Chapter Five — Collateral
Amara sat frozen, pretending to type while her heart raced. Vanessa's words echoed in her mind: "Your little assistant… she's pretty."
Not flattering. Not flattering at all. Just a reminder—she'd stepped into something far bigger than her internship.
Her thoughts were cut short by Adrian's voice over the intercom. Cold. Precise. "Miss Cavanaugh, step in here."
She smoothed her skirt and walked into his office, keeping her expression neutral.
"Close the door," he said, without looking up.
She obeyed. The soft click of the door sounded louder than it should have.
Adrian stood behind his desk, arms crossed, eyes on the window. After a moment, he spoke. "I apologize for that outburst. Unprofessional. Won't happen again."
Amara nodded. "It's fine, sir."
He turned to her, unreadable. "Vanessa is no longer part of my personal life. I expect you to focus only on your work here. Nothing else. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"Miss Cavanaugh."
She looked back.
"I checked your background," he said calmly. "You're sharp. Determined. But I don't need distractions here. Whatever… emotions you think might be developing—bury them."
Her lips parted. "I never—"
"I know," he cut in. "Just… stay focused."
She left the office, chest tight. He had noticed her. But he was forcing himself not to. That made everything harder.
Alone, Adrian slumped into his chair, rubbing his temples. Stupid.
Why mention feelings she hadn't confessed? Why drag her into the wreckage of his past? She had done nothing wrong. She was just an intern. Efficient, quiet, respectful. No business being caught in his mess.
Yet here she was.
He ran a hand through his hair. You're losing control, man.
What bothered him wasn't Vanessa—it was how his pulse reacted when Amara entered the office. Her calm, steady gaze. Too grounding.
He hated it.
He wasn't supposed to feel that.
Adrian picked up his phone. "Reschedule all meetings with Vanessa. Indefinitely."
Not again. Not his personal life interfering with this.
Back in her tiny London apartment, Amara kicked off her shoes and sank onto the couch. Vanessa's voice replayed in her head.
He's mine. Don't flatter yourself.
Ridiculous. She wasn't here for drama—she was here to work. And yet… Adrian's cold stare had stirred something she didn't understand.
Her phone buzzed. Mum.
"Hi, Mum," she answered.
"Amara, darling! How's London treating you?" Her mother's voice was warm, comforting.
"It's… intense. Work started this week. The boss is… complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"He's cold. Distant. Sharp. I feel like I'm walking on a minefield."
Her mother chuckled gently. "That means he sees potential in you."
"Maybe. Or maybe he just wants me gone."
"Keep your head down. Work hard. Don't let anyone's mess distract you."
"I won't, Mum. I promise."
After hanging up, she stared at the ceiling. She had survived worse. She wasn't going to let anyone—not even Adrian Blackwood—shake her.
At her desk, she tried to focus. Then her phone buzzed. An unknown number.
"You think you're special? Stay away from Adrian Blackwood, or you'll regret it."
Her heart raced. Around her, everything looked normal. Who could this be? Vanessa? Someone else?
Another message: "This is your only warning."
Hands trembling, she locked the phone. The office felt colder. Air heavier. She glanced toward Adrian's office, blinds drawn, door closed.
What had she gotten herself into?
Adrian stared out the floor-to-ceiling window, hands clasped behind his back. His reflection was calm, unreadable—but his mind was not.
A call had come earlier, from someone with history, pain, unfinished business.
Back at her desk, Amara debated whether to tell him. Would he care? Or worse, think she was stirring drama?
Then another buzz. A picture.
Her. Leaving the building that morning. Taken from behind.
Her breath hitched. She marched to Adrian's office, pushing the door open.
"What is it?" he asked, cool, unreadable.
"I got this," she said, handing him the phone. "Two previous messages too. Someone is threatening me… because of you."
Adrian's jaw clenched. His eyes darkened.
"I'll handle it," he said sharply.
"Who's doing this?"
"You're not the one they want," he said, conflicted. "You're just… collateral."
"Collateral?" she echoed.
Before she could ask more, Adrian's phone rang. He answered. A woman's voice, cold, lethal:
"She knows. Your little assistant. Tidy this up, Adrian… or I will."
The call ended, but Amara had heard enough.
"Who was that?"
He met her gaze. "Someone I should've buried a long time ago."
The air in Adrian Blackwood's office was cold, but not as cold as the silence that lingered after Vanessa's exit.
Amara quietly collected the files from his desk, fingers brushing a thick, black envelope tucked beneath the reports.
"Leave it." Adrian's voice was low, strained.
She paused. His calm exterior flickered—fear? Guilt? Something darker.
