The Dictation

Seven O’Clock

Belinda didn't go home.

She couldn't. Her apartment felt wrong now. Exposed. Someone had been watching her there. Someone had files labeled with her name and her address.

She walked the streets instead. The city was cold. The wind cut through her red dress. She hadn't brought a coat. She hadn't brought anything except her phone and the clothes on her back.

Her phone buzzed again.

She almost didn't look. But her thumb moved on its own.

Unknown number: Going somewhere, Miss Sparks?

She stopped walking. Looked around. The street was empty. The buildings were dark. But somewhere, someone was watching.

She typed back: What do you want?

The response came immediately. Everything.

Another buzz. Meet me tomorrow. Seven o'clock. The coffee shop on Fifth and Main. Come alone.

Belinda: Why would I do that?

Unknown: Because if you don't, I release everything. The notes. The recordings. The photos from tonight. Everyone will know what you did on his couch.

Her blood turned to ice.

Unknown: Seven o'clock, Miss Sparks. Don't be late.

The messages stopped.

Belinda stood on the sidewalk, shaking, her phone clutched against her chest. Someone had recordings. Someone had photos. Someone had been in Lucas's bedroom, watching them, capturing everything.

She should call Lucas. She should tell him about the messages, about the meeting, about everything.

But he had told her to go. He had turned his back on her. He had made it clear that she was not welcome.

She shoved her phone into her pocket and kept walking.

The night was long.

Belinda found a twenty-four hour diner and sat in a booth at the back. She ordered coffee she didn't drink. She watched the door. She waited for someone to come for her.

No one came.

At six in the morning, she walked home. Her building was quiet. Her apartment was dark. She checked every room, every closet, every shadow.

Empty.

She sat on her couch and stared at the wall.

Seven o'clock. The coffee shop on Fifth and Main. Come alone.

She had nine hours.

She spent the morning in a fog. She showered. She dressed in plain clothes. Jeans. A sweater. Sneakers. Nothing that would draw attention.

She didn't go to work. She couldn't face Lucas. Not after last night. Not after the way he had looked at her, cold and distant, like she was a stranger.

Her phone buzzed at noon.

Not the unknown number. Lucas.

Lucas: Where are you?

She stared at the screen. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to type everything, the messages, the meeting, the fear that had been gnawing at her all night.

But she didn't.

Belinda: I'm sick. Not coming in today.

Lucas: You're lying.

Belinda: I'm not.

Lucas: You are. I can always tell when you're lying. Your voice changes. Your eyes shift. You won't look at me.

She almost smiled. He knew her. Even after one night, he knew her.

Belinda: I'll see you tomorrow.

Lucas: Belinda.

She set down her phone. She couldn't answer. If she answered, she would tell him everything. And if she told him everything, he would try to stop her.

She couldn't let him stop her.

This was her problem. Her mess. Her anonymous watcher.

She had to fix it alone.

At six thirty, Belinda stood outside the coffee shop on Fifth and Main.

The street was busy. People walked past her, oblivious, wrapped in their own lives. A mother pushed a stroller. A businessman talked on his phone. A teenager skateboarded down the sidewalk.

Normal. Safe. Public.

She had chosen this location because it was public. Because whoever was watching her couldn't hurt her here. Not with witnesses.

At six fifty, she walked inside.

The coffee shop was small. Warm. Smelling like cinnamon and espresso. A few scattered customers sat at tables, typing on laptops or reading books.

She chose a table in the center. Visible. Not trapped in a corner.

She ordered a coffee. She waited.

The door opened at seven o'clock exactly.

Belinda looked up.

A woman walked in. Dark hair. Gray blazer. Late twenties. Unremarkable. The kind of face you would pass on the street and never remember.

But her eyes were sharp. Assessing. The same way Lucas had looked at Belinda on her first day.

The woman walked to Belinda's table. Sat down across from her.

"Miss Sparks," the woman said. "Thank you for coming."

"Who are you?"

"My name doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

The woman smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "You can call me Jane."

"Jane what?"

"Just Jane."

Belinda's hands were wrapped around her coffee cup. She squeezed it to keep them from shaking.

"You've been watching me," Belinda said. "You left the note on my keyboard. You sent the messages. You took photos of me and Lucas."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Jane leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms. Her expression was calm. Too calm.

"Because I work for Elena Vance," Jane said.

Belinda's blood ran cold. Elena Vance. The name was familiar. She had seen it on internal memos, on organizational charts, on the door of the corner office on the fiftieth floor.

Elena Vance was the Chief Operating Officer of Sterling and Rhodes. Lucas's boss. One of the most powerful women in the company.

"What does Elena Vance want with me?" Belinda asked.

Jane smiled again. That cold, empty smile.

"She wants you to ruin Lucas Alejandro."

Belinda stared at her. "What?"

"Elena has been trying to get rid of Lucas for years. He's too independent. Too powerful. He doesn't play by her rules." Jane leaned forward. "You're the tool she's been looking for. A beautiful woman. A office affair. A scandal that will destroy his reputation."

"I won't do it."

"You already have." Jane pulled out her phone. Swiped to a photo. Turned the screen toward Belinda.

The photo was of Belinda and Lucas. Kissing. In his office. The blinds were half open. Anyone could have seen.

"This is just one," Jane said. "I have dozens. And the recordings. And the notes you wrote him. The ones that say exactly what you wanted him to do to you."

Belinda's stomach turned to acid.

"Elena wants you to go to human resources," Jane continued. "File a complaint. Say Lucas pressured you into a s****l relationship. Say he threatened to fire you if you refused."

"I won't lie."

"You won't have to. You just won't tell the whole truth." Jane set down her phone. "Do this, and we destroy Lucas. We take his job, his reputation, everything he's built. And you walk away clean."

"And if I refuse?"

Jane's smile disappeared. Her eyes went cold.

"Then we destroy you instead. We release everything. The photos. The recordings. The notes. You'll never work in this industry again. You'll be a joke. A cautionary tale. The temp who tried to sleep her way to the top."

Belinda's hands were shaking. She couldn't stop them.

"I need to think," she said.

"You have twenty-four hours." Jane stood up. She straightened her gray blazer. "Tomorrow at seven. The same place. You give me your answer. Or we give the world ours."

She walked out of the coffee shop. Disappeared into the crowd.

Belinda sat alone at the table. Her coffee was cold. Her hands were cold. Everything was cold.

She had a choice.

Destroy Lucas. Or be destroyed herself.

She pulled out her phone. Stared at Lucas's name in her contacts.

She should tell him. She should call him right now and tell him everything.

But if she told him, he would try to protect her. He would confront Elena. He would make everything worse.

And Elena would release the photos anyway.

Belinda stood up. She walked out of the coffee shop. The evening air hit her face.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number: Tick tock, Miss Sparks. Twenty-four hours.

She typed back: I need proof. That you have the photos. That you have the recordings. Send me something only the watcher would have.

A moment passed. Then another.

A photo appeared.

Belinda looked at it. Her heart stopped.

It was a photo of her. In Lucas's bedroom. Last night. Naked. On his couch.

No. Not naked. The red dress was still on. But it was unmistakable. Her face. Her body. The room.

Unknown: Convinced?

Belinda couldn't breathe.

Unknown: Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. Don't be late. And Miss Sparks?

Unknown: Don't tell Lucas. If you do, the photos go public within the hour.

Belinda lowered her phone.

She stood on the sidewalk, surrounded by strangers, more alone than she had ever been.

She had twenty-four hours to decide.

Destroy the man she was falling for.

Or lose everything she had left.