The Beginning of Doubt
Emma's Pov
There was still time before the concert—hours carved out like the calm before a storm—so we turned back to the investigation that had quietly taken root in the corners of the office. Emmett slipped inside the building with the ease of someone who had been invisible his whole life, just another employee navigating fluorescent hallways and recycled air. But even he could feel it: the imbalance humming beneath the surface.
The workers were divided long before he arrived. Two groups, living two entirely different lives under the same roof.
One group—the majority—moved with the tired heaviness of people stretched thin, their paychecks swallowed by rent, their coats worn at the edges, their lunch boxes dented. The other group drifted as they belonged somewhere else entirely: watches worth more than an annual salary glinting beneath the office lights, designer shoes tapping across marble floors, and expressions that suggested the rules of the company didn't apply to them. They came in late, left early, and spent more time inside the HR office than at their own desks.
And standing at the center of that second world was Mr. Jamie Anderson.
The man we were investigating.
The man who had flown to Saudi Arabia just two months ago, tracing the exact path where the drug trail first bled into the open. The first clue. The first fracture in a façade we would later learn was built on something far darker than corporate privilege.
That trail had twisted across continents, from the deserts of Saudi Arabia to the neon heartbeat of New York City. A city that sparkles like a promise from afar, but up close... it breathes crime between its skyscrapers. Its beauty is just camouflage—polished glass hiding the shadows, the grit, the secrets no one dares speak aloud.
"But Emma... I don't think Anderson is in it willingly," Emmett said at last, his voice low as he lifted the steaming cup of tea I'd placed in front of him. We were in my apartment—the only place that still felt untouched by everything happening outside, the one place where the world stayed quiet long enough for the truth to breathe.
I paused, spoon swirling slowly through my cup.
"What makes you think that?" I asked, watching the sugar dissolve into the dark liquid. I had been alone only moments earlier, resting in the small comfort the deliveryman accidentally brought with him, when Emmett arrived with that look on his face—the one that meant he had seen something he couldn't shake.
He leaned back, fatigue softening the lines around his eyes. The kitchen light cast a warm, almost sleepy glow over him as he searched for the right words.
"It's strange," he finally said. "Today... I started noticing things."
I stayed quiet, letting him find his rhythm.
"Anderson may look like part of them—the rich ones, the untouchables—but he isn't treated like they treat each other." Emmett's voice dipped with certainty. "They send him on errands no one else wants. They snap at him. They act like he's beneath them. And while the others spend half their day lounging in the HR office like it's some private club, he's working. Constantly."
He lifted his gaze to mine, something uneasy flickering behind it.
"Emma... it didn't feel like he was involved. It felt like he was trapped."
The room went still—so still I could hear the faint ticking of the wall clock, the city breathing beyond the windows. His words settled between us with a weight I could feel in my bones.
"Trapped?" I raised my eyebrows, the word landing heavier than I expected.
Emmett nodded, setting his cup down with a soft clink. "Yeah. And I'm certain now." He drew in a breath. "Last night, I stayed in the office pretending to finish overtime work. While everyone else had left, I looked through the internal employee files." His voice dropped lower. "There were profiles—fifteen of them—set apart from the regular records. All connected to the trafficking and drug route. But Anderson's name wasn't there. Not in any of them."
A cold realization unfurled in my chest.
So Anderson wasn't one of them.
He was under them.
A disposable pawn they could push across borders, send to the UAE knowing he could die, and still sleep comfortably at night.
They had leverage—something big enough, cruel enough—to force him into their bidding.
"I think it's his family they're using to blackmail him," Emmett continued, his tone tightening with certainty. "If we can get to him before they do... if we can convince him to testify, he could help us expose whoever's running this entire operation. In exchange for saving his family."
I shook my head immediately. "Emmett, if his family is in danger, we save them regardless of whether he helps us or not."
The room fell quiet again, heavy with a new kind of urgency—one that didn't feel like investigation anymore, but rescue.
"Oh—one more thing."
Emmett's voice changed. Tightened.
He shifted in his seat, and when his eyes met mine, something sharp and uneasy flickered there.
"Emma..." He hesitated, as if the words themselves were dangerous.
"The company is under Ardel Enterprise."
My heart stopped for a second.
My eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Emmett swallowed, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees. "It's... subtle. Hidden. The company you and I are investigating doesn't carry the Ardel name anywhere on its branding. But I traced the financial flow." His voice lowered. "Every major operational decision, every overseas shipment, every budget approval—it all funnels up. Straight to Ardel Enterprise."
