Kiss Me Tomorrow

Chapter 4

Adrian's POV

The moment the call ended, I knew I had made a mistake.

Not because Lena had taken the letter.

Not because someone had tried to access the files I gave her.

Because I had heard fear in her voice.

And I had put her in the middle of something I had spent months trying to keep contained.

I stood behind my desk, staring at my phone.

The city stretched beyond the windows, bright beneath the afternoon sun. From this height, New York looked orderly.

Predictable.

It wasn't.

My phone vibrated again.

This time, it was Noah.

I answered.

"Where are you?"

"On my way back from Brooklyn."

"Come to the office."

A pause.

"That serious?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there in twenty."

I ended the call.

Then I pressed another number.

"Mr. Vale?"

"Victor, I need the security logs from the executive floor."

There was a brief pause.

"Which time?"

"From eight this morning until now."

"Anything specific?"

"Everyone who accessed the files prepared for Lena Hart."

Another pause.

"Is there a problem?"

"Just get me the logs."

"Understood."

I ended the call and sat down.

For several seconds, I didn't move.

The letter.

I hadn't known about the letter.

That was the truth.

But the moment Lena mentioned it, something old and uncomfortable shifted into place.

Her father had left Vale Industries eleven years ago under circumstances that had never made sense.

At the time, I had been seventeen.

Old enough to remember the shouting.

Young enough to understand very little.

I remembered my father coming home late.

My mother crying in the dining room.

My grandfather ordering everyone not to discuss the matter outside the family.

And I remembered one name.

Thomas Hart.

Years later, when I became responsible for part of the company, I found inconsistencies in the old records.

Not enough to prove anything.

Just enough to make me suspicious.

Transactions that didn't match.

Documents that had been altered.

Files that had disappeared.

And one particular report that had been removed from the archive entirely.

I had been investigating ever since.

Then Lena's application landed on my desk.

I hadn't known what to expect when I first asked my assistant to bring her in.

I certainly hadn't expected her.

She was sharper than her file suggested.

More stubborn.

More observant.

And far too willing to look me directly in the eye.

I had hired her because I needed someone capable.

But that wasn't the whole truth.

I had wanted to know whether Thomas Hart's daughter knew anything.

Whether she'd heard stories.

Whether she'd inherited any of his instincts.

I hadn't expected to like her.

That was becoming inconvenient.

A knock sounded.

Noah walked in without waiting for permission.

He dropped into the chair opposite my desk.

"You look terrible."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I ignored him.

"Noah."

"Adrian."

"Someone accessed the files I gave Lena."

His expression changed.

"How?"

"We're checking the security footage."

"What files?"

"The old financial records."

He sat forward.

"The ones connected to Thomas Hart?"

"Yes."

Noah's face tightened.

"You gave those to her?"

"Some of them."

"Why?"

"Because she needs to understand the company she's working for."

"That's not why."

I looked at him.

He gave me a knowing expression.

"You wanted her to investigate."

"I want the truth."

"That's not what I asked."

I leaned back.

"Noah."

He sighed.

"You know what happens if Mother finds out you brought Thomas Hart's daughter into this."

"I know."

"And if Grandmother finds out?"

"I know."

"Then why?"

I didn't answer immediately.

Because I didn't have a simple answer.

Noah studied me.

"You like her."

I looked at him.

He smiled.

"That's the first time I've seen you look offended by a statement instead of a person."

"I'm not discussing this."

"You definitely like her."

"She's my employee."

"She's a consultant."

"Same difference."

"No, it isn't."

I ignored him.

He leaned forward.

"What happened?"

"She found a letter."

His smile disappeared.

"What letter?"

"A letter from her father."

Noah stared at me.

"You're sure?"

"She said it was in his handwriting."

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because the last documents connected to Thomas Hart were destroyed."

I went still.

"What?"

Noah frowned.

"Didn't you know?"

"No."

He looked uncomfortable.

"Grandfather ordered the archives cleared after the investigation."

"Who carried it out?"

"I don't know."

I stood.

"Find out."

"No."

I looked at him.

He shook his head.

"I'm not going digging through family history because you told me to."

"This isn't a request."

"And that's exactly why I'm saying no."

"Noah."

