Chapter 11
1053 Words
Chapter Eleven
The black SUV cut through the city streets, weaving past early morning commuters and honking taxis. Sophie sat in the passenger seat beside Lucas, her notepad resting on her lap, her pulse beating a little faster than she wanted to admit.
This was the part where she was supposed to feel in control. She had pushed Lucas into this position—to prove himself, to lay everything bare.
But instead, she felt like she was the one being tested.
She stole a glance at him. He looked relaxed, almost amused, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel while the other adjusted the dial on the car’s touch-screen navigation.
“So,” she said, breaking the silence. “You drive yourself?”
Lucas glanced at her. “You don’t trust me behind the wheel?”
She smirked. “I don’t trust billionaires to do anything they don’t pay someone else for.”
He let out a low chuckle. “I don’t like being chauffeured everywhere. Besides, if I left this to someone else, you’d accuse me of manipulating the route.”
She tilted her head. “Wouldn’t be the craziest thing.”
He didn’t argue, which somehow made her more suspicious.
After another turn, they pulled up to one of his high-rise developments—a gleaming structure of steel and glass, with scaffolding still wrapped around part of the exterior. Cranes loomed overhead, their mechanical arms lifting materials while workers moved below like pieces on a chessboard.
Lucas parked and slid out of the car before Sophie even had her seatbelt off. By the time she stepped out, he was already striding toward the entrance, his presence commanding even in a sea of hard hats and high-visibility vests.
She had to admit—he knew how to move through a space.
A man in a navy-blue construction jacket approached. His name tag read Darren Calloway, Site Foreman. He looked mid-forties, weathered by years of hard labor, but there was something calm and assured about him.
“Boss,” Darren greeted, giving Lucas a nod. “Didn’t know you were coming by today.”
Lucas shook his hand. “Didn’t want a performance. Just here to check in.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes slightly. He was good at this—good at making people feel seen, good at making this visit look like it was routine, not some damage control strategy.
Darren’s gaze flickered to her. “And you are?”
“Sophie Miller, Tribune Journal.” She pulled out her press badge. “I’m here to see if Mr. Blackwell runs his sites the way he claims he does.”
Darren let out a small chuckle. “Well, that depends. You want the real version or the one that makes a good headline?”
Sophie’s stomach tightened slightly, but she kept her expression neutral. “I want the truth.”
Lucas slid his hands into his pockets. “Then give her the truth, Darren.”
Darren studied her for a moment, then motioned for them to follow him deeper into the site.
Inside the Skeleton of Power
The building’s interior was raw, still in its skeletal phase. Exposed steel beams crisscrossed overhead, and the smell of freshly poured concrete mixed with the scent of dust and sawdust.
Workers moved efficiently—welding, securing framework, running electrical lines. Sophie noticed how some of them glanced in Lucas’s direction but didn’t stop what they were doing.
Not fear. Not resentment. Just acknowledgment.
Darren led them past a series of safety inspection notices pinned to a board near a workstation. “We get surprise inspections twice a month. Third-party audits, safety reviews—you name it.”
Sophie scanned the documents. All up to date. No major violations. No pending legal issues.
Darren folded his arms. “Look, I won’t pretend construction is a zero-risk business. Accidents happen. But Blackwell runs a tight ship. We don’t cut corners.”
She frowned. “So why did a worker at one of your other sites tell me otherwise?”
Darren exhaled, scratching the back of his neck. “I won’t speak for other guys, but I can tell you this—some workers get pissed when they don’t like the rules. They think we push too hard, expect too much.” He gestured toward the second floor, where a worker was fastening a beam into place. “But no one’s forced to be here. And the ones who do the job right—they get taken care of.”
Sophie glanced at Lucas, searching for any sign of defensiveness, guilt, hesitation. But he just watched her, letting her process everything.
She hated that.
She hated that it made her question whether she had come here looking for the wrong thing.
Darren’s radio crackled to life—something about a delivery mix-up. He excused himself, leaving Sophie alone with Lucas.
She turned to him. “He could just be saying what you want him to say.”
Lucas tilted his head. “You’re welcome to interview anyone here. If you find someone with a different story, I won’t stop you.”
Sophie’s throat tightened. Because he meant it.
She stepped back, watching the workers, the structure rising around them. Her story was supposed to be clear-cut. It was supposed to be about greed, corruption, negligence.
Instead, it was becoming something messy, complicated.
And then, her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out, expecting a text from her editor. Instead, it was a restricted number.
She frowned and answered. “Hello?”
A beat of silence. Then—
“Stop digging, Miller.”
The voice was low, rough, and unfamiliar.
Her stomach plummeted. “Who is this?”
Click.
The line went dead.
Sophie lowered the phone slowly, her fingers suddenly ice-cold.
Lucas stepped closer, his brow furrowing. “What?”
She hesitated, then looked up at him. “I think someone just threatened me.”
Lucas’s expression darkened, his entire posture changing in an instant—no longer the collected billionaire, no longer the charming businessman.
Now, he looked like a man who was ready for war.
And for the first time, Sophie realized—
Maybe this story was bigger than both of them.
Maybe she wasn’t just chasing the truth.
Maybe she was in over her head.
- Writer
