EPISODE 9 — The Canary
1701 Words
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
Not because the words surprised me…
But because they confirmed what I had refused to say out loud since the will reading:
This wasn’t only about Adrian.
This was about me.
Behind the wall, Mason’s laugh was low and relaxed—like he’d just ordered dessert.
The buyer’s voice came next, smooth and older, the kind of voice that didn’t ask twice.
“I don’t care who it is,” he said. “I care what they can deliver.”
Mason answered with confidence. “She trusts them. That’s enough.”
A pause.
Then the buyer spoke again, colder.
“If she doesn’t file… make her.”
My stomach dropped.
Adrian didn’t move, but I saw it—the tight flex of his jaw, the way his eyes sharpened into something darker than anger.
Controlled violence.
We heard footsteps. A door. Voices drifting away like the meeting was ending.
Mason’s voice faded with one last line, smug and careless.
“I’ll send you the clip tonight. I want the money wired before morning.”
“You’ll get paid when I get results,” the buyer replied.
Mason chuckled. “You will.”
Silence.
Adrian stood immediately.
“We’re leaving,” he said quietly.
He didn’t ask.
He didn’t comfort.
He moved like a man who had already chosen the next battle.
Cross was waiting in the corridor, already alert.
Adrian’s voice stayed low. “Lock the elevators. No one leaves that suite without being seen.”
Cross nodded. “Done.”
As we walked, Adrian’s hand closed around mine—firm, not tender.
Public unity.
Private warning.
The elevator doors shut.
Only then did Adrian speak again.
“They’re trying to force a divorce,” he said.
I swallowed hard. “So the clause triggers.”
“Yes.” His eyes stayed forward. “Board panic. Emergency oversight. I lose control.”
“And Mason gets his rise,” I added.
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Mason gets paid. Someone else gets the company.”
My chest tightened at the thought.
Someone else.
A shadow behind the shadow.
“And the person in my circle…” My voice went thin. “That’s how they push me.”
Adrian looked at me fully now.
“That’s how they corner you,” he corrected. “To make you do something impulsive. Public. Permanent.”
To make me file.
To make me run.
To make me look unstable.
The elevator opened into the private lobby.
Adrian didn’t slow.
Back at the penthouse, the air felt different.
Not just tense.
Unsafe.
Cross and two security men did a quiet sweep—checking doors, checking staff logs, checking cameras. They moved like professionals, but I could feel the truth underneath it:
People only check this hard when they believe someone is already close.
Adrian went straight to the study and pulled out a clean folder, the kind men used when emotions were inconvenient.
Legal documents.
Security schedules.
Names.
He looked at me. “Sit.”
I sat.
He stood across from me, gaze sharp but steady—like he was trying to keep me anchored without using soft words.
“Tell me your circle,” he said. “Who do you speak to regularly?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Three people. My assistant. My stylist. Selene.”
Adrian’s eyes flicked, just once.
Selene was my closest friend in that world.
The only person I’d let in without checking the lock first.
“Anyone else?” he asked.
“My old lawyer,” I said. “But I haven’t spoken to him since the divorce papers.” I paused. “My sister calls sometimes. She knows nothing.”
Adrian nodded once.
Then he said, “We do a canary trap.”
I frowned. “Explain.”
“We give each person a slightly different version of the same information,” he said calmly. “One version leaks. We know who leaked it.”
My stomach twisted.
Trust breaking always hurt.
Even when you were prepared for it.
“What information?” I asked.
Adrian’s voice didn’t change. “The divorce.”
I hated that word.
I hated how easily it could be used like a weapon.
But I nodded. “Okay.”
Adrian slid his phone toward me. “Write three short messages. Natural. Don’t act scared.”
My fingers tightened around the device.
I typed the first message to my assistant:
“Hey. Clear tomorrow morning for me. I might need you to print something important.”
Second message to my stylist:
“Are you free tomorrow? I might need a simple look. Please keep it private.”
Third message to Selene:
“Can we talk later? Something big is happening. Please don’t tell anyone yet.”
Adrian took the phone and made tiny edits—small details that changed everything.
Assistant version: “…print something important. Court-related.”
Stylist version: “…simple look. Maybe for photos.”
Selene version: “…talk tonight. I’ll explain everything.”
He handed the phone back.
“Send,” he said.
I sent them.
Three canaries.
