Author's Note:

Hey everyone!

This chapter was such a mix of emotions to write—tension, guilt, friendship, mystery… and, of course, Kate being her relentless, wonderful self. I really wanted to highlight the strain Ana's secrets are putting on her relationships, especially with someone as perceptive as Kate. She's not just a best friend; she's family, and she's not letting Ana slip away without a fight.

And then there's Christian's past. The deeper Ana digs, the more tangled things become. The missing details about Leila? That's not an accident. There's more to uncover, and it's only going to get more intense from here.

For those of you who've noticed—yes, this story is very different from the original. The dynamics, the relationships, and the events are unfolding in a completely new way, and that's intentional. This is Ana's story, and she's not the same woman you remember. She's stronger, sharper, and carries a past that changes everything.

Also, the reason Taylor gave her those documents? That's not just a random detail—it's going to come out soon, and trust me, it's important.

As always, thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts—what do you think Ana should do next? Should she confront Christian or keep digging? I love hearing your theories!

Until next time,

A

Thirty:

Anastasia's point of view:

Kate doesn't say anything right away. She just watches me, the way only Kate can—like she's peeling back layers, dissecting every movement, every hesitation.

I take a sip of wine, letting the warmth settle in my chest, then set the glass down. "Go ahead," I say, bracing myself. "Say what you need to say."

Kate tilts her head slightly, lips pressing together. "You disappeared on me, Ana. No calls, no texts. And now you just show up like it's nothing?"

I exhale through my nose. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"That's not the point," she snaps, then sighs, running a hand through her hair. "I don't care if you were busy, I don't care if you needed space—but you don't just vanish on me."

There's no anger in her voice. Just frustration. And something else—something raw.

Guilt gnaws at me, but I push it down. I can't give her answers. Not the real ones.

"I know," I say quietly. "I should've let you know I was okay."

Kate's shoulders relax just a fraction. "Yeah. You should have." She takes a slow sip of her wine, then sets the glass down. "I'm not gonna push. Not right now. But I need you to meet me halfway, Ana."

I nod, the weight in my chest shifting, but not lifting.

After a moment, Kate sighs. "So… are you home now? Like, actually home?"

I hesitate. "For now."

Her eyes narrow slightly at that, but she doesn't push. Instead, she leans back against the couch, studying me like she's trying to figure out what's changed.

And I know she won't stop trying.

Kate exhales sharply, shaking her head. "You know what really pisses me off? We had plans, Ana. Plans. You said you'd be home last night, and then—nothing. No call, no text, no explanation. Just radio silence."

I close my eyes for a beat, trying to keep my frustration in check. I knew this was coming. I just didn't expect the weight of it to hit me like this.

"I know," I say, setting my wine glass down. "I should've called."

Kate lets out a dry laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Yeah. You should have. Do you have any idea what that felt like? To be waiting, to be worried, and to get nothing?"

Guilt coils tight in my stomach, but I can't tell her what she wants to hear.

"I didn't mean to worry you," I say again, softer this time. "It wasn't intentional."

Kate's eyes flash with something unreadable. "Then what was it?"

I press my lips together, choosing my words carefully. "Something came up." Oh, the irony.

Kate scoffs. "That's it? That's all you're gonna give me?"

Silence stretches between us. The trust between us—the one thing that's always been solid—is straining under the weight of my secrets.

She shakes her head, picking up her wine again. "You know, I don't get it. This isn't you."

I swallow hard. You have no idea.

Kate sighs, rubbing her temples. "I don't want to fight. I just—" She breaks off, her voice quieter now. "I just need to know I can count on you."

That hits harder than anything else.

I nod slowly. "You can."

Kate searches my face, like she's trying to decide if she believes me. Finally, she leans back, stretching her legs out on the couch. "Fine. But you owe me. Big time."

The tension eases just a little, and I huff out a breath. "Yeah. I do."

Kate eyes me for a moment longer, then smirks, lifting her glass. "Good. Now drink your damn wine and tell me why you look like you haven't slept in days."

"No, you know what, go get dressed, we are going out."

I blink at her. "Wait, what?"

Kate sets her wine glass down with a decisive clink and stands. "You heard me. Go get dressed. We're going out."