Later that night, alone in her flat, Amara couldn't sleep. Why had Adrian looked so… haunted?
The next morning, a small, unmarked envelope was waiting on her doorstep.
Inside was a single photo—grainy, taken through glass. It was her, at her desk in Adrian's office.
On the back, delicate handwriting:
"Stay close to him, and you'll regret it."
Her breath hitched. She wasn't just an intern anymore. She was a target.
Her hands trembled as she tucked the photo back into the envelope. Someone had been watching her—deliberately, threateningly.
She checked her locks twice that night.
The next morning, Adrian was already in the office when she arrived. No tailored coat, no coffee—just him, in a dark sweater, sleeves rolled up, staring out at the foggy skyline.
"I got a letter," Amara said quietly.
He turned slowly. "Describe it."
She handed it over. His jaw clenched at the handwriting.
"It's her," he muttered.
"Vanessa?" Amara asked.
Adrian nodded. "She's not just angry. She's calculating. And now, you're in her way."
He pulled out a faded folder marked Project Argus—not part of her internship.
"She thinks you're replacing her. But it's more than that. She thinks I gave you access."
Inside: surveillance logs, encrypted messages, and one photo that made her blood run cold.
It was her. Again. This time, taken from inside her flat.
"We don't have much time," Adrian said. "You're already on her list."
Amara's pulse quickened. "How long has she been watching me?"
Adrian didn't answer. He closed the blinds and activated a noise-masking device she had only seen during classified calls.
"She's been watching everything. Since the moment you walked into this building."
He paced, then stopped in front of her.
"Vanessa was my partner on Project Argus. We were supposed to dismantle a rogue surveillance network. Somewhere along the way, she flipped—using the system for her own purposes."
Amara whispered, "And now she thinks I'm replacing her?"
"No," he said. "Now she thinks you're my weakness."
A chill ran down her spine. The photo. The message. This was personal.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown Number: Look out the window.
Heart pounding, she pulled back the curtain. Across the street, a figure in a long coat raised their phone… and waved.
Amara staggered back.
Adrian snatched her phone. "She's escalating. This is no longer a warning. It's a hunt."
He grabbed his coat. "We're leaving. Now."
They slipped out the back, navigating alleyways to a nondescript grey sedan under a crumbling parking garage.
Inside, Adrian handed her a flash drive. "Everything about Project Argus is on here. If something happens to me, you run—and get this to the only person left who can shut it down."
"Who?" she asked.
"My brother. Ethan Blackwood. MI5."
Before she could respond, a gunshot cracked the air. Adrian jerked forward—hit.
Amara screamed, dragging him into the car as glass shattered. Tires screeched behind them. A black motorcycle peeled out of the shadows. Vanessa wasn't done.
Back at the office, whispers spread like wildfire.
"She's just an intern," someone muttered.
"Have you seen how close she is with Adrian? Total seductress."
"Bet she's trying to climb her way up… classic move."
None of them knew. None of them knew she was flooring a car through London traffic, trying to keep Adrian alive.
The bullet grazed his side—painful but not fatal. Blood soaked his shirt.
"I know a safe house," he rasped. "North of the city… off-grid."
Amara clenched her fists. They thought she was manipulative. They didn't see the envelope. The photos. The man bleeding beside her.
At the safe house—an abandoned barn, reinforced and wired like a bunker—Adrian collapsed onto a cot.
"You need to disappear for a while," he said.
"I'm not hiding," she said.
"Then be ready. Vanessa doesn't play games. And the moment she sees you fighting back…"
He didn't need to finish. She had already made her choice.
The next morning, Amara paced the barn, restless. Adrian had slept fitfully, but she couldn't relax—not with Vanessa out there hunting her.
She pulled the flash drive from her pocket. Adrian's warning echoed: Don't trust anyone. Not even family.
Could she trust Ethan Blackwood? Could she trust Adrian? Or was Vanessa right—was she just a pawn in a deadly game?
Adrian stirred, groaning, hand clutching his side. "We need to move. She knows you're here now."
Amara knelt beside him. "What do we do? How do we stop her?"
"We don't stop her. Not yet. First, you have to get to Ethan. He's the only one who can end this operation."
Her mind raced.
"But what if—"
"If you don't go now, you'll never get the chance," Adrian interrupted. "If you want to protect yourself, start thinking like her. One step ahead."
She swallowed hard, pulling the drive into her bag. As she stepped outside, the cold morning air hit her like a slap. Time was running out. Vanessa was still out there.
At the office, rumors reached a fever pitch.
"She's sleeping with Adrian," someone whispered.
"She's climbing her way to the top."
None of them knew. None of them knew the truth: Amara wasn't a seductress. She was a target.