Dangerously His

Chapter 005

Emily

Standing in front of my bathroom mirror, I applied a soft, neutral shade of lipstick. Nothing that would draw unnecessary attention.

My eyes drifted to the small velvet box on the counter. I'd left the necklace there since the night Mr. Rivers gave it to me, taking it out to look at it more than once, putting it back every time. Wearing it felt like it would mean something — or worse, that he'd think it meant something. But it was a birthday gift from my boss, nothing more, and refusing to wear it out of fear of what people might assume felt more foolish than just putting it on.

I lifted the chain, fastened it at the back of my neck, and let the small E.V. pendant settle against my collarbone. A little appreciation, that was all this was.

I tied my dark hair into my usual neat bun and smoothed down a few loose strands. After straightening the lapels of my charcoal blazer, I picked up my bag and took one last look at myself.

Everything looked normal and exactly the way it was supposed to.

I left my apartment, ready for another normal day as Emily Vance.

The morning air was cool as I walked to the coffee shop near my apartment. The streets were already busy — people rushing to work, cars moving slowly through traffic, the occasional horn breaking through the morning noise.

I pulled out my phone while waiting to cross the street. Three unread emails and two missed calls from an unknown number. Probably spam, or a misplaced client from work. I locked the screen and slipped it back into my bag.

Then, as I waited for the light to change, someone walked past me. A familiar scent caught my attention. I froze for half a second. I couldn't place where I knew it from, but something about it felt familiar. A tall man in a dark coat brushed past me, his shoulder grazing mine.

I turned slightly. Maybe it was just a cologne I'd smelled before somewhere. I watched him for a few seconds as he continued down the street, his face hidden in the crowd, and before I could get a proper look, he was gone.

It doesn't matter.

I shook my head and kept walking. Still, something felt different that morning. I couldn't explain it, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching me. I glanced over my shoulder.

Nothing. Just people walking, cars passing, the usual rush.

I forced myself to relax and continued toward the coffee shop. You're fine, Emily. I repeated it silently as I pushed open the glass door.

Mr. Rivers was already at his desk when I brought in the morning briefing, and he looked up before I'd even set the folder down.

"That's new," he said, nodding toward my collarbone.

I touched the pendant without meaning to. "Oh — the necklace. I thought I'd actually wear it for once."

"Good." Something almost satisfied crossed his face, there and gone. "It suits you. Brings out your eyes."

I felt heat rise up my neck and hoped it wasn't visible. "Thank you... sir."

"You're welcome." He held my gaze a moment longer than the comment required. I didn't have a response ready for that, so I busied myself setting the folder down instead. "The Hartley numbers are in. Legal signed off on the revised clause."

"Good." He accepted the shift back to business easily, though the corner of his mouth hadn't fully settled. "Anything else on today?"

"Just the two o'clock with the board. I'll have the projector set up early this time, since last week's delay wasn't exactly a good look."

"Wasn't your fault. IT's, entirely." He almost smiled. "Don't let them push that onto you again."

"Noted, sir."

"Emily." He said it plainly, no title after it, and something about hearing just my name made me pause halfway to the door. "You've seemed distracted the past few days. Everything alright?"

I hesitated a beat too long before answering. "Just a long week. I'm fine."

He studied me for a moment — not with pity, not quite with concern either, something more careful than both. "Don't burn yourself out. I don't intend to train your replacement."

"You won't have to, sir."

A faint smile touched his lips before he returned to his screen. I gave a small nod and left his office, my pulse taking longer than it should have to settle.

The rest of the morning disappeared into emails and meetings. By afternoon, the strange feeling from earlier had faded beneath the weight of my usual workload.

I stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, reviewing a report, when something outside caught my attention.

A man in a dark coat, similar to the one I'd seen that morning, stood near the plaza below. My eyes narrowed. He stood completely still, looking up toward the building.

Toward my floor.

I blinked. He was already gone.

I stared at the plaza for another few seconds, trying to find him again among the crowd below.

"You're imagining things now," I muttered, and let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "I need to stop drinking so much coffee."

I turned away from the window and went back to work.

I got home tired and worn thin. All I wanted was to take off my shoes, make something quick for dinner, and go to bed.

I walked down the hallway toward my apartment, already thinking about the quiet evening ahead. Then I stopped.

A small cardboard package sat directly in front of my door.

I wasn't expecting any packages that day. There was no shipping label, no return address — only my name, roughly etched across the top in black ink.

Emily Vance.

I looked down the hallway, wondering if I could still catch whoever had left it. Nothing but empty carpet and closed doors.

I picked up the package, unlocked my door, and stepped inside. After locking it behind me, I set the box on the kitchen counter. My hands felt slightly unsteady, though I couldn't have said why yet.

I stared at it a moment before opening it.

A few photographs slipped out and scattered across the counter. I picked up the first one.

It was me, leaving my apartment that morning.

My stomach dropped. I picked up another — me getting coffee. Another — me entering Rivers Enterprises. Another — me sitting inside my own apartment, three nights earlier, curtains open, completely unaware.

I stared at them, barely breathing, my mind refusing to catch up with what my hands already understood.

Someone had been watching me for days. Maybe longer. Is this some sort of prank?

My fingers tightened around the photograph until the edges bent. A stalker. It had to be. I looked toward the windows — the curtains were drawn, but suddenly that didn't feel like enough. I crossed the room and checked the lock on the door a second time, my heart slamming hard enough that I could hear it in my own ears.

Then I turned back to the box. One final photograph sat at the bottom, older than the rest. Worn at the edges in a way the others weren't.

My whole body went still.

It was a photograph of me as a child, standing outside the house I had spent ten years trying to erase from existence — the house I had burned to the ground with my own hands.

I stared at it, and the room seemed to tilt slightly beneath me. I felt the blood drain out of my face, my skin going cold and clammy despite the warmth of the apartment. My legs didn't feel entirely mine anymore.

It's not possible. It can't be. That house doesn't exist. They don't exist. I made sure of that.

My fingers had gone numb. Slowly, unwillingly, I turned the photograph over.

There was a message written across the back, four words that undid ten years of careful architecture in a single breath.

Hello, sister? ♥