A/N: Dear Readers,

I wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude for your thoughtful reviews. Your feedback means the world to me, and I'm so grateful for the time and effort you took to share your thoughts. Every review helps me grow and improve, and it's truly a pleasure to know that my work has resonated with you.

Your support and encouragement inspire me to continue creating and sharing my stories, and I'm beyond thankful for each and every one of you.

Thank you again for being part of this journey with me!

With warm appreciation,

LoveMrsB

Twenty-six:

I step out of Taylor's office, the weight of the folders pressing against my arms like a loaded weapon. The hallway feels colder now, sharper, like the air has shifted in some imperceptible way. Sawyer falls into step beside me, silent, but I can feel his eyes on me.

Neither of us speaks as we make our way back to the staff quarters. My mind is still turning over the images in those files—the names, the faces, the signatures at the bottom of those NDAs. The calculated precision of it all. Christian's past laid bare in a way I wasn't ready for.

I keep my expression neutral, my grip on the folders firm. No one else can see these. No one else can know I have them.

I make it back to my room without running into Prescott, which is a small victory in itself. Locking the door behind me, I drop the folders onto my desk and take a steadying breath.

Taylor's words still echo in my head. Just be careful. I don't want you to get hurt.

I shake them off.

Crossing the room, I kneel beside my bed and reach underneath, fingers brushing against the nearly invisible seam along the wooden frame. A slight press to the right spot, and the hidden compartment clicks open.

It's not much—just a small, secure space I had built into my personal quarters, meant for keeping weapons or classified documents out of reach. Now, it'll serve another purpose.

One by one, I slide the folders inside, stacking them neatly before pressing the panel closed. A soft click, and it's hidden again.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

At least, for now.

I push up from the floor and exhale slowly before grabbing my phone. A few unread messages from Kate stare back at me.

Kate: Where the hell were you last night?
Kate: Are you okay?
Kate: Seriously, Anastasia, call me.

Guilt presses against my ribs, but I shove it down. I can't explain—not yet. Instead, I type back a quick, non-committal response.

Me: I'm fine. Got caught up with work. We'll talk later.

I hesitate for a second, then add:

Me: I promise.

It's not a lie. I will talk to her. Just… not right now.

I slip my phone into my pocket and straighten my shoulders before stepping back out into the hall. Sawyer is waiting just outside, arms crossed. He looks at me, eyes scanning like he's assessing if Taylor ripped into me too hard.

"All good?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah. How was Mia's night?"

Sawyer exhales through his nose. "Uneventful, for once."

"That's a first."

"Tell me about it," he mutters as we start walking. "She was wired when I took over last night, though. Kept asking about you."

I glance at him. "What'd you say?"

"That you were handling something." He pauses, then adds, "She wasn't happy about it."

I sigh. "She'll get over it."

Sawyer doesn't argue. Instead, he holds the elevator door open as we step inside. "Ready for another day in the life of Mia Grey?"

I roll my shoulders. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"You wanna talk about what happened?" Sawyer asks me.

I shake my head. "Nope."

Mia's schedule is relentless, as always. Between fittings, charity events, and a photoshoot, she barely has time to breathe. But the most important part of the day? The secret meeting with the event planners for her parents' surprise wedding anniversary party.

We arrive at a high-end venue tucked away in downtown Seattle, where Mia has reserved a private room. The event coordinators are already waiting—two polished professionals who look like they've orchestrated more million-dollar galas than I can count.

Mia wastes no time diving into the details.

"I want it to be grand," she says, flipping open a sleek portfolio filled with inspiration photos. "Elegant but intimate. Not too over-the-top, but definitely memorable."

The lead planner, a woman named Cynthia, nods. "We can certainly make that happen. You mentioned a winter theme?"

"Yes," Mia confirms. "Think classic romance—candles, white roses, maybe even some crystal chandeliers." She turns to me suddenly. "Ana, what do you think?"

I blink. "Me?"

"Yes, you." She gestures vaguely. "You're good at reading people. What would you plan for a thirtieth wedding anniversary?"

