin the theft on another person to save themselves.
No, I say. Absolutely not.
Then you both go down, Victoria says calmly. I have evidence—real evidence this time. Communications between you two. Financial records. Everything needed to prove you worked together. She smiles. Unless you want to help me solve this problem.
What problem? I demand.
Damien's getting too close to the truth. James's investigation is going to expose everything. Victoria's eyes gleam with malice. So we're going to give them a different truth. One that protects Marcus, gets rid of you, and leaves Damien exactly where I want him—alone and vulnerable.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out with shaking hands.
A text from Damien: Where are you? Security says you left the building.
Victoria sees the message and laughs.
Go ahead, she says. Call him. Tell him you're in the parking garage with his brother. Tell him about your secret meeting. Let's see how that conversation goes.
My finger hovers over the call button.
If I call Damien, he'll come down here. He'll see me with Marcus and Victoria. He'll demand answers.
And Victoria will tell him her version of the truth—the one where Marcus and I conspired together, where we're both guilty, where everything Damien feared about us is confirmed.
But if I don't call him...
My phone rings.
Damien's name flashes on the screen.
Victoria and Marcus watch me, waiting.
I have three seconds to decide: answer and face the consequences, or let it ring and stay trapped in Victoria's game.
I answer.
Elena, where— Damien starts.
I'm in trouble, I whisper.
A crash behind me makes me spin around.
Someone else is here, moving in the shadows between the cars.
Watching us.
And I realize with horror that this wasn't Marcus and Victoria's plan.
This was someone else's.
We've all been set up.