Andrea had cried for hours, the weight of office whispers and Elena's venomous envy pressing down like a physical force. Adrian didn't need words; he simply guided her into his sleek black car, and the city blurred past as he drove toward something like relief.
The Italian restaurant glowed in the evening light, lively with diners yet cocooned enough to feel private. Plates of pasta, fresh bruschetta, and rich tiramisu landed before Andrea, and for the first time in days, she laughed. The gossip, the stares, the sting of Elena's schemes—they all faded.
"You should eat more often," Adrian said, leaning back in his chair, his dark sunglasses catching the soft light despite being indoors.
"I don't usually get dragged out by CEOs," Andrea quipped between bites.
His smile was faint, dangerous, unreadable. Then, his phone buzzed sharply on the table. Expression folding from charm to steel, he murmured, "The target is out. Can be terminated immediately."
Andrea's fork froze mid-air. His words were light, but the weight behind them was unbearable. He didn't elaborate. "Finish your meal. Go home with your mother. I'll be back shortly," he said.
By the harbor, Adrian moved like lightning. The blue cargo container WS241 sat in the shadows, surrounded by multiple cars that gleamed menacingly under the dim harbor lights. As the container doors swung open, sharp beams of headlights pierced the darkness inside, illuminating a horrifying scene.
A man in a ripped suit staggered forward, blood streaking down his temple, barely able to stay upright. His eyes widened at the approaching shadows. Adrian entered, flanked by a man and a woman whose very presence seemed to drain the courage from the room. Fixing the brooch on his suit with meticulous precision, Adrian's voice cut through the silence like ice: "You know what happens to traitors."
The man stammered, voice trembling. "Mercy… please…" He handed over a green envelope. The woman retrieved it, her movements precise and terrifyingly efficient, ending his life without hesitation. She was lean, athletic, with eyes that seemed to strip away pretense, and the sheer calm of her action sent a chill through the container.
Adrian flipped open the envelope, revealing damning evidence: crimes held by his family, secrets of a shadow empire. Hours passed. Exhausted, he tried to light a cigarette. Smoke curled lazily, blending with the tension of the night. "I'm heading home in two days," he said to the woman. "Send the family report by tomorrow morning." His body sagged with fatigue; he longed only to see Andrea's face. The cigarette dropped, extinguished, unsatisfying.
Hours later, Adrian returned home. The room was quiet except for soft breathing. Andrea lay curled beneath the blankets, her hair spilling across the pillow. Chaos, death, secrets—none of it could touch her here.
He stripped quietly, stepped into a long, hot shower, and then slipped into the bed beside her. He didn't wake her, curling protectively around her small frame. Her warmth seeped into him, a fragile reprieve from a world that never slept.
For a moment, he allowed himself calm. Her soft breathing against his chest, the curve of her body beneath his hand—it was a rhythm he could not find anywhere else.
Outside, the city slept. The harbor remained silent, shadows held their secrets, and countless people plotted in the night.
The morning sun spilled gently across the apartment, painting the walls in soft gold. The aroma of fresh coffee and toast drifted through the air. Andrea moved slowly, lingering in the domestic rhythm—pouring herself a cup, arranging breakfast on the table, the quiet clatter of cutlery punctuating the calm. Today, she wasn't going to the office. The whispers, the rumors, Elena's venom—they could wait. Today was for her.
After breakfast, she wandered into her room. That's when she saw it: an envelope.
It was unlike anything she had seen before. A deep, luxurious green, thick and textured, with a sheen that whispered wealth and power. But the surface was splattered with bloody red spots, stark against the green, almost screaming danger. Her hands trembled as she picked it up.
Inside were papers that made her stomach turn. They detailed crimes committed by the shadow empire—horrors so meticulously hidden that the world would never see them. Her eyes fell on one particular document, one her friend Anya had once discussed. Anya, a law student with an obsession for criminal cases, had described situations eerily similar to this: high-profile individuals, all supposedly killed in accidents, revealed through forensic analysis to have been murdered with ruthless precision before the "accident."