I glance at the images laid out on the table—elegant dinner settings, grand ballroom décor, a live orchestra. It's beautiful, sure, but…

"Something personal," I say after a moment. "A place that means something to them. Not just a venue, but a memory."

Mia's eyes light up. "Like where they had their first dance?"

Cynthia smiles. "That could be a wonderful touch."

Mia taps her fingers against the table, thinking. "I'll have to dig through some old albums, but I love that idea." She looks at me, something warm and appreciative in her expression. "You're good at this."

I shrug. "You do enough surveillance, you get a feel for what matters to people."

She laughs, shaking her head. "You make it sound so clinical."

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly, with Mia making final decisions on the menu and décor before we wrap things up. As we leave, she's practically buzzing with excitement.

"This is going to be perfect," she says as we get back in the car. "They won't suspect a thing."

Sawyer starts the engine, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "You think you'll be able to keep it a secret?"

I smirk. "I keep bigger secrets every day."

Mia rolls her eyes, but her grin doesn't fade as we drive back to Escala.

The ride back to Escala is filled with Mia's chatter about the party, but I'm only half-listening. My mind keeps replaying the details from earlier—the files hidden under my bed, Sawyer's account of Mia's night, and the nagging feeling in my gut that something isn't quite right.

Sawyer pulls into the underground garage, and I step out first, scanning our surroundings before Mia follows. She doesn't notice, too busy texting someone—likely arranging for those old family albums she mentioned earlier.

The elevator doors slide open, and Mia steps inside first, still buzzing from our meeting with the event planners. She's scrolling through her phone, excitedly making notes, completely oblivious to the tension curling in my gut. Sawyer and I follow, and as the doors close, I exhale slowly, preparing myself for whatever awaits us back at Escala.

I don't know why I feel uneasy. Maybe it's the weight of the hidden folders under my bed. Maybe it's the way Christian was acting this morning—distant, guarded. Or maybe it's just the knowledge that things are shifting, that I'm dangerously close to the edge of something I can't quite define.

The elevator dings, and as the doors open, the uneasy feeling turns into a full-blown alarm.

The atmosphere is different.

I move first, stepping ahead of Mia and scanning the space as we enter.

And that's when I see her.

Elena Lincoln.

Sitting in the living room like she belongs here, a glass of wine in one hand, perfectly manicured fingers tapping idly against the rim. Her platinum hair is sleek, her designer dress flawless, and she looks up at us with the slow, deliberate smirk of someone waiting for this exact moment.

Christian stands near the windows, his back straight, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He's tense—too tense—but he doesn't move. He doesn't even look at me.

Mia stiffens beside me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Elena exhales a soft, amused chuckle. "Really, Mia, must you always be so dramatic?" She sets her glass down and turns her attention to me. Her smirk deepens. "Anastasia. We meet again."

I don't react. I just watch her. The way my name slips out of her mouth, nauseates me.

She tilts her head, eyes running over me like she's trying to place something. "You know, I have to admit," she muses, "I was surprised when I first saw you. Something about you felt… familiar." She leans forward slightly. "But now, I see it."

I keep my face neutral. "See what exactly?"

Elena's smile is razor-sharp. "You're not like the others."

Christian finally speaks, his voice low and cold. "Elena, leave."

She doesn't even flinch. "I came to talk, Christian. And since she's always around, I assume that means she's part of the conversation now?"

Mia crosses her arms. "She's more than you'll ever be."

Elena's smile falters for just a second, but she recovers quickly, turning her focus back to me.

"You must be proud," she murmurs, eyes glittering with something unreadable. "A woman like you, standing in this house, at his side."

I don't take the bait. I just hold her gaze, waiting.

Elena's smirk returns, but this time, it's calculated. "Tell me, dear. How does it feel to know you're just another phase?"

Christian moves before I can react. "Enough."

His voice is sharp, final.

Elena sighs, standing gracefully. "Fine. I can see when I'm not wanted." She picks up her purse, but before she leaves, she pauses beside me, lowering her voice just enough for only me to hear.

"But you know it, don't you?" she whispers, her breath cool against my ear. "That you'll never truly belong."

