The Envelope

There were several reasons why opening a mysterious envelope with my name written on it was a terrible idea.

One, I had watched enough movies to know that mysterious envelopes rarely contained good news.

Two, the envelope had been left by Zara Mitchell, a woman who considered emotional manipulation a recreational activity.

And three, Damien was currently on his way to the café, and I could already imagine the lecture I would receive for meeting his ex behind his back.

Yet there I stood, staring at the envelope like it contained the winning lottery numbers.

"Miss?"

I looked up.

A waiter stood beside me, holding a tray.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"No," I replied quickly. "Actually, yes. Well, technically, I'm looking for something someone left behind."

His gaze dropped to the envelope.

"Oh, that woman asked me to give you this."

I turned toward him so quickly that he nearly stepped back.

"She did?"

He nodded.

"She said you'd come back for it."

Of course she had.

Zara Mitchell apparently had a sixth sense for my poor decision-making skills.

"Did she say anything else?"

The waiter thought for a moment.

"Just that you should open it somewhere private."

I stared at him.

"She actually said that?"

"Yes, miss."

I looked at the envelope again.

Somewhere private.

That sounded even worse than I had imagined.

"Thank you."

He walked away, leaving me alone with my questionable choices.

I slipped the envelope into my bag.

Whatever was inside, I wasn't opening it here.

For once, I intended to make a sensible decision.

Then my phone rang.

Damien.

I answered immediately.

"Before you start shouting, I'm alive, I'm safe, and nobody has kidnapped me."

"Why would I think you've been kidnapped?"

"Because you've called me four times in the last six minutes."

"Three times."

I checked my call log.

"Oh. My mistake. You're only moderately obsessed with my whereabouts."

"Ava."

There it was.

That tone.

The one that meant he was trying very hard not to lose his temper.

"I'm coming out now," I told him.

"Good. And don't go anywhere else until I get there."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

I ended the call before he could respond.

Then I walked outside.

A black car was parked across the street.

My steps slowed.

It was an ordinary-looking sedan, nothing particularly remarkable about it. The windows were slightly tinted, and I couldn't see the driver clearly.

I glanced at the license plate.

Before I could make out the numbers, the car pulled away.

My stomach tightened.

I stood there for another moment, trying to convince myself I was being paranoid.

Not every black car was following me.

Not every stranger was dangerous.

And not every uncomfortable feeling meant something terrible was about to happen.

I repeated those thoughts until a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Ava!"

Damien hurried toward me.

He looked annoyed, worried, and slightly out of breath.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Did you run here?"

"No."

"Your face says otherwise."

"My face says you have the survival instincts of a goldfish."

I gasped.

"That's offensive to goldfish."

He stopped in front of me and examined my face.

"Are you okay?"

The question was quieter this time.

I nodded.

"Yes."

"Did Zara say anything threatening?"

"Not exactly."

His expression changed.

"What does that mean?"

"It means she said several irritating things, none of which included a direct threat."

"Ava."

I sighed.

"Can we talk somewhere else? People are staring."

He glanced around.

A woman at a nearby table immediately looked down at her coffee.

Damien gave her a polite smile.

She looked even more interested.

"Wonderful," I muttered. "Now we're entertainment."

He gently took my bag from my shoulder.

"Come on."

I followed him to his car.

As he opened the passenger door, he looked at me again.

"You're going to tell me everything."

I climbed inside.

"Unfortunately, I was afraid you'd say that."

---

We ended up at a small park several streets away.

Damien bought us two bottles of water from a nearby shop, then sat beside me on a wooden bench.

For almost a minute, he said nothing.

That was how I knew I was in serious trouble.

Damien was capable of talking through an entire movie, three meals, and possibly a natural disaster.

Silence wasn't his thing.

Finally, he turned toward me.

"Start from the beginning."

I twisted the cap off my water.

"Zara messaged me last night. She said she had something to tell me about you."

"And you decided to meet her alone?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds bad."

