Chapter Six: Watching Eyes
1102 Words
Sofia Pov
For several seconds, I couldn't move. The message remained on my screen. Stay away from the Whitmore family.
The words seemed to burn themselves into my mind. A cold chill crawled down my spine despite the warm evening air. My fingers tightened around my phone. Someone had taken that photograph. Someone had followed me. Someone knew about Caleb.
The realization made my stomach twist. I quickly looked around the crowded sidewalk.
People moved in every direction. Office workers heading home. Couples laughing together. Taxi drivers honking impatiently.
Everything looked normal. Too normal. Which somehow made it worse. Because whoever had sent that message could be standing right here. Watching me. I swallowed hard.
"You're being paranoid," I whispered to myself.
But the words felt hollow. This wasn't paranoia. The photograph was real. The message was real. And whoever sent it knew things they shouldn't know.
I immediately typed a reply. Who is this?
The message was delivered. No response. I waited. Nothing. Again. Nothing. A knot formed in my chest.
Eventually, I slipped the phone back into my purse and started walking. For the first time in years, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following me.
---
By the time I reached home, it was nearly ten. Daniel was waiting. Of course he was.
The moment I stepped through the door, he looked up from the couch.
His smile disappeared instantly. "What happened?"
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
I tried to laugh. The sound came out weak. "I'm fine."
"Liar."
I dropped my purse onto the table. Daniel sat up straighter. The concern in his eyes softened something inside me.
We had spent years taking care of each other. Pretending rarely worked between us.
Slowly, I pulled out my phone. His expression changed as he read the message. Then changed again when he saw the photograph. The room became silent. Neither of us spoke.
Finally, Daniel looked up. "That's not funny."
"I know."
"Did you tell anyone where you were?"
"No."
His jaw tightened. "Then somebody has been following you."
The blunt honesty made my chest tighten.
Because it confirmed the thought I had been trying to avoid.
Daniel stood. "Sofia, maybe you should go to the police."
I immediately shook my head. "And tell them what?" I held up the phone. "A random anonymous message?"
"It's still a threat."
"No."
I looked at the screen again. "It's a warning."
And somehow that felt worse. Much worse. Because warnings came from people who knew things. Things they weren't supposed to know.
---
Sleep didn't come easily that night. Every sound made me open my eyes. Every passing car. Every creak in the building. Every voice outside. By three in the morning, I finally gave up.
I sat on the edge of my bed staring out the window. The city glowed beneath the darkness. Endless lights stretching toward the horizon.
Usually, I found comfort in the view. Tonight I didn't. Tonight all I could think about was Caleb. The realization irritated me immediately. Of all the things happening right now, why was I thinking about him?
Because the message mentioned his family. Because his father's name was all over those documents. Because somehow my life had become tangled with his.
I stood and walked toward my desk. The case files sat exactly where I left them. For a long moment, I simply stared at them. Then I opened my laptop. Within seconds, I was searching. Richard Whitmore. Whitmore Holdings. Blackridge. Baxter Development. Anything. Everything.
Most of the results were predictable. Business achievements. Political donations. Award ceremonies. Corporate success stories.
The image of a perfect empire. But perfection always hid something. It had to.
Nobody became that powerful without leaving scars behind.
Then something caught my attention. A newspaper article. Twelve years old. Archived. Almost impossible to find.
I clicked it. The page loaded slowly. My heartbeat accelerated. The headline appeared.
BLACKRIDGE MINE COLLAPSE CLAIMS TWELVE LIVES
I sat upright. Blackridge. The same name from the documents. The article was brief. Too brief. Almost suspiciously brief. Twelve workers dead. Investigation closed. No criminal charges. No responsible parties identified. Case resolved.
My eyes narrowed. That wasn't normal. Twelve deaths should have generated hundreds of articles. Months of investigations. Public outrage. Yet this felt buried. Forgotten. Hidden. I continued reading.
Then I froze. One sentence stood out. The mine was jointly funded by Baxter Industries and Whitmore Holdings.
The room suddenly felt smaller. My pulse hammered against my ribs. Whitmore. Again. Always Whitmore.
I leaned back slowly. Something was very wrong. And for the first time, I wasn't sure the Baxter case was really about property development anymore. Maybe it never had been.
---
The next morning arrived far too quickly. I arrived at the office carrying more questions than answers.
Maria immediately noticed. "You look terrible."
"Thanks."
She laughed softly. Then her smile faded.
"What's wrong?"
For a moment, I considered telling her everything. The message. The photograph. The article. The fear.
Instead, I handed her the Blackridge report. Five minutes later, she looked just as concerned as I felt.
"I remember this."
I blinked. "What?"
Maria's expression darkened. "I was a young attorney when it happened."
My heart skipped. "You know about Blackridge?"
"A little."
That wasn't the answer I wanted. I moved closer. "What happened?"
Maria hesitated. A long hesitation. The kind people make when deciding whether to reveal something dangerous.
Finally, she spoke. "People believed the collapse wasn't an accident."
The room went silent.
"What do you mean?"
"There were rumors."
"Rumors of what?"
Maria lowered her voice. "A cover-up."
My stomach dropped. Before I could ask another question, someone knocked on the office door. A volunteer stepped inside.
"Nina from reception asked me to get you."
Maria frowned. "Why?"
The young woman looked confused. "Someone's here asking for Sofia."
Every muscle in my body tightened. "Who?"
"I don't know."
A strange feeling settled over me. The same feeling I had yesterday. The feeling that something was about to change. I followed the volunteer toward reception.
The closer I got, the faster my heartbeat became. Then I saw him. Standing near the front desk. Tall. Dark suit. Hands in his pockets. Caleb.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His eyes found mine immediately. And something in his expression made my pulse stumble. Because he didn't look like the confident man from the coffee shop. He looked worried. Very worried. As if he'd spent the entire night searching for answers.
And somehow...
I knew he hadn't come here by accident.
- Writer
