Chapter Five: Velvet Cages and Broken Glass
783 Words
Adaya hadn’t slept.
Her penthouse apartment in Willowgreen had never felt so spacious, so suffocating. The silence stretched across the marble floors and up the glass walls, wrapping around her like a velvet noose. She stood at the window, arms crossed, her reflection pale in the early morning light.
The message from Salvatore still sat unread in her inbox, its preview teasing her mind.
> Brandon isn’t your past anymore. He’s your present threat.
She hadn’t responded.
Partly because it terrified her how much those words felt like a warning carved in stone, and partly because deep down… she already knew it.
There’d been the odd feeling lately—doors that weren’t exactly how she left them. A glint in the mirror like a shadow just slipping out of frame. She’d written it off as paranoia.
But Brandon had always been good at lingering in corners no one checked.
Her intercom buzzed at exactly 9:57 AM.
She hadn’t even dressed yet.
“Shantel!” she shouted.
Her assistant popped in from the guest room, brushing toast crumbs off her blouse. “Tell me it’s not who I think it is.”
“It’s him.”
Shantel grinned. “Well. I guess it's finally getting interesting again.”
Adaya narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound excited?”
“Because you’re dressing for someone other than a boardroom or your mother.”
She slammed the door as Shantel disappeared into her room.
Ten minutes later, she stepped into the living room wearing a white pantsuit with silver accents and her mother’s antique sapphire pendant. Her hair swept up like royalty, her expression steel.
Salvatore Blackwood was waiting in the lobby, his back to the entrance, speaking to someone on his phone. When he turned around, he didn’t smile. He only looked at her like he already knew what she sounded like when she broke.
“I hope you’re not one of those men who show up uninvited,” she said as they stepped into the elevator.
“I never show up without reason,” he said, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve.
She eyed the small box in his hand.
“What’s that?”
He handed it to her without hesitation. “A precaution.”
Inside was a custom-crafted pendant—sleek, subtle.
“What’s the catch?”
He leaned in, voice low. “It has a tracker, and an emergency mic. If something happens, I’ll know.”
She stared at it. “Is that how you treat all your business partners?”
“No,” he said. “Just the ones who get death threats wrapped in roses.”
She inhaled sharply. He knew.
“Did Romeo hack my security again?” she asked, placing the pendant around her neck anyway.
“Romeo doesn’t need to hack anything you leave unlocked.”
That annoyed her more than it should have. She didn’t like feeling exposed—even less so by a man who always looked like he already had the next five moves planned.
When they entered her office at Alaster Logistics, her team stood awkwardly, unsure whether to bow to the god of dark suits beside her or run for HR.
Salvatore ignored them.
In the privacy of her glass-walled boardroom, he laid out what he called Options.
Photos. Names. Faces. Known associates of Brandon’s recently resurfaced “business ventures”—a cleaner’s van tied to a cartel, an ex-lawyer-turned-fixer for criminals in Melbourne, a fake nonprofit registered in her name without her knowledge.
“What is all this?” she asked, flipping through documents.
“Brandon’s building a new life. One that looks a lot like a setup to ruin you.”
Her heart thundered, fingers tightening on the edge of the folder.
“He’s still obsessed,” she whispered.
“Obsessed and backed by people who don’t want you sitting at this table.”
She looked at Salvatore. “And you? Why do you care?”
He didn’t blink.
“Because I like women who don’t break when the world gives them every reason to.”
Their eyes locked.
And that was when the boardroom glass shattered.
A single bullet punched through the panel behind her. She hit the floor instinctively, shards raining down like hail.
Salvatore had his weapon out before the second shot echoed.
Shantel burst in, screaming. “Security saw a man on the rooftop—he’s gone!”
Salvatore pulled Adaya to her feet, checking her for injuries. “Are you hit?”
“No.” Her breath caught. “But that shot was for me.”
And it was.
The pendant. The threats. The timing.
This wasn’t just intimidation anymore.
This was war.
- Writer