"Because it was bad!"

A couple walking past us glanced over.

I lowered my voice.

"Could you please stop shouting? I'm already regretting my life choices."

He dragged a hand through his hair.

"Sorry."

I blinked.

That was unexpected.

Damien looked at me, his expression serious.

"I'm not angry because you spoke to Zara. I'm angry because someone has been sending you threatening messages, and you decided to meet a woman who has been acting strangely without telling anyone where you were."

I looked down at my hands.

When he put it like that, it did sound reckless.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

He waited.

I sighed.

"She said the anonymous messages weren't from her. She also claimed she saw a car following us after our dinner on Friday."

Damien's posture changed.

"What car?"

"She didn't know the make. She said she saw it following us for several streets."

"Did she say why she didn't tell me?"

"She said you wouldn't believe her."

He laughed once, without humor.

"She's right about that."

"Damien."

"What? You want me to pretend I suddenly trust her?"

"No. I want you to listen before you decide she's lying."

He stared at me.

Then he looked away.

"Fine. What else?"

I hesitated.

"She thinks our relationship is fake."

His head snapped toward me.

"How?"

"She showed me a photograph of us at the café. She said she could tell you were putting on a performance."

"That's it?"

"She also said you keep secrets from people."

His expression became unreadable.

For a moment, I thought he was going to make a joke.

He didn't.

Instead, he asked, "Did she tell you anything specific?"

"No."

"Did she give you anything?"

I froze.

The envelope.

I'd completely forgotten about it.

Well, not completely. I'd just managed to push it to the back of my mind while dealing with Damien's interrogation.

"Maybe."

His eyes narrowed.

"Ava."

"Don't start."

"What did she give you?"

I reached into my bag and pulled out the envelope.

Damien stared at it.

Then at me.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Good afternoon to you too."

He took a breath.

"Did you open it?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because the waiter said she told him I should open it somewhere private."

Damien looked as though he wanted to lie down on the pavement.

"That is not a reason to keep it."

"It is when the person giving it to me is Zara Mitchell."

He held out his hand.

"Let me see."

I gave him the envelope.

He turned it over, examining the front and back.

There was no return address. No stamp. No markings.

Just my name.

He slid a finger beneath the flap and opened it.

Inside was a folded sheet of paper and a small photograph.

He removed the photograph first.

Then went completely still.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

I leaned closer.

The photograph showed a younger Damien standing beside a woman I didn't recognize.

They appeared to be outside a large building, perhaps a hotel or office. Damien looked about nineteen, maybe twenty.

The woman had dark hair and wore sunglasses.

I frowned.

"Who is she?"

Damien turned the photograph over.

Something had been written on the back.

ASK HIM WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT.

My stomach tightened.

I looked at Damien.

"Okay. I'm officially confused."

He continued staring at the photograph.

"Damien?"

His jaw clenched.

"Where did Zara get this?"

"That would be a great question if you weren't the one who apparently knows what's going on."

He finally looked at me.

"I don't know who took this picture."

"But you recognize the woman?"

A long pause.

Then he nodded.

"Yes."

I waited.

He said nothing else.

I stared at him.

"You cannot possibly expect me to accept that as a complete answer."

"I know."

"Then explain."

He looked down at the photograph again.

"Her name was Natalie."

"Okay. Who was Natalie?"

"Someone I knew a few years ago."

I waited.

He rubbed his forehead.

"Ava, this isn't something I can explain in thirty seconds."

"Then take thirty-one."

Despite everything, he almost smiled.

Almost.

Then the expression disappeared.

"She was involved in a situation that went wrong. I thought it was over."

"What situation?"

He folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope.

"I need to find out why Zara has this before I tell you anything else."

I stared at him.

"You cannot be serious."

"I'm sorry."

"Damien, you dragged me into this fake relationship because your ex wouldn't leave you alone. Now I'm receiving anonymous threats, Zara is handing me photographs of mysterious women, and you want me to accept 'I need to find out more' as an explanation?"

