007 | Not Over

Harper straightened her spine, giving him a small, steady smile as she met his worried gaze. She couldn't afford to crumble there. Especially not with someone watching.

"I'm really alright now," she replied. She gently pulled her hand from his grip. "Thank you, Dr. Argent. I just... needed a moment."

Tyson searched her face for a long second, clearly unconvinced, but he stepped back and nodded. "If you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me."

Harper gave him a polite nod and slipped out of the elevator. Her heels clicked sharply against the polished corridor tiles as she made her way towards Storage Room 4B, her heart still hammering from the earlier chaos.

The hallway was too quiet after the pandemonium downstairs. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. She paused outside the unmarked door, her hand hovering over the handle as she braced herself.

Would the stranger still be waiting?

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open. It was empty.

Her eyes dropped to the concrete floor. A plain white envelope lay directly in the centre, as if someone had placed it there on purpose.

Harper crouched slowly, her pulse roaring in her ears. She picked it up, her fingers trembling just enough to betray the adrenaline still coursing through her.

Inside the envelope was a single photograph.

A yellow Ferrari, crumpled against a guardrail on a road at night. The headlights were shattered, there was blood on the asphalt and the license plate was clearly visible.

Her breath caught in her throat.

This had to be the car that had killed her adopted parents six years ago. The one that sped away into the darkness. The one the police didn’t trace.

Harper's mind flashed back to the anonymous texts.

The hair on the back of her neck rose stiffly. She had a strong feeling that the case was more complicated than she thought.

Now someone had tried to kill her in broad daylight.

And Tyson...

Tyson had been on the third floor earlier. But he hadn't said a word about the message. He hadn’t acknowledged it either.

Why?

Was he the one who sent it? Or had he seen something?

At the sound of approaching heavy footsteps, Harper shoved the photo back into the envelope and slipped it into her coat pocket.

Then she headed out. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, two uniformed officers appeared, followed by a man in plain clothes who carried himself with authority.

"Dr. Harper Blackwell?" the officer in plain clothes asked in a baritone voice.

She straightened. "Yes."

"I'm Detective Reyes. We need to speak with you about the shooting downstairs. Someone fired multiple rounds in your direction. Any idea who might want you dead?"

Harper shook her head slowly. "No. I... I don't know."

He studied her for a long moment, then he reached into his black jacket and pulled out a business card.

"Call me if anything comes back to you. Even small details. People like this don't usually stop after one try."

She accepted the card, her fingers brushing his. He was strikingly handsome with a trimmed beard along his sharp jawline, pale brown eyes that pierced into hers unapologetically and short black hair.

"Be careful, Doctor," he said softly. "We'll be in touch."

Harper nodded and walked past them, her throat tight.

---

That night, the house felt too big and too quiet.

Harper sat on the edge of Summer's bed, brushing her daughter's long hair in slow, soothing strokes. Theo was already asleep in the nursery, his tiny chest rising and falling peacefully.

Summer looked up at her with those big grey eyes—so much like her own.

"Mummy... is Daddy going to come tomorrow? For my birthday?"

Harper's throat tightened.

She opened her mouth, searching for the right words. She really didn't want to break her little girl's heart.

But before she could speak, Summer's lip trembled.

She scrambled off the bed, ran to the room across the hall, and shut the door.

Harper heard the muffled sobs through the wall.

She lowered her head, her eyes stinging. She didn't have an answer. Not one she could give without lying.

---

The next morning came too early.

The doorbell rang just after dawn. Harper frowned, pulling on a robe as she padded downstairs.

She checked the peephole and her stomach dropped.

Anita Blackwell stood on the doorstep, dressed in immaculate black, her face red with fury.

Harper hesitated for only a second before opening the door. Before she could speak, Anita's hand cracked across her cheek.

The slap echoed in the quiet morning air.

Harper's head snapped to the side. Pain bloomed hot across her skin.

"You ungrateful little brat!" Anita spat, her voice dripping with venom.

"You think you can just walk away? Take my grandchildren? Humiliate my son in front of the entire city? You were nothing when he married you. Nothing! And now you dare—"

Harper lifted a hand to her stinging cheek, her eyes blazing.

"Get off my property, Anita."

Anita laughed coldly.

"This isn't over, girl. You think a name change and a fancy hospital job makes you untouchable? You have no idea what you've stepped into."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a hiss.

"You were warned. Multiple times. You should have left quietly without making a fuss."

Harper stepped forward, forcing Anita to take a step backwards.

"Threaten me again," she said, "and I'll have security drag you out. And I'll make sure every tabloid in the city knows exactly why."

Anita's eyes narrowed, but unease flashed across her face. Never had Harper talked back to her. Anita never knew she was capable of speaking back.

Anita clenched her fists, rage setting her insides on fire. She would fight to protect her son's legacy no matter what. She would never stand and let Harper ruin him. Especially not after how Diana, her son's first girlfriend, had ruined him.

"This is not over," she growled and stormed off.

Harper exhaled shakily, folding her night robe over her body. She suddenly regretted not staying at her father's mansion. She was still not ready to meet her other siblings. Besides, she doubted that they would be happy to meet her.

Harper rubbed her temples, where an ache was already forming. Just as she was about to step away, she heard another knock on the door.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Who's there?"

"Your husband," a familiar masculine voice said and her eyes widened.

What on earth was he doing?

"Get lost," she snapped, clenching her fists.

"I'm here for Summer," he said and she froze. Right. Her birthday.

She'd almost forgotten.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she reached for the door and opened it. There he was in all of his six-foot-three glory.

Her breath caught in her throat. She could deny it all she wanted but she was painfully attracted to him.

He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek before she could process it. "Morning, sweetheart," he said, and her eyes went wide.

The nerve of this man!