Andrea staggered back, her hands clutching the envelope. She fell onto the edge of the bed, heart hammering, unable to contain the fear reflected in her wide eyes. Adrian, narcissistic CEO? That she could handle. But mafia kingpin, orchestrating cold-blooded murders? She couldn't process it.
After some time, forcing herself to breathe, Andrea rose and walked downstairs. Adrian sat in his usual spot, reading the morning newspaper, calm as a predator surveying his territory. Her voice wavered as she asked, "I… I need to meet my friend, and my family… before we leave in two days. Can I go?"
He looked up, a faint, teasing curve on his lips. "And leave me here alone?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
"I—please. Just for a while," she pleaded, the fear in her eyes barely masked by her composure.
He leaned back, reading her like a book. After a long, silent pause, and some playful teasing that made her cheeks flush, he finally relented. "Fine," he said. "Go. But take nothing you can't handle."
Andrea clutched the green envelope, heart still racing. She quickly packed it alongside her essentials. She asked for her phone; he ignored her at first, watching her insistently, but finally, with a sigh, handed it over. Her fingers dialed Anya's number with trembling urgency.
"Meet me at the café," she whispered into the phone. "I… I need your help."
The café was bustling, but cozy enough that Andrea and Anya could speak without shouting. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, glinting off the polished wooden tables. The aroma of coffee and pastries made the place feel safe, almost normal—if only Andrea's heart wasn't racing a thousand beats per second.
"Finally," Anya said, sliding into the booth across from her. "I've been waiting. You sounded… frantic on the phone."
Andrea forced a laugh, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You have no idea. Anya… it's serious. Really serious." She slid her bag across the table, placing the green envelope carefully between them. "Everything I thought I knew about Adrian… it's all wrong. He's not just a narcissistic CEO. He… he's involved in… things. Really dangerous things."
Anya's brow furrowed, eyes scanning the envelope as if it radiated heat. "What kind of things?" she asked cautiously, though her voice betrayed her panic.
Andrea hesitated for a heartbeat, then pulled out the papers, showing them the details. "High-profile people… killed in accidents that weren't accidents. Ruthlessly. Before the so-called crash. And Adrian… he's connected to all of it. The shadow empire… it's real."
Anya's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. "Oh my god… Andrea. You're saying he's… mafia? Like… criminal mastermind level?"
Andrea nodded, her face pale. "Yes. And I saw the evidence. Everything in here. I… I can't just ignore it. But I don't know what to do."
Anya leaned back, running a hand through her hair, panicking silently. "We can't just go to the police ourselves. He's powerful. He could… ruin everything. But… there might be a way. I know someone. My friend, Oliver—he's connected to officials and people who handle… sensitive cases. He can get this into the right hands safely."
Andrea's eyes widened. "You mean… someone who could actually protect people and make sure this doesn't get buried?"
"Yes," Anya said firmly. "Oliver can help us. But we have to act carefully. If Adrian suspects anything, it could be… dangerous."
Andrea took a deep breath and nodded. "Then we do it. We send this envelope… the green one… everything inside it… to the officials. The right people."
Anya pulled out her phone and dialed quickly. "Oliver? It's Anya. I need your help. Something… extremely serious. Can you meet us? And… don't tell anyone else."
As she spoke in low, urgent tones, Andrea watched the envelope, her mind racing. The papers inside were heavy, not just with evidence, but with the weight of everything she had just discovered. Today, her peaceful morning had spiraled into something far darker, and she had no choice but to trust Anya—and Oliver—to navigate the dangerous path ahead.
Oliver arrived at the café in record time—tall, composed, with sharp eyes that could scan a room and instantly detect every risk. He slid into the booth beside Anya, nodding at Andrea with a small, reassuring smile.
"Alright," he whispered, keeping his voice low, "tell me everything from the beginning."
Andrea repeated the story, slowly, carefully, emphasizing every detail she had discovered in the green envelope: Adrian's hidden empire, the crimes disguised as accidents, the high-profile deaths, and the forensic evidence Anya had once explained.