The room tilted slightly around me.
Emmett watched my face carefully, then continued, "And our regular customer, Aubrey Ardel... he's the heir. The so-called successor to the entire Empire."
The words hit me like ice water.
Aubrey—the quiet man with the soft voice, the one who painted storms and handed me tulips and looked at me like I was something he couldn't name—was tied to this? To all of this?
My fingers tightened around my mug, grounding myself against the sudden surge of disbelief, fear, and something painfully close to betrayal.
"Why didn't we know it was under Ardel Enterprise?" I asked, my voice unsteady.
A part of me—stubborn, childish, terrified—wanted Emmett to laugh. To tell me it was a misunderstanding. That this was one of his rare, terrible jokes.
But his expression didn't move.
"As I told you," he said softly, "it was covered very carefully. Intentionally."
He exhaled, rubbing his palms together as if trying to warm the truth before handing it to me.
"The local police are oblivious, probably misled on purpose. So we—foreigners, outsiders—had no chance of knowing unless we dug deep. Deeper than they ever expected us to."
The apartment felt suddenly too small, too quiet, as if the air itself was listening.
I stared at Emmett, my pulse pounding, my mind trying—and failing—to separate Aubrey from the empire behind his name. The empire tied to our case. To the danger. To the trafficking. To Anderson, being forced overseas. To people dying.
A faint ringing filled my ears.
Some truths arrive gently.
This one did not.
But even if it was under Ardel Enterprise…it didn't necessarily mean that Aubrey was involved.Right?
Right?
"I don't know," Emmett said, and the uncertainty in his voice cut deeper than any accusation. He rubbed a hand over his face, the exhaustion in his movements unmistakable. "Maybe Aubrey knew all along who we were. Maybe that's why he kept coming to the café. Pretending to be a regular. Otherwise… what other reason would he have to visit us that frequently?"
The world slipped sideways.
The tiny, fragile illusion I'd been holding onto—that soft, unspoken hope that he visited the café because of me, because he found comfort there, because he found comfort in us—fractured instantly.
Cracked, shattered, dissolved.
All from one sentence.One doubt.One possibility I wasn't ready to face.
The room dimmed at the edges, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. It felt like someone had pulled a string inside my chest too tightly, and it hurt—sharp and quiet and impossible to hide.
Because if Aubrey hadn't come for me…then he had come for the case.For the investigation he may have known we were running.For reasons that had nothing to do with tulips or stolen glances or the warmth in his voice when he said my name.
And that truth—that sudden, brutal truth—broke something delicate inside me.
Emmett went silent after that, studying my face the way only someone who has known me long enough can. His expression softened—not pity, but something almost protective. A recognition.
"Emma…" he said quietly.
I didn't look up. I kept my eyes on the tea in my hands as if its warmth could glue the cracks in my chest back together.
He leaned forward a little, voice gentler than before. "I'm not saying he used you. I'm just saying… we can't ignore the possibility that he knew more than he showed."
I swallowed hard, the bitterness rising in my throat having nothing to do with the tea.
A moment passed—slow, heavy—and I felt Emmett's gaze settle on me again.He wasn't blind. He had seen the way I looked at Aubrey.
"Emma," he said again, softer this time, "I know you care about him. Or… at least something close to it."
My breath caught.
He continued, careful, cautious—as if he was afraid I might shatter further."And I'm not saying he's a bad guy. I don't think he is. But you can't let your feelings cloud what we're doing. If he's connected to this—even unintentionally—"
"He's not," I said too quickly, too sharply.The words leapt out before I could stop them.
Emmett sighed, and for a moment he didn't say anything.Then, almost reluctantly:
"Emma… you don't actually know that."
The truth hit harder than the accusation.
My chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading beneath my ribs.Because somewhere inside me—beneath the denial, beneath the hope—I knew Emmett wasn't trying to hurt me.
He was trying to save me.
But the idea that Aubrey might have walked into that café on purpose—not for coffee, not for the sketches on the counter, not for the quiet conversations—but because he already knew who I was…
That possibility cut deeper than anything I was prepared for.
And Emmett saw it.In my eyes.In the way my hands trembled just slightly.In the silence that followed.
"Ayah," he said softly, "I'm just asking you to be careful with him. With yourself."
But the damage was already done.
The fragile hope I'd been holding onto—that Aubrey's visits had been real, genuine, unforced—felt like it had turned to dust in my hands.
Maybe he was deceiving me… just as I was deceiving him.