CHAPTER TWO
1573 Words
“Red Flags And Silver Tongues”
KAIYA'S POV
My ride arrived a few minutes later.
Now that I was seated at the back of the cab I couldn't help but stare at the message on my phone's screen.
Unknown number:
“Careful, Kaiya. You're not the only one watching him.”
The message just sat there like a knife being held to my throat. There was no name. No emojis. Just the perfect kind of vague threat designed to keep me up all night.
Too late. I was already sleepless.
The lights that adorned the city blurred past the window, and my reflection in the glass looked as wrecked as I felt. The lipstick I applied earlier for the dinner was now smudged, my pupils were still dilated from whatever the hell Caius Virelli had pulled back there at his penthouse.
I'd sat across from a man who knew how to weaponize silence and flirtation in the same breath. He poured wine like it was foreplay and made lies taste like velvet.
I hated him yet I wanted more.
What the hell was wrong with me.
God, I was in trouble.
There was only one place I always ran to when I got into any sort of trouble. Kiley's.
________________________
By the time I reached my sister's apartment in Brooklyn, my nerves were raw. Kiley opened the door wearing an oversized hoodie and a look that said you better not have done something stupid.
I walked in, dropped my coat, and handed her my phone.
She read the message blinking repeatedly.
“Who the hell sent this?” she asked.
“That's what I want to know.”
She stepped back and shut the door with a little more force than necessary. “Start talking.”
And I did exactly that. From the black envelope to the wine, to the veiled threats, the smirk that made my brain static, and the message that now lived rent free in my mind.
Kiley listened, arms folded, eyes sharp. She didn't interrupt my narration once till I was finally done.
“You think it was him?”
“No,” I said quietly. “It's not his style. Caius doesn't warn. He manipulates. He lures. If he wanted to threaten me, I'd be face-down in a lawsuit or bleeding reputation.”
“So who else would warn you about him?” Kiley asked me, while pacing back and forth.
I shrugged. “I don't know, someone on the inside, maybe. Or someone who wants me to dig deeper.”
She gave me a hard look before asking, “And are you going to dig deeper?”
I hesitated.
“I don't know.”
“Bullshit,” Kiley snapped. “You do know. You always know. You chase stories like they're oxygens you need in order to survive, and this one's pure adrenaline. Just tell me do you want him?”
My breath caught.
“Professionally?” I asked, my voice coming out more breathy than I wanted it to.
Kiley let out a small laugh that sounded bitter because she knew that I was stubborn as hell when my mind is made up.
“Sure. Let's pretend this is what this is,” she said.
I turned away and dropped onto her couch, my head sinking into her pillows. “I don't know what this is. He's dangerous. Kiley.”
“Then walk away.”
I stared blankly at the ceiling.
“I don't want to.”
__________________________
The next morning, I woke up to a dozen missed calls and three different news alerts. One of them made me sit up so fast that I got dizzy.
Virelli Global’s East Africa eco-project has been indefinitely paused, following the allegations raised in Kaiya Everhart’s exposé.
What the…..
I scrolled down. There was no comments from Virelli. No press release. Just whispers and damage control and an empire twitching under pressure.
I was supposed to be elated after all this was my aim but on the contrary my stomach did somersaults and I felt uneasy.
Was this his response? Not a public denial, not a legal war but a silent, brutal reshuffle behind closed doors?
But why did this move of his prickle my skin with more heat than fear?
_________________________
“Are you high?” Sage asked, when I finally called her back. “You went to his dinner, disappeared for hours, then ghosted me. Girl, blink twice if you've been kidnapped.”
“I'm fine,” I murmured, while sipping coffee on Kiley's tiny balcony.
“Liar. I know that post-scandal voice. That's your ‘i just danced with the devil and I liked it' tone.”
I didn't respond. Because maybe she wasn't wrong.
“Okay, spill how was it ?” Sage asked.
“Like negotiating with a loaded gun, but dressed in Tom Ford.”
“That's hot,” she gushed.
“No. It was terrifying,” I countered.
“Hot and terrifying. So, you going to see him again?”
I was about to say no.
I really was.
But the words didn't come. Instead, I told her we'll talk later and hung up before she could say anything else.
_______________________
I returned to my apartment that afternoon and found something waiting at my door.
Another envelope.
There was no stamp or name on it. Just a black envelope with a silver wax seal.
My breathing became heavy as I bent down to pick it up, heart thudding like a warning bell in my chest. I already knew that it would say something provocative. Something subtle. Something that would ruin my sleep again.
But I opened it anyway.
Inside was a hand written note.
“Curiosity looks good on you. –C.V.”
No meeting time. No address. Just that one line sentence in ink that looked like he had had a smirk plastered on his face while writing it.
I should have torn it up.
Instead, I folded it neatly and slid it into my desk drawer.
______________________
That night I sat in my bed staring at my laptop, trying to write another article, another takedown. Something to remind myself of who I was. But Caius Virelli was in every sentence, haunting the blank spaces.
I didn't hear the ping from an incoming message until it had been sitting there for over a minute before I noticed it.
Encrypted chat app (Anonymous invite):
I know what Virelli's hiding. You're not the only one digging, Everhart.
A chill washed over me.
I typed back.
Me:
Then show yourself.
Three dots were pulsing indicating that he/she was typing.
Unknown:
Not yet. You'll know me when it matters. Just know this– he's not what you think. But he's not lying, either.
Me:
That clears up nothing.
Unknown:
Good. You're learning.
Check the last page of the report you published. You missed something.
The message vanished.
Gone.
With no trail or a way to trace it back to the sender.
My hands trembled as I opened the folder on my laptop. The report I'd written on the eco-project was airtight– or so I thought. There were dozens of files, scanned invoices, bank records, fake NGO credentials.
Then I opened the PDF and scrolled down to the end.
The last page now had a memo I didn't remember attaching. It was dated two days ago.
From someone named S.R.
Addressed to Virelli Legal.
Subject line: “Containment strategy– Kaiya Everhart.”
My heart was pounding in my chest as I stared at it.
Someone had added this after I'd submitted the article.
A set up?
A warning?
Or worse– a leak from inside my own team.
I reread the initials of the name above.
S.R.
Sage Reed?
No.
My best friend. My ride-or-die. She wouldn't– she couldn't…..
My phone buzzed again.
This time, a real name was displayed on the screen.
Caius Virelli.
Why was he calling me now? I asked myself.
I stared at the screen, chest heaving.
Answering meant stepping deeper into whatever this was.
But on the other hand ignoring him also would mean giving him the power to decide what came next.
And all of a sudden neither of those options felt safe.
I let it ring for a bit then I picked up.
“Hello?” His voice was soft.
“Something tells me you've found the memo.”
I froze. “You planted it?”
“No,” he said, with that damned smile in his tone. “But I knew someone would.”
There was a brief silence as I tried to recollect my thoughts.
“Who's S.R.?” I whispered.
Caius paused just long enough for the dread in my heart to bloom.
“I think you already know,” he said smoothly. “You trust her. But she has already sold you out.”
My chest tightened instantly at his words. “That's a lie.”
“Then check her browser history. You'll find the upload trail leads to her IP. And Everhart…..”
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
“She didn't do it for me.”
My blood turned turned to ice.
Before I could speak, the line went dead.
Almost at the same time my phone chimed with a new notification.
Sage Reed just shared a folder with you:
“Emergency– DO NOT OPEN HERE.”
- Writer
