The Unknown Secret

Chapter 3

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*Chapter 3: The Man Who Should Be Dead*

Marcus didn’t sleep.

I knew because every time I paused typing, I could hear him breathing. Steady. Controlled. Like a man trained to stay alert while the world burned.

By 4:30 AM, Chapter 2 hit 1000 words. I hit submit. “Under review” popped up. Stary’s AI judging my life choices.

“Done?” Marcus asked. He hadn’t moved from that chair in 2 hours.

“Done,” I said. My eyes burned. “Why are you still here? If Daniel’s dead, case closed, right?”

Marcus laughed. No humor in it. “If I left every time a case was ‘closed’, Lagos PD would fire me.” He pulled the file closer. Daniel’s photo stared up at me. “This murder? Never reported. Nobody. No case number. Only you and I know Daniel Wright is dead.”

My stomach dropped. “What do you mean ‘no body’?”

“I mean the body in your book,” he said, tapping Chapter 1 on my screen, “is the only record of his death. Official files say Daniel Wright is alive. Living in London. Posting selfies with his new wife.”

The room went silent except for the hum of my laptop.

I pulled up i********: on my phone. Daniel’s account. Last post: 6 hours ago. Him, tanned, holding coffee in London. Caption: _New chapter, new city ☕️ #blessed_

But I’d written him dead 3 nights ago. Before that post.

Marcus saw my face. “Yeah. That’s the problem.” He leaned forward, elbows on my table. Close enough that I could see the scar cutting through his left eyebrow. “So tell me, Ms. Desire. Are you writing fiction… or confession?”

My phone buzzed again. Same unknown number. Same D.

_Chapter 3 better be good. Or I write the ending for you._

I dropped the phone. Marcus caught it mid-air. His fingers brushed mine. Cold. But his eyes were warm when they met mine.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t read messages from dead men.”

“He’s not dead,” I whispered. “If he’s posting…”

“Then someone’s wearing his face,” Marcus cut in. He stood up, went to my window, pulled the curtain 1 inch. Street below. Empty. Except for one black SUV. Engine off. No plates.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”

“I can’t,” I said. “Stary requires 8 updates per month for contract. If I miss a day, I start over.”

Marcus turned slowly. Like I’d said something insane. Maybe I had. “Ms. Desire. There’s a man outside who wants to kill you. And you’re worried about a writing contract?”

“Yes,” I said. “Because contracts mean readers. Readers mean exposure. Exposure means if I disappear, 10,000 people will ask where the next chapter is.”

He stared at me. Then he did something I didn’t expect. He smiled. Small. Real. “You’re crazy,” he said. “I like crazy.”

Gunshot.

Glass exploded behind me. Marcus moved faster than thought. He tackled me to the floor. His body covered mine. I felt his heart hammering against my ribs.

“Stay down,” he growled in my ear.

Another shot. Then another. The SUV peeled away, tires screaming.

Marcus rolled off me, gun already in his hand. He crawled to the window. Peered out. “Gone.”

I sat up, shaking. There was a bullet hole in my laptop screen. Right through the Stary logo.

Marcus looked at the hole. Then at me. “Still want that contract?”

I looked at the hole. Then at him. My fingers were already typing on my phone. New notes app.

_Chapter 3, word 1: Detective Hale lied. He wasn’t here to arrest me. He was here to die for me..._

Marcus caught me typing. “You’re writing this down? Right now?”

“If I die,” I said, not looking up, “at least the story survives.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then he sighed, pulled his chair back to my table, and sat down. “Fine. Write. But change my name in the story. Hale’s boring. Call me… Shadow.”

“Shadow?” I raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged, that scar twitching. “All good detectives have nicknames. And all good stories need a man who’ll take a bullet for the girl.”

Outside, the SUV circled the block again. Headlights still off.

Marcus loaded his gun. Click. Click. “Chapter 4 better explain who D is,” he said. “Because I’m running out of patience… and bullets.”

I smiled despite everything. “Chapter 4,” I said, “is where you kiss me.”

His hand paused on the gun. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said, typing faster. “Readers love tension. Will-he-won’t-he. Cop + writer, trapped in an apartment, bad guys outside…”

Marcus stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Then he leaned back, arms crossed. “Write it,” he said finally. “But if it’s cringe, I’m deleting it.”

Challenge accepted, Detective.

*To be continued…*