The Trap
1092 Words
The building went into lockdown within seconds. Security guards were rushing and appeared on every floor.
All the elevators stopped running, and employees were instructed to remain inside their offices.
And somehow, I was the person everyone was looking at. “Someone accessed the server using your credentials,” Damien said.
“I didn’t.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I need to understand how they did it.”
I folded my arms. “You believe me?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice caught me off guard.
“Why?”
“Because if you were betraying me, you wouldn’t be standing here arguing.”
“Maybe I’m a good liar.”
His eyes held mine. “You are.”
Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist.
“But not that good.”
He walked toward the security monitor. “Show me the access log.”
The security chief pulled it up.
My employee ID.
My office.
Two-thirteen a.m.
I stared at the screen. “I was asleep.”
“I know.”
“Then someone cloned my credentials.”
“Exactly.”
Damien looked at the security chief. “Find out who.”
He nodded.
Then the lights went out, the room went completely black. My heart dropped when I heard a sharp movement.
“Damien?”
A hand caught mine. “Stay close.”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
After a moment, a red emergency light flickered on. I heard something crash somewhere down the hall.
Damien pulled me behind him. “Don’t move.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I know.” He looked back.
“I’m still not letting you out of my sight.”
Footsteps echoed outside, then stopped.
Damien’s security team rushed into the room.
“Sir!”
“Search the floor.”
They disappeared.
I looked at Damien. “What’s happening?”
“Someone wanted us distracted.”
“From what?”
He looked toward the monitor. The screen had come back on. A single file was opened.
PROJECT NIGHTFALL.
I stepped closer. I saw my father’s name appear.
Then Damien’s.
Then mine.
My blood ran cold.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said you didn’t know.”
“I don’t.” He clicked the next page.
A list of dates appeared.
At the bottom was today’s date.
And a time.
11:45 P.M.
“What happens then?”
Damien stared at it. “I don’t know.”
I looked at the clock. It was 10:58 p.m. Less than an hour.
“Maybe we should leave.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever created this wants us to.”
He looked at me. “And I’m done running.”
I paced back and forth in a dark room where I could only see him, trying to make sense of it, but he wouldn't listen.
At 11:32 p.m., Damien and I were standing in the underground parking garage. The security team had searched the building twice.
Nothing.
No intruder.
No bomb.
No sign of anyone.
Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.
“Are you sure this is smart?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
He almost smiled.
“You’re becoming a bad influence.”
“Maybe you needed one.”
“Maybe.”
He looked at me.
The tension between us returned.
Even here.
Even now.
“Seraphina.”
“What?”
“If something happens…”
“Nothing is going to happen.”
“Listen to me.”
His voice was serious.
“If something happens, you run.”
“No.”
“That’s an order.”
“I’m done following your orders.”
He stepped closer.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then his hand settled against my cheek. “I don’t want to lose you.”
My breath caught; a few days ago, the very man who had been keen on finding what I was hiding was now standing in front of me and saying things I never wanted to hear.
“Damien…”
He leaned down. His forehead rested against mine.
“I should never have let you get this close.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
His eyes closed. “Now I don’t know how to let you go.”
My heart pounded. I reached up and touched his face.
His lips slowly brushed mine, then it turned into a kiss, and I shoved all my thoughts about why I shouldn't be doing it into the back of my mind.
He kissed me,
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like he was afraid the moment would disappear. I kissed him back.
For a few seconds, everything else disappeared.
Then—
A loud metallic crash echoed through the garage. Damien pulled away.
He turned toward the sound. “Stay behind me.”
A car's engine roared. Headlights appeared around the corner.
A black SUV accelerated directly toward us.
“Run!”
Damien grabbed my hand.
We moved.
The SUV swerved.
I stumbled.
Damien shoved me out of the way. The vehicle slammed into a concrete pillar.
Glass pieces shattered all over the place. Smoke filled the garage.
“Damien!” I turned.
My heart stopped for a moment when I saw him on the ground.
I ran toward him. “Damien!”
He didn’t move.
Blood was spreading across his shirt. I dropped to my knees beside him.
“Look at me.”
Nothing.
“Damien, please.”
His eyes opened slowly.
He looked at me. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.”
A faint smile appeared. “You worry too much.”
Tears burned my eyes. “You scared me.”
His hand found mine. “I’m sorry.”
I squeezed his fingers. “Don’t do that again.”
His eyes stayed on mine. And in that moment, with blood on his shirt and my hand in his, I realized something terrifying.
I didn’t care anymore whether Damien Blackwood was innocent.
I cared whether he lived.
Behind us, the SUV’s passenger door slowly opened.
A man stepped out. He looked directly at me.
Then smiled. “Hello, Seraphina.”
I froze.
Because I knew him. He was the man from the photograph.
My father’s old friend. The man Damien had claimed was dead.
And he was holding a gun.
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