Three hooks.
Now we waited for whoever bit first.
It didn’t take long.
My assistant replied within minutes.
Normal. Helpful.
My stylist replied after that.
Also normal.
But Selene didn’t reply.
Instead, an unknown number texted me.
“Iris. Don’t do anything stupid. Call me.”
My throat went dry.
Adrian stepped closer. “Show me.”
I handed him the phone.
Another text came in immediately:
“You file and you’ll regret it.”
My heart started racing.
Adrian didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t panic.
“Cross,” he said, “trace that number. Now.”
A third text appeared.
And this one made my skin go cold.
“Stop talking to Selene.”
I looked up fast.
Adrian’s eyes were already dark.
“That’s your leak,” he said quietly.
I shook my head once, denial rising on instinct. “No. Selene wouldn’t—”
Adrian cut me off, calm but firm.
“Iris,” he said, “don’t protect people at the cost of your safety.”
My phone rang.
Selene.
My stomach dropped.
Adrian’s hand covered mine.
“Answer,” he said. “Speaker.”
I inhaled once, steadying myself, and answered.
“Selene?”
Her voice came through too bright, too rushed.
“Hey babe—are you okay? I just… I saw your message and—”
Something was wrong.
Not the words.
The tone.
Rehearsed.
As if she was saying what someone told her to say.
“I’m fine,” I said slowly. “Why are you calling like this?”
A pause.
Then Selene laughed lightly.
Fake.
“Iris,” she said quickly, “just—don’t do anything rash. Okay? Talk to Adrian first.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Who told you anything?” I asked.
“People talk,” she said too fast.
Adrian leaned closer to the phone.
His voice entered the call like steel.
“Selene,” he said, “who contacted you.”
Silence.
Then Selene’s voice shrank.
“I—I didn’t—”
“Selene,” Adrian said evenly, “if you protect Mason, you become Mason.”
My chest tightened hard.
“Selene,” I whispered, “tell me the truth.”
Her breath shook.
“He called me,” she confessed. “He said he was worried. He said you were trapped and he didn’t want you hurt.”
A hot sting rose behind my eyes, but I forced it down.
“And you believed him,” I said quietly.
“I didn’t give him anything important,” she rushed. “I swear I didn’t—”
Adrian’s voice stayed calm. “Did you tell him where Iris is tonight.”
Silence again.
My throat burned. “Selene…”
Her voice broke. “I just said you were with Adrian. That’s all. I didn’t think—”
Adrian ended the call.
Just like that.
No shouting.
No drama.
A clean cut.
I stared at him, shaken. “That’s it?”
Adrian’s eyes held mine.
“That’s enough,” he said quietly. “He can reach you through her now. That’s the danger.”
My stomach twisted.
Cross returned fast.
“We traced the number,” he said. “Burner phone. But the last ping came from—”
He checked again.
“From The Blackwell Group’s private foundation office.”
My blood turned cold.
Adrian didn’t blink.
He nodded once—like a final piece clicked into place.
“The buyer,” I whispered.
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
My voice came out small. “Who?”
Adrian looked at me like he didn’t want to say it.
Then he did.
“Victor Ashford.”
The chairman.
The board’s favorite voice.
The one man who could destroy Adrian without touching him.
My stomach dropped.
“And he wants me to file,” I whispered.
“He wants you to file,” Adrian corrected. “Because the moment you do, he gets his opening.”
My hands tightened in my lap.
“So what do we do?” I asked.
Adrian stepped closer. His voice lowered.
“We stop playing defense,” he said.
I swallowed. “How?”
Adrian’s eyes darkened.
“We give him an opening,” he said. “A controlled one.”
My pulse jumped. “Adrian—”
“And then we slam it shut,” he finished.
Before I could respond, Adrian’s phone buzzed.
He checked it once.
Then his gaze returned to me.
“Mason is moving,” he said.
My throat tightened. “Where?”
Cross answered, tense.
“Our tail says he’s heading toward the penthouse line.”
Cold rushed through my body.
Adrian didn’t back away.
He moved closer, voice controlled.
“They’re coming for you next,” he said.
I lifted my chin, forcing fear to sit behind my ribs.
“Let them,” I whispered.
Adrian stared at me for one long second.
Then he nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Because this time… we’ll be ready.”
END OF EPISODE 9
- Writer