And then she's gone.

The elevator doors closes behind her, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

Christian exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

Mia turns to him. "Why the hell was she here?"

His jaw tightens. "It doesn't matter. She won't be back."

I watch him carefully, my own thoughts swirling.

Because I know one thing for certain.

Elena Lincoln never shows up without a reason.

The elevator doors slide shut behind Elena, swallowing her whole. The tension she left behind lingers, thick and suffocating.

Mia exhales sharply, shaking her head. "I swear, if she ever comes back here—" She stops herself, her hands clenching into fists. With a frustrated sigh, she turns on her heel and stalks toward the hallway. "I need to call Mom."

Sawyer hesitates, his gaze flicking between me and Christian. "You good?"

I nod. "Yeah."

He studies me for a moment before giving a short nod and following Mia.

The moment they're gone, I turn to Christian, but before I can speak, his eyes lock onto mine. He must see the questions burning there, because his expression hardens, and he exhales sharply.

"My office," he says, his voice low but firm. "Now."

He doesn't wait for a response—just turns and strides toward the hallway, expecting me to follow. I do.

The door barely clicks shut behind us before I cross my arms. "Why was she here?"

Christian's fingers flex at his sides, his jaw tightening. "You already know." His voice is taut, controlled. "We saw the footage together."

I don't break my stance. "And yet, she was here."

His expression darkens. "I didn't invite her."

"But you didn't throw her out either."

A muscle ticks in his jaw. Silence stretches between us before he finally drags a hand through his hair, turning away slightly.

"She said she came to warn me."

I don't react. Just wait.

He exhales, measured, like he's weighing every word before speaking. "Vance."

The name sharpens the air between us.

"She said he's watching me," Christian continues, his voice taut. "That he's not done."

I school my expression, though my mind is already running through the angles, the motivations.

"And you believe her?"

His gaze flickers—uncertainty flashing in his storm-gray eyes. "I don't know."

I bite back my frustration. "Christian, we saw her with him. In the garage. 'Serendipitously' at The Heathman she same time Mia went there" I shake my head. "And now she suddenly wants to help you?"

He doesn't answer immediately. The tension rolls off him in waves.

"What aren't you telling me?" I press.

His fists clench at his sides. "It's complicated."

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Try me."

Christian hesitates, his gaze locked onto mine, the war in his expression evident. And then, finally, he speaks.

Christian exhales slowly, like he's forcing himself to peel back a layer he doesn't want me to see. His fingers flex before curling into fists again, his control slipping at the edges.

"She said Vance is looking for leverage," he finally says. "That he's been waiting, watching."

I don't move. Don't blink. "Leverage for what?"

His jaw tightens. "Money. Power. I don't know yet."

I watch him carefully. "And you think she's telling the truth?"

He shakes his head once, sharp and frustrated. "I don't trust her."

"Then why let her in?" I challenge.

His gaze flashes. "Because I needed to hear what she had to say." There it is, the flicker in his eyes, the one that I have noticed cross them when he is telling half truths.

I huff out a quiet breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "Christian, she's playing you. She was with him that night. What makes you think she isn't still in his pocket?"

He presses his fingers against his temple, breathing heavily. "I don't," he admits. "But if there's even a chance she's right—"

"You can't take her word as fact," I cut in. "She's manipulating you."

Christian lifts his head then, eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my pulse jump. "You think I don't know that?"

I hold his gaze, unflinching. "I don't know, Christian. You tell me."

His nostrils flare. His frustration is palpable, simmering beneath the surface. He's keeping something from me—I can feel it.

"Elena doesn't just show up out of the kindness of her heart," I continue, my voice steadier than I feel. "She's here because she wants something."

Christian swallows hard, and I swear, for a moment, I see something flicker in his expression. Something deeper.

"What is it?" I press.

He doesn't answer.

Instead, he turns away, bracing his hands on the edge of his desk, shoulders rising and falling with controlled breaths. The silence stretches.

I step forward, refusing to let this go. "Christian."

His head drops slightly, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. "She said Vance isn't just watching me."