He stood too.

"Adrian, you've spent months doing this alone. I don't know what you're looking for anymore."

"The truth."

"And what happens when you find it?"

I didn't answer.

He continued.

"What happens if the truth destroys everything?"

I looked toward the windows.

"I'd rather know."

Noah was quiet.

Then he said, "What about Lena?"

I turned back.

"What about her?"

"What happens when she finds out the truth?"

My jaw tightened.

"That's why I told her not to trust anyone."

"Did you tell her not to trust you?"

"Yes."

He stared at me.

"Why?"

"Because she shouldn't."

Noah shook his head.

"You really are an idiot."

He walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To find out what I can."

I frowned.

"I thought you weren't helping."

"I'm not."

He opened the door.

"I'm helping her."

Then he left.

I stood alone again.

For someone who claimed not to care, Noah had become remarkably invested.

I checked the time.

Three forty-seven.

I picked up my phone and called Lena.

It rang twice.

Then she answered.

"Hello?"

Her voice was quieter now.

"Are you safe?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

"Still at my office."

"Did you lock the door?"

"Yes."

"Good."

A pause.

"Adrian?"

"Yes?"

"Who was that man?"

My expression hardened.

"You saw him?"

"Through the glass."

"Did he enter?"

"No."

"Did he speak to you?"

"No."

"Did he leave anything?"

"No."

I closed my eyes briefly.

"Don't leave the office alone."

She laughed softly.

"You're giving orders again."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Lena."

"I understand."

Silence.

Then she asked, "Did you know about the letter?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Another silence.

"I want to see you."

My chest tightened unexpectedly.

"Why?"

"Because I have questions."

Of course.

Questions.

"Come here."

"To your office?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there in thirty minutes."

"Take someone with you."

"I'll drive myself."

"Lena—"

"I'm not a child, Adrian."

"I know."

"Then stop treating me like one."

The line went quiet.

She was right.

I knew that.

But knowing it didn't make the fear disappear.

"Fine," I said.

"Fine."

She ended the call.

I stared at my phone for several seconds.

Then I smiled despite myself.

She was infuriating.

---

At four twenty-six, the security chief came into my office.

He placed a tablet on my desk.

"We checked the access records."

"And?"

"There was an unauthorized attempt at 2:13 p.m."

"From where?"

"Your old archive system."

My expression changed.

"That system was shut down."

"It was supposed to be."

"Who accessed it?"

"We're still tracing the connection."

"Could it be internal?"

"Possibly."

I looked at the screen.

"Show me the footage."

He opened the security recording.

The video showed the corridor outside the archive room.

Empty.

At 2:12, a man walked into view.

Dark jacket.

Baseball cap.

Face hidden.

He stopped outside the archive door.

Used a card.

Entered.

I leaned closer.

"Pause."

The footage froze.

"Enhance the card."

The security chief did.

A number appeared.

I recognized it.

"That's impossible."

"What?"

"That access card belongs to me."

The room went silent.

The security chief looked at me.

"Could someone have duplicated it?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"Find out who."

He nodded.

Then his phone rang.

He answered.

His expression changed.

"Sir."

"What?"

"They've found the access point."

"Where?"

He hesitated.

"Your private network."

My stomach tightened.

"Meaning?"

"Whoever accessed the archive didn't break into the system from outside."

He looked at me.

"They used your credentials."

---

Lena arrived ten minutes later.

She walked into my office without knocking.

Her hair had loosened from the neat style she'd worn that morning.

She was carrying a black handbag and the folder I'd given her.

She looked angry.

Good.

Anger was easier to handle than fear.

"You wanted to see me?"

I stood.

"You wanted to see me."

"That too."

Her eyes moved around the office.

"Anyone else here?"

"No."

She placed the folder on my desk.

"I need answers."

"So do I."

She looked at me.

"What happened?"

"Someone accessed the files."

"You said that on the phone."

"I know."

"Did they take anything?"

"We don't know."

"Then how do you know they were after my files?"

"Because your documents were the only ones targeted."

Her expression hardened.

"How?"

"The system recorded the attempt."

"And you know who did it?"

"Not yet."

She folded her arms.

"Then we're in trouble."

"Yes."