"No. I want you to understand that I don't have all the answers yet."

"Then give me the answers you do have."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"I knew Natalie before I met Zara. Something happened between us and a few other people. I haven't spoken to her in years."

"What happened?"

His shoulders tensed.

"I can't tell you that yet."

I stared at him.

The words hurt more than they should have.

Not because I expected Damien to tell me every detail of his life.

But because we had spent seventeen years being the people who told each other everything.

First days of school.

Embarrassing crushes.

Family arguments.

Terrible decisions.

Everything.

Now there was a photograph in my hand, a mysterious woman in his past, and a message that suggested the story wasn't over.

And my best friend was shutting me out.

"Fine," I said quietly.

His expression shifted.

"Ava—"

"No. It's fine."

It wasn't.

We both knew it.

I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder.

"Just let me know when you decide I'm allowed to know what's happening."

He rose immediately.

"That's not fair."

I turned toward him.

"Neither is being threatened by someone whose identity I don't know while the person I trust most refuses to explain why his ex has evidence of a secret from his past."

He had no answer.

For once, Damien Cole had absolutely nothing to say.

I walked toward the parking lot.

He followed me but didn't try to stop me.

And somehow, that made everything worse.

---

By the time I got home, I was exhausted.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

There was a difference.

Physical exhaustion could be fixed with a nap and a generous amount of food.

Emotional exhaustion required several days of uninterrupted sleep, a new personality, and possibly a relocation to another continent.

I dropped my bag beside the couch and sat down.

The envelope lay on the coffee table.

I pulled out the photograph again.

Natalie.

Who was she?

What had happened that night?

And why had Zara chosen now to bring it to my attention?

I turned the photograph over.

The message was written in black ink, the letters neat and deliberate.

ASK HIM WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT.

I studied the picture again.

Damien was smiling in it, but there was something strange about his expression. His smile looked forced, as though someone had asked him to pose when he would rather have been somewhere else.

Or with someone else.

I shook my head.

I was overthinking everything.

That was what I did when I didn't have enough information.

I turned to the folded sheet of paper.

Perhaps it would explain something.

I opened it.

There were only two sentences.

Some people are very good at hiding the truth, Ava.

The question is whether you can handle it when you finally discover it.

I stared at the words.

Then I read them again.

A knock sounded at my door.

I jumped.

For one ridiculous second, I considered pretending I wasn't home.

Then I checked the peephole.

Damien stood outside.

I opened the door but didn't step aside.

"What?"

He looked tired.

And, for the first time in a long time, uncertain.

"I owe you an explanation."

I folded my arms.

"That would be a refreshing change."

He accepted the jab without arguing.

"I can't tell you everything tonight. But I can promise you one thing."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

He looked directly at me.

"Whatever Zara is trying to do, I won't let her hurt you."

I swallowed.

A part of me wanted to believe him without question.

Another part remembered the photograph.

The woman.

The message.

The secret he wouldn't share.

"That's not the same as telling me the truth," I said.

"I know."

We stood there in silence.

Then Damien lowered his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Ava."

It was the first time he'd apologized without trying to make me laugh afterward.

I didn't know what to do with that.

So I stepped aside and let him in.

Not because everything was fine.

Not because I'd forgotten what happened.

But because he was still Damien.

My best friend.

The person who had sat beside me through every bad day and every terrible decision.

And I wasn't ready to give up on him because of one photograph.

Not yet.

As he walked into my apartment, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

An unknown number.

My heart sank.

I picked it up.

Unknown: Now you know there's more to Damien than he tells you.

A second message appeared.

Unknown: Ask him what happened to Natalie after that photograph was taken.

I slowly raised my eyes toward Damien.

He was standing beside the window, staring out at the street.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I wondered whether Zara was the only person I needed to be afraid of.

Because someone else knew about Natalie.

Someone else knew about that night.

And whoever they were, they had just made it clear that they were watching us, too.