Oliver listened silently, his hands folded over the luxurious green envelope, his eyes flicking to Anya and Andrea every now and then, calculating risk, weighing every option.
"This… this isn't small," he finally said, voice low. "We can't go to the police ourselves. But I can get this into the right hands. High-level officials who handle cases like this discreetly. You two won't even have to be involved."
Hope fluttered in Andrea's chest. She leaned back in her chair, breathing a little easier. Anya squeezed her hand, whispering, "We're going to do this the safe way."Oliver carefully picked up the envelope. "I'll leave through the back alley. No one will see me. No one will follow. By tonight, the documents will be in the right hands."
Andrea nodded, a flicker of relief passing over her face.
Two minutes later, Oliver stepped into the alley behind the café. The morning sun hit the concrete walls at a harsh angle. He exhaled, steadying himself for the short dash to the waiting courier's car.
Then he froze.
Across the exit of the alley, a black car was parked like a predator waiting. And leaning against it—arms crossed, expression calm but absolute in authority—was Adrian. His dark sunglasses reflected the sunlight, hiding his eyes, but the intensity radiating from him made Oliver's stomach twist.
Before Oliver could react, two men in black suits emerged from the shadows, pressing him against the wall with practiced ease. Panic surged.
Back inside the café, Andrea's phone buzzed sharply on the table.
Come outside. Now.
Her blood ran cold. She looked at Anya, who had instinctively peeked through the window.
"Oh my God… he's here. Andrea—he knows," Anya whispered, her voice trembling.
Andrea's heart dropped."He knows everything," she muttered, unable to speak louder.
The café's doors opened slowly. Andrea stepped outside, Anya right behind her. Oliver, pressed against the alley wall, turned to meet them, his face pale.
Adrian didn't shout. He didn't run. He simply walked toward them with deliberate steps. His presence alone drained the air of warmth, replaced by a cold, controlling silence.
"Green envelope?" he asked softly, almost conversationally.
Andrea swallowed hard. "Adrian… it's not what you think—"
"It's exactly what I think," he interrupted, voice calm, measured, deadly. "You snooped. You planned to betray me. And you brought others into it."
Oliver struggled against the men holding him. "Let them go! This is between you and…"
One look from Adrian silenced him instantly.
"Get them in the car," Adrian ordered.
Before Andrea could protest, two cars appeared from the street, blocking any escape. Men in black uniforms moved with military precision, guiding them—no, forcing them—into the vehicles. Hands were tied, phones confiscated, and panic was starting to overtake them.
Andrea clutched Anya's arm. "Don't hurt her! It's my fault!"
"Oh, sweetheart," Adrian said softly, stepping close enough that she could feel the weight of him, "you have no idea whose fault this really is."
Doors slammed shut. Engines roared.
The world outside the cars disappeared. The bustling café, the crowded streets, the ordinary morning—they were gone.
Inside the cars, silence reigned. Oliver sat beside Andrea, glancing nervously at Anya. Their hearts pounded in unison.
The highway stretched ahead, empty and relentless. Mountains rose in the distance. Every mile drove them deeper into Adrian's territory.
Andrea's mind raced. We trusted him. We tried to do the right thing. And now… we're completely at his mercy.
Anya, voice trembling, whispered, "Where… where is he taking us?"
Oliver's jaw tightened. "His hometown. The place where he controls everything. No one questions him there. No one escapes his reach."
Andrea swallowed hard, clutching the green envelope to her chest. The papers inside weren't just evidence—they were a beacon of everything terrifying about Adrian.
Fear clawed at her chest, cold and unrelenting. She looked at Anya and Oliver, their faces mirrors of her own panic, and realized: today, the safety they had imagined was gone. Every plan, every hope, had collapsed under Adrian's ruthless precision.
And somewhere ahead, in his hometown, Adrian was preparing for the next step—where he made the rules, where secrets were absolute, and where escape was nearly impossible.