Elena didn't realize she had been holding her breath until the office door clicked shut behind her. The sound echoed through the quiet hallway like a tiny crack in a glass wall—sharp, fragile, warning her that everything she thought she understood was changing again.
The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. She leaned against the metal rail, her thoughts looping in a tight circle. Gabriel's voice still clung to her ears. The warmth of his hand near her chin… the way his eyes had softened for a moment before hardening again… the brief flicker she wasn't supposed to notice.
She told herself none of it mattered.
She told herself she didn't care.
She told herself she wasn't starting to see the man behind the mask.
But the problem with lies was simple—the heart always heard the truth beneath them.
When she reached the lobby, the receptionist gave her a small nod, but Elena barely registered it. She stepped outside into the cool night air, hoping the wind would clear her head. It didn't. If anything, it seemed to whisper questions she wasn't ready to face.
A sleek black car waited for her at the curb, the company driver already standing beside it. Gabriel's orders, obviously. He didn't want her walking or taking taxis alone. "Until everything stabilizes," he had said earlier.
She didn't argue then. She didn't argue now.
She simply entered the car and let the silence envelop her.
As the city lights blurred past the window, Elena pressed her fingers to her temples. Images of the day kept flooding back—Mr. Hale's sharp accusations, the scandal threatening to spill into the media, and Gabriel stepping in without a second thought.
She hated owing him anything.
She hated how his protection made her feel both safer and more exposed.
Halfway home, her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number lit up the screen:
"Stop digging. Some truths will destroy you."
Her stomach tightened.
Another message followed instantly:
"You're not the only one who lost someone."
Her heartbeat stuttered.
Her fingers trembled around the phone.
She leaned forward. "Can you stop the car?" Her voice was steady but thin.
The driver glanced at her through the mirror. "Is everything alright, ma'am?"
"No. But just pull over."
The car eased to the side of the road. Elena stepped out, needing air—something solid—anything to ground her. The street was quiet, only distant traffic humming like a restless murmur.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, a picture.
A blurry photograph of the night her father died… or rather, the alleyway. The ambulance lights. The shadow of a man standing in the corner, half-hidden.
Her breath hitched.
No message accompanied it.
No explanation.
Just a silent warning—or a taunt.
Her pulse raced. Whoever sent this knew far too much.
"Elena?" the driver stepped out. "Should I call Mr. Thorne?"
"No!" The word came out sharper than she intended. "Don't call him. Please."
If Gabriel knew… he would tear the city apart. And maybe—just maybe—the sender counted on that.
She swallowed hard and forced her voice steady. "Let's go home."
The driver nodded, though concern lingered in his eyes.
Back in the car, Elena stared at the photograph again, zooming in, desperate to see something hidden. But the image was too grainy. Too dark. Too deliberately vague.
Still… her heart sank.
She recognized the outline of the building behind the ambulance.
She had walked past it a thousand times.
The message wasn't only a warning.
It was a challenge.
When she reached the penthouse, she expected Gabriel to be in his study, or on a call, or secluding himself the way he always did when something weighed on him.
Instead, he was standing by the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, suit jacket gone, staring at a glass of untouched water. His posture stiffened the moment she entered.
"You took longer than expected," he said. Not an accusation, but not neutral either.
Elena removed her jacket and forced a calm expression. "Traffic."
His eyes narrowed—just slightly. He didn't believe her, not fully, but he also didn't push. Not yet.
Then he noticed her hands.
Her fingers were shaking.
"Elena." His voice dropped, low and controlled. "What happened?"
"Nothing," she whispered.
He stepped closer. "You're trembling."
"It's cold."
"It's not." His gaze locked onto hers. "Tell me what happened."
She shook her head and moved past him. She needed space. She needed seconds to breathe. She needed time to figure out what the message meant before he stormed into something dangerous.
But Gabriel wasn't letting go that easily.
He reached for her wrist—not harsh, not rough, just firm enough to stop her retreat. His touch was surprisingly warm.
"Elena, if someone is threatening you, I need to know."
Her throat tightened. She could tell him. She could hand the fear to him and let him handle it with the same ruthless efficiency he handled everything else.
But no. Not yet.
Not until she understood what she was dealing with.
Not until she understood how much of this was tied to him.
"I'm fine," she said softly, pulling her hand back. "I just need rest."
He let her go… reluctantly.
But his eyes followed every step she took.
She paused at the hallway, turning slightly. "Goodnight, Gabriel."
He didn't answer immediately.
He stared at her like a man trying to read a book with missing pages.
Finally, his voice came quiet—but laced with something she couldn't name.
"Goodnight, Elena."
She entered the bedroom, closed the door gently, and leaned against it. Her heart felt too heavy for her chest, her mind too full for sleep.
She slid down to the carpet, clutching her phone.
The anonymous message glowed again in the dark:
"You're closer to the truth than you think."
Her breath trembled.
Because for the first time…
she wasn't sure if the truth was something she wanted.
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