I stare at her like she's lost her mind. "Kate—"

"Nope." She cuts me off, already marching toward my room like she owns the place. Which, technically, she does. "You disappeared all night, left me hanging, and now you're brooding over there like a tragic heroine in some noir film." She spins on her heel, pointing at me. "I refuse to let this be your vibe tonight. So get your ass up, find something hot to wear, and let's go."

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. "Kate, I don't think—"

"No thinking." She flings my closet doors open and starts rifling through my clothes like a woman on a mission. "You're not getting out of this. I don't know what the hell is going on with you, but I do know one thing—you need a night out. And I definitely need a drink that I don't have to pour myself."

I hesitate, the weight of the past twenty-four hours pressing heavy on my shoulders. There's too much going on. Too much to think about. Too much I can't say.

But Kate is relentless. She spins around, holding up a short black dress. "This. Wear this."

I raise an eyebrow. "That's barely even a dress." it is obvious that she used my closet space while I was gone.

She smirks. "Exactly."

I exhale, shaking my head. "You're impossible."

"And you're stalling." She tosses the dress at me. "Now go. Get changed."

I catch the fabric against my chest, staring at her for a moment before finally sighing.

"Fine." I push off the couch, heading toward my room. "But you're buying the first round."

Kate grins. "Deal."

The bar is packed, the music thrumming through the air like a heartbeat. It's the kind of place Kate loves—loud, lively, and just chaotic enough to keep things interesting. She drags me toward the bar with determined steps, flashing a dazzling smile at the bartender before he even turns to us.

"Two tequila shots and two margaritas," she orders without hesitation.

I arch a brow. "Starting strong, I see."

Kate side-eyes me. "If you're gonna make me work for details, I'm at least gonna be tipsy while I do it."

I huff a quiet laugh, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. My mind is still tangled in the mess I left behind—Christian, Elena, the folders still tucked deep inside my duffle bag, the growing list of threats circling in the dark. The weight of it presses against my ribs, and for a moment, I wonder if coming here was a mistake.

Then Kate nudges my arm. "Hey."

I blink, turning to her.

"Be here," she says, softer than before. "With me. Just for tonight."

The bartender slides our shots across the counter, and Kate wastes no time handing me one. She clinks her glass against mine, her eyes steady. "To being young, hot, and slightly irresponsible."

I manage a small smile. "Slightly?"

"Moderation is key." She winks before throwing back the shot.

I follow suit, the burn of tequila grounding me for the first time in hours. I set my glass down with a quiet thud, exhaling as the warmth spreads through my chest.

Kate grins. "That's more like it."

The bartender hands over our margaritas, and Kate wastes no time steering us toward an open booth near the back. The music is loud enough to make conversation private, but not so overwhelming that we have to shout.

Kate slides into the seat across from me, taking a sip of her drink before leaning in. "Alright. Spill."

I sigh, swirling the straw in my margarita. "Spill what?"

She gives me a look. "Ana."

I stare at my drink, debating how much to give her. Kate is sharp—too sharp. She'll see through any half-truth I throw her way. But I can't exactly lay it all out, either.

So I deflect. "I got caught up with work. Long night."

Kate narrows her eyes. "Bullshit."

I wince. "Kate—"

"No. You promised you'd come home last night. Then you went radio silent. And now you're looking at me like you'd rather be anywhere else." She sits back, folding her arms. "So either you tell me what's going on, or I start making wildly dramatic assumptions, and you know how creative I can get."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Jesus, Kate."

She just sips her margarita, waiting.

I exhale slowly, choosing my words carefully. "Something came up. Something I couldn't ignore."

Her eyes flick over my face, reading between the lines. "Does this have anything to do with why you've been acting… off? Because you have been, Ana. For a while now."

I freeze for half a second before forcing a smirk. "How do you mean 'off.'"

Kate rolls her eyes. "You disappear for hours, sometimes days. You're distracted, dodging questions. And don't think I haven't noticed that whole assessing every room the second we walk in thing you do now."

Shit.

I shake my head, feigning exasperation. "Kate, you watch too many crime shows."

She doesn't laugh. "And you're a terrible liar."

We stare at each other, the air between us thick with unspoken truths.

For the first time in a long time, I feel dangerously close to slipping up.

Kate keeps the drinks coming, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself loosen up. The tequila hums in my veins, blurring the sharp edges of everything I've been carrying.