She looked at me for several seconds.

Then she pulled the letter from her bag.

"I need to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

She held it out.

"Did my father ever work directly with your father?"

I looked at the handwriting.

"Yes."

"How closely?"

"Very."

She nodded slowly.

"My father used to say your family wasn't what people thought."

I didn't respond.

"He said your father was a difficult man."

"He was."

"But he also respected him."

I looked at her.

She continued.

"Then everything changed."

"I know."

"You were seventeen."

"Yes."

"Do you remember that night?"

I didn't need to ask which one.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

I looked away.

"My father came home angry."

"Why?"

"He said someone had betrayed the company."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

She studied my face.

"You remember more than you're telling me."

I didn't deny it.

"I remember enough to know the official story was incomplete."

"Then why didn't you tell me that yesterday?"

"Because I didn't know whether I could trust you."

Her expression hardened.

"And now?"

I looked directly at her.

"I don't know."

She gave a small, bitter smile.

"At least you're honest."

"I've never lied to you."

"You've withheld things."

"Yes."

"That's not much better."

"I know."

She looked down at the letter.

"My father wrote that he was trying to protect me."

I nodded.

"From what?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think he was alive when he wrote it?"

The question caught me off guard.

"I don't know."

Her eyes glistened.

She looked away quickly.

I had seen people cry in boardrooms.

Employees.

Executives.

People who had just lost millions.

None of it had ever affected me the way the sight of Lena trying not to cry did.

I moved around the desk.

She noticed.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

I stopped a few feet away.

"I don't know what happened to your father."

She looked at me.

"But I want to find out."

"Why?"

"Because someone lied."

"And you think finding the truth will fix everything?"

"No."

"Then why?"

I thought about it.

"Because you deserve to know."

Her expression softened.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she said quietly,

"You barely know me."

"I know."

"Then why do you care?"

I didn't have an answer I could give her.

So I gave her the safest one.

"Because you're working for me."

She smiled faintly.

"Right."

Neither of us believed it.

Her phone vibrated.

She looked down.

Her face changed.

"What?"

She didn't answer.

She handed me the phone.

A message was displayed on the screen.

Stop looking into the past.

Another message arrived.

Some things are better left buried.

Lena's fingers tightened around the phone.

I looked at her.

"Did anyone else get this?"

She shook her head.

"No."

I took out my phone.

"Send me the number."

She did.

I forwarded it to security.

"Adrian."

"Yes?"

"What are we dealing with?"

I looked at the message again.

"I don't know."

For the first time, I wished I had lied.

Because there was something I hadn't told her.

Something I had discovered two weeks before hiring her.

A name.

A connection.

A piece of information that had made me choose her file from hundreds of others.

I had found a photograph in the old archive.

Thomas Hart wasn't alone in it.

Standing beside him was my father.

And between them was a little girl.

Lena.

But that wasn't the part that disturbed me.

The photograph had been taken two years before the scandal.

And on the back, in my father's handwriting, were five words:

Keep her away from us.

I had never understood what he meant.

Until now.

I looked at Lena.

She was staring at me, waiting.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

I forced my expression to remain calm.

"Nothing."

She frowned.

"You're lying."

I almost smiled.

"Maybe."

She picked up her bag.

"I should go."

I wanted to tell her not to.

I wanted to tell her to stay somewhere I could protect her.

But I knew she would hate that.

So I stepped aside.

"Call me when you get home."

She paused at the door.

"Why?"

"Because I want to know you're safe."

Her eyes held mine.

For a moment, the tension between us felt different.

Less like suspicion.

More like something neither of us was ready to name.

Then she nodded.

"Fine."

She opened the door.

"Lena."

She looked back.

"Yes?"

I wanted to tell her everything.

Instead, I said the only thing I could.

"Don't read that letter alone."

She gave me a confused look.

"Why?"

"Because whatever your father wrote..."

I stopped.

Her expression changed.

"What?"

I shook my head.

"Nothing."

She stared at me for another second.

Then she left.

The door closed.

I stood there, listening to her footsteps disappear down the corridor.

My phone vibrated.

A new message.

Unknown number.

You should have left her alone.

I stared at the screen.

Another message appeared.

Tomorrow will be too late.