chapter 3- The Visitor
809 Words
Chapter 3 — The Visitor
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The city lights painted her in silver and shadow, her smile just sharp enough to cut.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, gripping the paperweight so hard my fingers ached.
“Neither should you,” Marissa replied smoothly, tilting her head as if assessing a painting. “At least, not without your security detail.”
“I can handle myself.” I stepped forward, the paperweight hidden behind my leg. “What do you want?”
Her gaze flicked over me, lingering in a way that made my skin prickle. “I wanted to see for myself.”
“See what?”
“Whether the rumors were true.” She moved closer to the glass, her reflection merging with the skyline. “That Lucas Cross has… changed.”
I kept my face blank. “Rumors are cheap.”
“But patterns aren’t.” Her voice was silk over steel. “You missed two quarterly figures today. You adjusted your tie three times during the meeting. And—” she smiled faintly “—you didn’t interrupt Trent Blackwell when he tried to h****k the agenda. Lucas would’ve cut him off before his second sentence.”
I swallowed the urge to look away. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
“Maybe.” Her eyes gleamed. “Or maybe you’re not who you say you are.”
The words landed like a match tossed on dry leaves.
---
Before I could answer, the lights in the hallway flicked on. Ethan appeared, shirt untucked, g*n in hand. His expression went from groggy to lethal in a single heartbeat.
“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice could’ve frozen water.
Marissa didn’t flinch. “Just dropping by to welcome Lucas back to the land of the living.”
“It’s after two in the morning.” He stepped between us, his body angled to shield me. “Next time you want to play hostess, make an appointment.”
She smiled again, slower this time, like she was savoring the tension. “Noted.” Her gaze slid past him to me. “Good night, Lucas.”
I didn’t answer.
---
The door clicked shut behind her, and Ethan locked it twice.
“She knows,” I said, my voice low.
“She suspects,” he corrected, sliding the g*n back into its holster. “Big difference. Suspicions can be managed.”
“She’s cataloging my mistakes, Ethan. That’s not manageable.”
He stepped closer, his expression hard. “Then stop making mistakes.”
Anger flared, hot and sharp. “I’m not him. I never will be.”
“Then learn.”
We stared at each other, the air between us electric. Finally, he turned away, running a hand through his hair. “From now on, you don’t go anywhere alone. Not to the office, not to the store, not even to get the damn mail. If she—or anyone—tries something, I want to be there.”
“You’re making it sound like she’s dangerous.”
He met my eyes again. “Lena… everyone in that boardroom is dangerous. Some just hide it better.”
---
The next morning, I walked into Cross Enterprises with Ethan at my side, every step of my “Lucas” stride drilled into muscle memory from the night before.
But as soon as the elevator doors opened to the executive floor, I felt it—a shift in the air. Conversations dropped. Eyes followed me.
Marissa was leaning against the reception desk, a coffee cup in hand. She smiled as if we were old friends.
“Good morning, Lucas,” she said sweetly. “I thought you might want to join me for lunch. To… catch up.”
Ethan’s hand touched my arm, just enough to be a warning.
“I have a full schedule,” I said, keeping my voice flat.
“Then I’ll clear it for you.” She handed me a sleek black envelope. “You’ll want to read this before you decide.”
I didn’t take it. “What’s inside?”
Her smile sharpened. “Proof.”
---
Back in the office, Ethan took the envelope from me and slid a blade through the seal. Inside was a single photograph.
It was me.
Not Lucas—me. Hair just a little longer, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Walking into a coffee shop three weeks ago.
Ethan swore under his breath. “Where the hell did she get this?”
“She’s not guessing anymore,” I whispered. “She knows.”
He set the photo down and looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Then we need to figure out what she wants… before she decides to tell the rest of the board.”
---
- Writer
