Unseen Threats
She barely made it three steps outside the building before the unsettling sensation of being watched crept over her. Years of honing her instincts, of surviving in the shadows, told her this wasn’t paranoia.
Someone was following her.
She adjusted her purse, using the polished glass of a nearby storefront as a makeshift mirror. A man in a charcoal suit, his gaze fixed on his phone, walked a little too steadily behind her. He wasn’t looking at her directly, but she recognized the calculated movements.
A tail.
Keeping her pace even, she veered into a small café. The moment she stepped inside, she ducked behind a shelf of imported teas and watched. Seconds later, the man hesitated at the entrance, his sharp gaze sweeping the area.
Not a coincidence.
He wasn’t with Damon—at least, she hoped not. The question burned in her mind: Who else knows I’m here?
Taking a slow breath, she made a decision. Rather than slipping out the back door like prey, she turned and walked straight to the counter. If someone was tailing her, she needed to know why. More importantly, she needed to send a message—she wasn’t afraid.
“Espresso. Black,” she ordered, keeping her voice neutral.
As she waited, she took her phone out, pretending to scroll while subtly watching the man in the reflection of the glass display case. He stood at the entrance for another beat too long before stepping inside.
Bold.
Natalia played her part well. She turned just as he approached, feigning a moment of surprise when he stopped a few feet away.
“Ms. Moore, isn’t it?” His voice was polished, professional. The kind of voice meant to put people at ease. It had the opposite effect on her.
Her mask was flawless. She tilted her head slightly, feigning polite confusion. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not directly. But my employer is interested in people with your skillset.”
A beat. A careful calculation.
She sipped her coffee, stalling. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
He studied her for a moment before producing a sleek black business card, sliding it across the table. “If you ever decide Cross Enterprises isn’t the right fit for you, we’d love to talk.”
She let the card sit between them, untouched. “That’s quite the assumption.”
He smirked. “Consider it an open invitation.”
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving her staring at the elegantly embossed letters on the card. Langley Group.
Her fingers tightened around her cup, her stomach twisting in unease.
Victor Langley.
The name itself was enough to send a chill through her. He was not a man to underestimate.
And if he had noticed her already, it meant she was in more danger than she had anticipated.
A New Enemy or an Old One?
She walked the remaining blocks to her apartment, keeping her posture relaxed even as her mind raced. Langley was one of Damon’s biggest competitors—one with a reputation. Ruthless, manipulative, and entirely untouchable.
She had spent years planning for Damon. She had expected challenges, obstacles. But she hadn’t factored in another powerful enemy taking notice.
Had Langley been watching her all along?
When she reached her apartment, she paused at the door. Another old habit. Watching. Listening.
The hallway was quiet, the air thick with the muted hum of city life beyond the windows. Her fingers brushed over the keypad as she typed in the access code, the soft click of the lock releasing in response.
She stepped inside, locking the door behind her. The silence was immediate.
Too immediate.
Something was off.
Her gaze swept the room. Everything was as she had left it—the bookshelves undisturbed, the coat draped over the chair, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. But instinct screamed at her.
She placed her keys on the counter, then slipped off her heels. Silent steps carried her across the living room as she reached for the discreet drawer in the side table. Her fingers wrapped around cold steel.
The weight of the knife was familiar, reassuring.
She turned slowly, scanning every shadow.
A whisper of movement.
Behind.
She spun, blade raised—only to have a firm grip snatch her wrist, stopping her mid-motion.
Heat. Strength. A presence too familiar.
She met his eyes, her breath catching.
Damon.
His grip was firm but not painful, his expression unreadable as he studied her. “Impressive reflexes.”
She wrenched her arm free, stepping back, her heart hammering against her ribs. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. “Your security is lacking.”
Anger surged beneath her careful mask. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
His gaze flickered to the knife still in her grip. “You always greet unexpected guests with weapons?”
“You broke into my apartment.”
His lips curved, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “I wanted to see if you were as careful as your résumé suggests.”
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain calm. This was a test. A game she hadn’t realized she was playing.
“And? Satisfied?” she asked, voice smooth.
His expression darkened, his eyes dipping briefly to the business card still clutched in her fingers.
“Not yet.”
She followed his gaze, her stomach tightening. His gaze lifted back to hers, sharper now. “Langley doesn’t approach just anyone.”
She tilted her head, feigning indifference. “Should I be flattered?”
Damon didn’t answer immediately. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. Too quiet.
“Should I be worried?”
She held his gaze, weighing her response. This was dangerous territory.
Then, as if deciding something, he stepped closer. Too close.
“You’re hiding something, Elise.”
The name felt foreign on his tongue, as if he knew it wasn’t real.
She forced herself to smirk. “Everyone has secrets, Mr. Cross.”
He studied her for another beat, then—unexpectedly—reached out.
Her breath stilled as his fingers ghosted over her wrist, where the faintest mark from his grip remained. A warning? A claim? She couldn’t tell.
His voice dropped, rough and quiet. “I’ll figure out yours.”
Then, just as smoothly as he had entered, he stepped back, turning for the door.
And just like that, he was gone.
Leaving Natalia standing in the dark, her pulse thrumming far too fast.
Because for the first time in years, she had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t the only one playing a game.
And that, somehow—she might be the one being hunted.