Vows and Vengeance

Chapter seven- Two steps forward, one step back

Five months left.

The second email came at 6:12 a.m., while Elena was still half-asleep against Alex’s chest, his heartbeat steady under her ear. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand like an angry wasp.

She reached for it blindly, squinting at the screen.

Same subject line style.

Same cold tone.

Six new photos.

One: Alex carrying her into the bedroom last night, her legs wrapped around his waist, laughing into his neck.

Two: her on top of him on the couch, hair wild, mouth open.

Three: them in the shower this morning, water running down his back while she kissed his shoulder.

Four, five, six: close-ups. Too close. Private moments she didn’t even remember being that exposed.

The message underneath made her blood freeze.

$20 million by Friday.

Or every outlet from Page Six to Bloomberg gets the full collection.

Tick-tock.

She sat up so fast the sheet fell to her waist. Alex stirred, blinking awake.

“What is it?” His voice was rough with sleep.

She turned the phone so he could see.

He went very still. Then he sat up slowly, took the phone from her hand, and scrolled through the pictures like he was reading a death threat.

“These are from last night,” he said, voice flat.

“I know.”

“Someone was in the apartment.”

“Or has access to the cameras.” She hugged her knees to her chest, suddenly cold. “Your place has security cams in the hallway, the elevator… maybe the bedroom?”

He was already out of bed, naked, pulling on sweatpants. “I disabled the bedroom ones years ago. Camille hated them.”

“Then how…”

He didn’t answer. He was already moving, opening drawers, grabbing his own phone, dialing.

“Get me the building’s security feed from last night. All of it. Now.” He barked orders like a man used to being obeyed.

Elena pulled on one of his T-shirts and followed him into the living room. The city was just starting to wake up outside the windows…pale gold light, quiet streets. Everything looked normal. Nothing felt normal.

Twenty minutes later they were watching grainy footage on his laptop.

Elevator: empty.

Hallway: empty.

Front door camera: nothing.

Then the rooftop feed.

A figure in black, hood up, face covered. Moving fast. Setting something small on the ledge outside Alex’s bedroom window. A tiny drone, barely bigger than a phone, with a camera attached.

They watched it rise, hover, record. Then retreat.

Alex closed the laptop so hard the table shook.

“Someone flew a f*****g drone into my bedroom window,” he said.

Elena laughed. It came out shaky and wrong. “We’re being hunted.”

He looked at her then, and for the first time since she’d known him….high school hallways, boardrooms, last night—he looked scared.

“I’m getting you out of the city,” he said.

“No.”

“Elena…”

“No. We don’t run.” She stood up, arms crossed. “We find them. We end this.”

He stared at her for a long beat.

Then he nodded once. “Together.”

They spent the day tearing the apartment apart. Found two more micro-cameras…one in the smoke detector, one behind a painting. Someone had been inside while they were at work. Someone with a key.

Building management swore no one had access.

Security swore the same.

By nightfall they were back at her place…her building, her rules, her cameras she’d personally checked twice.

They didn’t sleep.

They sat on her couch with wine they didn’t drink and laptops open.

Maya had traced the new email to another burner.

The money trail looped through three offshore accounts.

Dead ends everywhere.

At 2:14 a.m. Elena’s phone buzzed again.

This time it wasn’t an email.

It was a text.

Unknown number:

You look cute when you’re scared.

Stop digging.

Or the next package goes to your mother, Elena.

She’d love to see what her daughter does on her knees.

Elena dropped the phone like it burned.

Alex picked it up. Read it. His face went stone cold.

“Your mother?” he asked quietly.

She hadn’t spoken to her mom in three years. Not since the woman sold her story“From Trailer Park to Boardroom”—to some trashy magazine for twenty grand. They weren’t close. They were barely related anymore.

But the threat hit anyway.

Alex pulled her into his lap without asking. She let him.

“We’re closing ranks,” he said against her temple. “No more separate places. You stay here. I’ll have my stuff moved tomorrow.”

She started to argue…old habit then stopped.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. Then her mouth. Slow. Careful. Like she might break.

They ended up on the floor, backs against the couch, legs tangled, city lights flickering across their skin.

“I hate this,” she said into his shoulder.

“I know.”

“I hate that they’re winning.”

“They’re not.” His voice was steel. “They just made it personal.”

She looked up at him. “It was already personal.”

He smiled, small and dangerous. “Now it’s war.”

They fell asleep like that on the rug, wrapped around each other, fully clothed for the first time in weeks.

Morning came gray and quiet.

Alex’s phone rang at seven.

It was his head of security.

They’d found something.

A partial fingerprint on one of the micro-cameras.

It belonged to someone inside the company.

Someone they both knew.

Someone who’d been smiling at them across conference tables for years.

Five months left.

And now the enemy had a face they sat across from every single day.