I go still.

"She said he's watching you, too."

I don't react, even as something cold settles in my stomach. My voice stays steady. "Why would he be watching me?"

Christian turns back to face me, his expression unreadable, but I see it—the flicker of hesitation, of restraint. He knows something he hasn't said yet.

"Elena didn't explain," he admits. "Just that Vance has been digging. Looking into people close to me."

I narrow my eyes. "And you think that includes me?"

His jaw tenses. "I know it does."

I let that sink in. Vance, a known crime boss, watching me. Looking into me. I school my features, keeping my reaction locked down.

"What else did she say?"

Christian hesitates again, just for a second, but I catch it.

"She said Vance is waiting for the right moment to make his move," he says finally. "That he's patient. Calculated."

I study him. "And you believe her?"

"I don't know," he admits. "But I can't ignore the possibility that he's planning something."

I exhale slowly, processing. I already knew Vance was a problem, but this changes things. If he really is watching me, that means he's looking for something—some weakness, some leverage.

Christian steps closer, his voice lower now. "I need to know if you've noticed anything. If anything feels… off."

He's watching me carefully, his concern barely concealed, and for a moment, I see past the frustration, past the guarded walls. He's worried.

I shake my head. "If he's watching, he's doing a damn good job staying hidden."

Christian swears under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

I keep my voice even. "Did Elena say anything else?"

His fingers flex again, like he wants to punch something. "No. Just that she came to warn me."

I let out a quiet scoff. "You really think she's looking out for you?"

His gaze flickers, and for a second, I swear I see doubt there. But then it's gone, replaced with something unreadable.

"I don't trust her," he says finally. "But I needed to hear her out."

I cross my arms, watching him. "And what if this is all just another game? Another way to manipulate you?"

His eyes meet mine, steady. "Then I guess we find out."

"I don't trust her." My voice is steady, firm. Because I don't. Not for a second.

Christian exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. "Neither do I."

"Then why let her in?" I press again. Trying him again, wanting to see if he is sticking to his lying.

His jaw tightens. "Because if she has information about Vance, I need to hear it."

I shake my head. "You think she's suddenly decided to be helpful? After we saw her with him?"

His silence is answer enough.

"She's playing you, Christian." My words are measured, but my patience is running thin. "She showed up here, acting like she's doing you a favor, when we both know she's the one moving pieces behind the scenes."

Christian exhales sharply, but I see the flicker of doubt in his expression.

"She said he's watching me," he says. "That he's not done."

Something cold slithers down my spine. "Why would he be watching you?"

Christian hesitates, his stormy gaze meeting mine. And then, finally, he admits—

"I don't know."

Christian's voice is low, taut, like the words taste wrong coming out of his mouth.

I study him carefully, searching for the gaps in his armor, the places where truth and evasion blur together. "You don't know," I echo, slow, deliberate. "Or you don't want to say?"

His fingers flex at his sides, his shoulders tight with tension. "I don't have all the answers, Ana."

"That's not what I asked."

Silence.

I take a step closer. "Christian, you knew she was lying the second she walked through that door, and yet you still listened to her. Why?"

His jaw tightens, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

"She knows something," he finally says. "Something I don't."

I hold his gaze, weighing the words. "And you think she's just going to hand it over?"

"No." His lips press into a thin line. "But I'll figure out what she's hiding."

I exhale slowly, crossing my arms. "And in the meantime?"

Christian drags a hand over his face. "In the meantime, I stay ahead of her."

I don't like it. Not one bit.

But I can see it in his face—he's already made up his mind.

I take another breath, steady and measured. "Then you need to be careful."

His gaze sharpens. "I always am."

I shake my head. "No, Christian. Not just with her." My voice lowers, edged with something close to warning. "With me."

His brows pull together. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," I say slowly, "that I see more than you think. And if you keep keeping things from me, I will find out anyway."

A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he doesn't argue.

Good.

Because I'm not backing down.

A/N: We're getting closer to the moment of truth. Secrets are unravelling, and the past refuses to stay buried. Stay tuned—things are about to change forever.