Episode 5

Wednesday Morning

Two days passed without a word from him.

I slipped into routine — scanning files, formatting documents, uploading vendor contracts. Naina was efficient but kind. No one asked questions. No one looked too closely. Just how I liked it.

Until my phone buzzed.

> Internal Msg — CEO’s Office

Mr. Lucian Blake would like a brief word regarding internal documentation protocol. 11:30 AM. 7th Floor.

My hands are still on the keyboard.

Lucian Blake.

The name suited him — elegant, unreadable, sharp as glass.

At 11:27, I stood outside the polished glass doors of the seventh floor, hands folded, heart ticking a little too fast.

The receptionist glanced up. “You can go in. He’s expecting you.”

The door clicked shut behind me.

His office was spacious and minimal — all glass, steel, and soft light. Floor-to-ceiling windows cast faint shadows across shelves lined with fabric samples and monochrome books. A single abstract painting hung behind him — crimson brushstrokes on white canvas, bold and unresolved.

He stood by the window, hands in his pockets.

“You’re early,” he said without looking back.

“I figured it was better than being late.”

He turned — slow, deliberate — and studied me with that same unreadable calm.

“I’ve reviewed the digital logs,” he said, walking to his desk. “You’re meticulous. Most new hires don’t settle this quickly.”

“I prefer quiet work,” I said.

His gaze flicked up. “So I noticed.”

Silence stretched between us — not uncomfortable, just dense with something unspoken.

“You’ve worked with confidential material before,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Medical?”

My heartbeat jumped.

“No,” I lied. “Legal. Briefly.”

He watched me a moment longer — then nodded. Not convinced, but not pushing.

He walked around to his desk, fingers brushing a file he didn’t open.

“You don’t speak unless you have to,” he said.

I said nothing.

“That’s rare.”

“I don’t mind silence,” I said softly.

“I can tell.”

His voice had changed — lower, slower. Still professional… but something beneath it shifted. A pause. A thought.

Then he looked directly at me.

“You have very unusual eyes, Tria.”

The words hung in the space between us.

“They stay with you,” he added, barely above a whisper.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

Before I lost my composure, I nodded once, turned, and stepped out of the office.

But I carried his words with me — like heat on skin after a shadow passed.

Wednesday Night — 8:26 PM

Outside the café, under the low drizzle

I stepped out into the night air, the rain now soft enough to be ignored. My coat hugged close around me as I glanced down the quiet street.

My phone buzzed again. Same unknown number.

I didn’t text back this time.

I answered.

I didn’t say hello.

I just waited.

There was silence on the other end — not hesitation, not uncertainty. Just the kind of silence that says too much.

Then, his voice.

Low. Rough. Still familiar.

> “You changed your number.”

My breath caught.

> “Raven?”

Another pause. I could almost hear the faint static between us, the pull of a name I hadn’t said aloud in months. Years?

> “You shouldn’t be working at Red Lino’s.”

My heart stopped.

> “You’re watching me?”

> “I’m not the only one.”

There it was. That cold ripples down my spine. The edge to his words wasn’t a threat. It was a warning.

> “You should’ve stayed gone,” I whispered.

> “And you should’ve stayed hidden.”

Silence again.

I swallowed. “Why now?”

His voice lowered.

> “Because you’re getting close to something... or someone... that doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

> “Lucian?”

He didn’t answer.

But silence was the answer.

I stared out at the empty street. The city moved around me — cars, lights, distant horns — but I felt as if I was suddenly standing still.

> “Where are you?” I asked, barely above a breath.

His reply came slower. Like he was choosing the lie he wouldn’t tell.

> “Close.”

Then the line went dead.

And just like that… I wasn’t sure if I felt safer.

Or more exposed.

Wednesday Night — 8:42 PM

Outside her building

The call had ended.

But his voice still echoed in my ears.

Raven.

I stood in front of my apartment building, unmoving.

The rain clung to my lashes.

Or maybe… it wasn’t just rain.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted salt on my lips.

I swiped at my cheek, almost angrily.

But the tears kept coming — not loud, not broken — just… steady.

The way grief leaks out when it’s been locked in too long.

He was alive.

He was close.

He was still watching me.

And I hated how my chest ached not from fear —

but from the sharp, undeniable truth:

I still loved him.

Even after everything.

Even after he left me bleeding in silence.

I looked up at my apartment windows — dark and still.

My sanctuary. My lie.

But something in me had cracked.

And I knew the past wasn’t done with me.

Not Raven.

Not what happened that night.

Not the part of me I’d tried to bury beneath new names and neat files.

8:46 PM

Standing outside my door, keys unmoved in my hand

The screen lit up again.

Unknown Number

> You’re crying.

My breath caught in my throat.

I didn’t look around.

I didn’t move.

He could’ve been anywhere — on the rooftop across the street, a shadow in a car window, an echo in my mind.

But the words hit exactly where he always aimed:

The part of me I kept buried deepest.

I typed:

> You don’t get to say that.

You left.

Three dots.

Then silence.

Then:

> I had to.

You wouldn’t have walked away from the blood. And I needed you to live.

I stared at the screen. My thumb trembled over the reply box.

> Then why are you here now?

Another pause.

> Because Lucian Blake isn’t just a CEO.

And you’re walking straight into his fire.

And then, almost as if it were a whisper in the dark:

> If you still trust me — don’t go to work tomorrow.

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