Chapter 9: Secrets Behind Glass
525 Words
Lena couldn’t sleep.
The message on her phone kept flashing in her mind like a warning beacon. Who had sent it? Victor? Someone from her past? Or someone who knew about the contract?
She paced the length of her studio, the walls closing in with every passing second. Her instincts screamed not to show Damien. Not yet. If she panicked, it would give the sender power.
So instead, she dug.
---
By morning, Lena was seated across from Genevieve at a quiet café in Midtown. Disguised in sunglasses and a trench coat, she leaned in and slid her phone across the table.
“This came last night.”
Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “Anonymous?”
“Yes. And they used my maiden name.”
Genevieve frowned. “That narrows the list.”
“I want to know who’s watching me. I need your help.”
Genevieve didn’t answer right away. Then: “You’re not just playing the role anymore, are you?”
Lena hesitated. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But someone’s trying to spook me, and I want the truth before Damien finds out.”
Genevieve nodded. “I’ll have my people trace the number.”
---
Back at the mansion, Lena returned to the study, hoping to distract herself with work. But as she approached the heavy oak doors, she heard voices.
One was Damien’s.
The other was low, sharp, unmistakably Victor Dane.
“…She’s dangerous,” Victor was saying. “She’s not one of us, Damien. She’s going to ruin you.”
“She’s my wife,” Damien replied. Cold. Defiant.
“Temporary. She’s still a Hart. Her father’s collapse cost this company millions. You think the board will forget that?”
A pause.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re slipping.”
Another pause.
Then Damien: “Get out of my house.”
---
Lena stepped away before they could see her.
Her heart pounded.
Victor was trying to turn the board against Damien—and her.
And Damien, for all his power, was choosing to protect her.
Not for show.
Not for the contract.
But because he *wanted* to.
---
That night, Damien found her on the balcony, sipping wine under a moonless sky.
“Did you know Victor came to me at the café two years ago?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “No.”
“He offered to buy what was left of Hart Publishing. For pennies.”
Damien leaned on the railing beside her. “Sounds like him.”
“I turned him down.”
“You didn’t want to sell your father’s name.”
She nodded.
He looked at her, a little softer. “I never wanted your company, Lena. Just you.”
Her breath caught. “You didn’t even know me.”
“I knew enough. That you didn’t break, even when the world gave you every reason to.”
They stood in silence, the wind curling around them like a whisper.
Then she asked, “Are you still playing your role?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t know anymore,” he said finally.
Neither did she.
- Writer
