CHAPTER 6

ROSALIE

I pushed through the glass doors of Vanguard Atelier at exactly 8:00 a.m. For one second, I almost turned around. Not because I was afraid. Because walking back into this place felt like walking into a life that had continued without me. Three years ago, I had left these halls wearing a wedding ring and carrying plans for a future I thought was permanent. Now I had neither.

The receptionist looked up. Her eyes widened. "Ms. Monroe—"

"Rosalie."

My voice came out colder than I intended. She immediately straightened. "Rosalie."

"I need the coastal development files. Every version. Site surveys, environmental reports, structural revisions, access records. Everything from the last six months."

She hesitated. "Now."

She reached for the phone. I walked past her before she could make another excuse. The open-plan office fell strangely quiet as I crossed it. People stared. I recognized some faces. Others had changed. A few whispered. I didn't care.

Then Marcus Chen stepped out of the conference room. He stopped when he saw me. "Rosalie?"

"Good morning, Marcus."

He stared at me for a moment before his expression softened. "We heard what happened."

"I don't want to talk about it."

His mouth closed. Good. "I'm taking over the coastal project."

His brows pulled together. "The board already assigned—"

"Then tell the board they're changing the assignment."

"Rosalie, you can't just—"

"I designed the original concept."

"I know."

"I know the site better than anyone here."

"I know."

"And I won't spend another three years watching someone else finish what I started."

That silenced him. Marcus studied me carefully. Finally, he nodded. "Twenty minutes."

"Fifteen."

A faint smile almost appeared on his face. Almost. "Still impossible."

"Still efficient."

I walked into the office he had given me and shut the door. The moment it clicked closed, my knees weakened. I gripped the edge of the desk. Pain twisted through my lower abdomen. I waited. Breathed. Then straightened. I had spent too much of my life waiting for someone to decide whether I was worth staying for. I wasn't waiting anymore.

The files arrived in thirteen minutes. I spent the next three hours tearing through them. The coastal project was behind schedule, over budget, and carrying structural inconsistencies that should have been caught months ago. Someone had altered the foundation specifications. I leaned closer to the screen. The original load calculations were mine. I knew my work. These weren't.

"Who approved this revision?"

The junior architect standing across from my desk shifted nervously. "I'm not sure."

"Find out."

He nodded. "And bring me the access history for the file."

He hesitated. "Is something wrong?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

He left. I stared at the altered calculations. Something about them bothered me. Not because they were wrong. Because they were familiar. The same kind of careless manipulation I'd seen in the hospital documents. Numbers changed. Dates shifted. Information inserted where it didn't belong. My stomach tightened. No. I refused to let every strange thing in my life become connected. I opened another file. Then another.

At 9:30, the first delivery arrived. White roses. I didn't need to see the card. The Vance crest was stamped across the envelope. "Return them."

The receptionist called. "Ms. Monroe, there's also a courier with an envelope from—"

"Return that too."

"And someone is asking to speak with you."

"Who?"

She hesitated. "He wouldn't give his name."

"Then he doesn't get in."

The line went silent. I returned to my screen. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. Unknown number. I rejected it. It rang again. Rejected. A third time. I switched the phone off. I didn't know whether Sheriff was trying to reach me. I didn't care. At least, that was what I told myself.

Just after one, Elias Crowe appeared at my door. I looked up. He was carrying a tablet and a folder. "Rosalie."

"Elias."

"I heard you were taking over the project."

"I am."

"I brought the latest wind-load simulations and site-access logs."

I held out my hand. He gave them to me. Then he stayed. I looked at him. "You said you had the files."

"I do."

"So why are you still standing there?"

His expression tightened slightly. "Because there's something you should see."

He placed the folder on my desk. I opened it. The first pages were routine. Site entries. Vehicle registrations. Security timestamps. Then I saw one name. My fingers stopped.

MARIE LAURENT.

Date: two days before my fall.

I looked up. "What was she doing at the coastal site?"

Elias shook his head. "I don't know."

I turned the page. There was another entry. The same vehicle. Different driver. A man. No photograph. No identification. Just a temporary access number. My pulse quickened. "Who authorized this?"

"That is the problem."

He tapped the bottom of the page. The authorization had been deleted. I stared at it. "Can you recover it?"

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

His eyes met mine. "I knew you'd say that."

For the first time all day, something almost human passed between us. Then he pointed at the screen. "There's more."

He opened another file. A security-camera still appeared. A man stood near the service entrance of the coastal site. His face was turned away. But the coat— My breath caught. I knew that coat. Not from the coastal site. From somewhere else. The hospital. The stairwell. My hand tightened around the edge of the desk. "That can't be…"

Elias looked at me. "What?"

I zoomed in. The image blurred, but the shape was unmistakable. Dark coat. Black gloves. Same posture. The same man who had stood behind me on the hospital stairs. The man I had barely noticed before everything went wrong. "Rosalie?"

I couldn't answer. Because suddenly, the coastal project didn't feel like a job I'd returned to. It felt like someone had been waiting for me to come back.

I closed the file. "Send me the original security footage."

"I'll get it."

"And Elias?"

He stopped at the door. "Don't tell anyone you showed me this."

His expression changed. "Why?"

"Because I don't know who I can trust yet."

He nodded. Then he left. I sat alone. My eyes returned to the screen.

Marie had been at the coastal site. The unknown man had been there too. And somehow, both were connected to a project that had belonged to me long before my marriage destroyed everything. I opened the access log again. This time, I noticed something I had missed. A handwritten note had been scanned into the file. Three words.

TRANSFERRED TO VANCE.

My blood ran cold. I stared at the screen. Sheriff. Why had his name appeared on a project he had nothing to do with? And why had someone removed the authorization records afterward?

My phone suddenly vibrated. I had switched it back on without realizing. One new message. No number. No name. Just an image. I opened it. My stomach dropped. It was a photograph of me entering Vanguard Atelier that morning. Taken from across the street. Beneath it was a single sentence.

You came back too soon, Rosalie.

I stared at the message. Then another one appeared.

Next time, I won't miss.