Chapter 11: No One Safe
1503 Words
Sleep did not visit her that night.
Aria lay awake in her dark apartment, watching shadows crawl across the ceiling. Every creak of the building made her flinch. Every passing car headlight made her reach for a phone she had turned off hours ago. Marcus Webb's face lived behind her closed eyelids like a stain she could not wash away.
She had seen him yesterday in the lobby. Smiling. Nodding. Holding the door like a gentleman. The same hands that pushed her down those stairs had probably waved at her from across the street. The same eyes that watched her fall had probably watched her stand back up. She wondered if he was disappointed she survived.
At six fifteen, she gave up on rest. She showered, drank coffee she barely tasted, and dressed without looking at what she chose. The key card to the east wing sat on her counter. She left it there. She would not need it anymore. The truth had already found her.
---
Blackwood Tower looked different in the morning light. Not gleaming. Not powerful. Just a glass tomb filled with people who might want her dead.
Aria stopped outside the revolving doors and watched employees stream past. Men in suits. Women in heels. Any one of them could be watching her. Any one of them could be working for Victor. She stepped inside.
The lobby stretched before her, marble floors reflecting fluorescent light. Security desk straight ahead. And behind that desk—Marcus Webb.
He looked up when she approached. Smiled. The same smile he had given her a hundred times before. Kind. Warm. Unremarkable. But this time, his eyes lingered a fraction too long.
"Morning, Miss Collins. You're early."
Aria's skin crawled. "Couldn't sleep."
"Rough night?" He tilted his head, genuine concern in his voice, and acted perfectly. "Take it easy today," he added. His smile stretched a little wider. "You look like you've been remembering something unpleasant."
Her blood turned cold. But she forced her face to remain neutral. "I'll try."
She walked past him, heart pounding so loud she was certain he could hear it. The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside and pressed the button for thirty-two. When the doors closed, she leaned against the wall and breathed.
---
Her desk felt like a trap.
Every surface held potential danger. The phone Victor had used to text her. The computer where she had searched Marcus's name. The chair where she had sat while Lydia whispered secrets in the dark. Aria did not sit down. She stood at the window instead, watching the city wake up. Cars filled the streets. People filled the sidewalks. Everyone was moving like they had somewhere safe to go.
She had nowhere safe.
The elevator dinged. Lydia stepped out. Blonde hair is perfect. Suit pressed. She looked like she had slept eight hours and dreamed of nothing.
"You're here early," Lydia said.
"Couldn't sleep."
Lydia studied her face. "You found something last night. After I left."
Aria turned from the window. "You told me Marcus pushed me. You didn't tell me why you waited three years to say something."
"Because I was afraid." Lydia walked to her own desk and sat down. "Not of Marcus. Of losing the only job that ever gave me security. I'm forty-two years old, Aria. I don't have a backup plan. I kept quiet because keeping quiet kept me fed. But after watching you walk past that man every day, watching him smile at you while I knew what his hands had done—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I couldn't live with myself anymore. That's the truth. Ugly as it is."
Aria wanted to be angry. But Lydia wasn't wrong. Survival made people do ugly things. Aria had learned that lesson the hard way.
"The security cameras on the staircase," Aria said. "Can Marcus erase footage?"
"He can erase anything he wants." Lydia's voice dropped. "He's had fifteen years to learn every blind spot, every backup, every system failure. If Marcus doesn't want something seen, it never existed."
"Then how do we prove he pushed me?"
Lydia stood and walked to Aria's desk. Leaned close. "We don't. We caught him trying again."
---
The morning passed in fragments.
Aria answered emails she did not read and attended meetings she did not hear. Every face in the conference room looked like a mask hiding something sharp. The marketing director smiled too wide. The legal counsel laughed too loud. The intern avoided eye contact like she knew something terrible.
By noon, Aria had stopped trusting anyone. She ate lunch alone at her desk. Cold soup. Crackers she did not finish. Her phone sat face-up beside her keyboard, still off. She had not turned it back on since yesterday.
Damien had not come to her floor. Maybe he was respecting her space. Maybe he was meeting with Marcus right now, discussing how to handle the woman who remembered too much. She pushed the thought away. Paranoia would not help her survive. Caution would.Trusting herself and only herself.
---
At two o'clock, the elevator opened.
Damien stepped out. He looked worse than she felt. Dark circles under his eyes, jaw unshaven, tie hanging loose around his collar. His shirt looked like he had slept in it.
"We need to talk," he said.
Aria stayed behind her desk. "I'm working."
"You're hiding."
"I'm surviving." She held his gaze. "You taught me that. Survival means keeping quiet. Survival means pretending everything is fine. Survival means smiling at the man who pushed you down the stairs because he holds the door open every morning."
Damien's face went pale. "You know."
"Lydia told me." Aria stood. "Marcus Webb. Head of security. Your father's right hand. The man who watches me walk past his desk every single day and probably wonders if I'll ever remember his face."
Damien walked toward her and stopped at the edge of her desk. "I was going to tell you."
"When? After he pushed me again? After I woke up in another hospital with another hole in my memory?" She shook her head. "You had three years. Three years to fire him. Three years to warn me. Three years to do anything except hide behind rules and locked doors."
"I couldn't prove it."
"You didn't try."
"If I had accused Marcus without proof, Victor would have buried the evidence and turned the board against me." Damien's voice rose, then fell. "I was trying to protect you, even if I failed. Even if my protection looked like cowardice. Even if you hate me for it."
Aria looked at him. Really looked. For one dangerous second, she remembered the man she had loved before the fall. The way he had looked at her on that beach. The way he had said her name was like a prayer. Then she forced the memory away.
"Your protection cost me three years of my life."
"I know." His hands clenched into fists, then released. "And I will spend the rest of mine trying to earn back even one of them."
She stepped around her desk and stood face to face with him. Close enough to see the red in his eyes. "Marcus touched me. He put his hands on my back and pushed. And you let him keep working here. You let him keep smiling at me. You let him keep holding doors open like he hadn't tried to end my life."
Damien said nothing. His silence was its own confession.
Aria walked to the elevator and pressed the call button.
"Where are you going?"
"Home. To sleep. To think." The doors opened. She stepped inside. "Don't follow me. Don't call me. Don't send anyone to check on me. I need real space. Not the kind you pretend to give while watching from the shadows."
The doors closed between them.
---
The lobby was empty when she reached the ground floor.
Marcus's desk stood abandoned. No grey hair. No kind eyes. No smile that hid a killer's patience. Aria walked past quickly and pushed through the revolving doors. The afternoon sun hit her face, warm and indifferent.
She left her phone off.
The train ride home passed in a blur. She did not look at anyone, speak to anyone, or trust anyone. When she finally reached her apartment, she locked the door behind her. Three locks. Deadbolt. Chain. The flimsy latch that probably would not stop anyone determined.
She sat on her floor with her back against the door. The photograph of Marcus Webb sat on the floor beside her. She picked it up and looked at his face.
Tomorrow, she will go back to that building. She would smile at him. She would nod when he held the door. She would pretend everything was normal.
An
d she would watch him. Wait for him to slip. Wait for him to try again.
Because the only way to catch a predator was to look like prey.
And Aria Collins was done being anyone's victim.
- Writer