We dance, Kate pulling me into the center of the crowd, her laughter infectious as she twirls me dramatically. The bass thrums beneath our feet, the energy of the room vibrating through my skin. It's easy to forget, just for a little while, who I am when I'm with her.

Not a bodyguard.
Not a soldier.
Not a woman caught in something far bigger than herself.

Just Ana.

When we finally collapse back into our booth, breathless and glowing from the heat of the dance floor, Kate slumps against the seat with a contented sigh. "God, I missed this."

I smile, tilting my head back. "Missed what?"

She gestures vaguely between us. "Us. This. You, being a person instead of some mysterious shadow version of yourself."

I let out a soft laugh, but it fades quickly as her words settle. She's right. I have been a shadow. Caught between two worlds—one where I'm Kate's best friend, a woman with a normal life, and the other where I'm Mia Grey's bodyguard, navigating threats and secrets that could get me killed.

And I miss it. The simplicity of this. Of being Anastasia Steele, the girl who used to spend her nights dancing with her best friend and nursing cheap cocktails instead of carrying a gun and analyzing every exit in a room.

Kate nudges my arm. "Hey."

I turn to her, and she's smiling softly, her head tilted. "I know you're not gonna tell me everything, and I'm not gonna push. But just… don't disappear on me, okay?"

Something tightens in my chest.

I nod. "I won't."

It's a promise I want to keep. Even if I don't know how.

The apartment is quiet except for the occasional creak of the building settling. Kate is fast asleep in her room, the muffled hum of the city outside barely noticeable over the steady rhythm of my own breathing. The night out was exactly what I needed—something normal, something real. Just two friends catching up over drinks, laughing about nothing and everything.

I missed this. I missed the simplicity of my life before. Before Mia, before Christian, before threats lurking in the shadows.

Now, reality waits for me in a manila folder buried at the bottom of my bag.

I pull it out carefully, setting it on the bed in front of me. The edges are crisp, the contents inside still a mystery, but the weight of it is suffocating. I hesitate for only a second before flipping it open, eyes scanning the neatly typed names, dates, and details that Taylor compiled.

Christian's past.

His submissives.

I lean back against my headboard, my fingers gripping the pages tighter as I take in each name, each carefully worded contract. Some lasted weeks, others months. All neatly wrapped up with termination clauses, NDAs, and financial incentives.

A business transaction.

It should make it easier to read, but it doesn't.

The further I go, the more I piece together a version of Christian I haven't fully seen yet. The man who controlled every aspect of these relationships, who made sure everything was signed, negotiated, and finalized. It's clinical. Detached.

And yet, that's not the man I've seen.

I rub my temple, frustration building, until something catches my eye near the bottom of the file. A name I hadn't heard directly, but one I'd sensed in the spaces between conversations. The hushed voices. The tension in the air.

Leila Williams.

Unlike the others, there's no formal end date listed. No termination agreement.

Just a blank space.

A blank space.

I stare at it, my mind running through every hushed conversation I'd overheard. Leila's name was never spoken outright, but I'd heard it in whispers, in careful pauses. The weight of her existence hung in the air like an unspoken threat. But why?

My fingers tighten around the paper as I scan for more details. Unlike the others, there's no clear ending. No payout. The others had been tied up in neat little bows—relationships packaged and concluded like business deals. But not her.

I flip through the pages again, looking for anything more. A note. A final clause. A signature.

Nothing.

She just… disappeared.

A strange unease settles in my stomach. If Christian was so meticulous, why was there no record of how it ended with her? Was she the one exception? Or was there something more to her absence?

I exhale sharply, pushing the file away for a moment. My head falls back against the headboard, my mind circling the same thought over and over.

Who is Leila Williams? And why does it feel like she's still here, lingering in the shadows?

A flicker of doubt creeps in. I don't know what I was expecting when I opened these files, but it wasn't this. It wasn't another loose thread.

I glance toward my nightstand where my phone sits face down. Christian still doesn't know I have these files. He doesn't know I'm sifting through his past, trying to understand a version of him he's never willingly shown me.

Would he tell me about Leila if I asked?

I already know the answer.

Not yet. Not until I can piece together more on my own.

With a slow breath, I gather the papers, slipping them back into the folder and tucking it deep inside my bag. The weight of what I've learned lingers, but I push it aside. There's nothing I can do about it tonight.

For now, all I can do is wait. And watch.