Chapter Two: The Red Envelope

The second Ava stepped inside her office, she knew something was wrong.

The air felt off. Still, but not quiet. Like whoever had been here hadn’t just broken they’d waited.

Her staff had gone home for the day. The lights were off. Her desk was untouched except for one thing.

A single white envelope.

Her name was written across the front in blood-red ink.

She didn’t move for a full thirty seconds. Just stared. Chest tight. Mouth dry.

Then slowly, deliberately, she stepped forward and picked it up.

No return address.

No markings.

Just her name. Ava Sinclair. Written like it meant something to whoever left it.

She opened it.

Inside: one photo. A blurry surveillance shot of her walking into Hart & Co. headquarters.

On the back, a handwritten note.

“You’re already in too deep. Walk away.”

A chill crawled up her spine.

She dropped the envelope, reached for her phone and cursed.

No signal.

Ava spun toward the windows. Someone had cut the Wi-Fi. Why the hell would they

A shadow moved in the reflection behind her.

She turned fast, heart jumping.

The front door swung open.

Luca.

Not breathless. Not panicking. Calm. Like he knew something was coming.

“How the hell did you get in here?” she asked, voice sharper than she felt.

“Your receptionist let me up.”

“It’s nine at night.”

“I have influence,” he said simply.

She wanted to scream. Or throw something. Or ask him why he looked more concerned than smug for once.

Instead, she just shoved the photo in his chest.

“Still think I’m being dramatic?”

He took it. Read it. Didn’t speak.

She watched his jaw clench subtle but real.

“Someone’s watching me,” she said. “They followed me to your office. They know my name, my clients, and where I work”

“And they want you to back off.”

“No,” she said. “They want me scared.”

Luca looked up, and something had changed in his eyes. Gone was the businessman. In his place stood something colder. More dangerous.

“This isn’t about your agency,” he said. “This is personal.”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “Meaning?”

“You weren’t just caught in the crossfire. Someone targeted you. They sent a message.”

“So what now? You expect me to hide in my apartment while you go handle it like some alpha male protector fantasy?”

He almost smiled. “I don’t care what you do, Ava. But I’m not walking away from this. Not until I know who’s behind it.”

She exhaled slowly. “And let’s say I believe you. What’s your next move?”

“I put someone in your building. Get your phones secured. And you stay where I can keep eyes on you.”

She snorted. “You want me to move in with you?”

“No,” he said. “I want you to stop pretending this is just business.”

That shut her up.

He stepped closer. Close enough to feel the tension crackling between them again.

“You want to handle this your way? Fine. But when the next envelope shows up, when it’s not just a picture when it’s a threat with a name don't say I didn’t offer protection.”

She swallowed hard. Not from fear. From the fact that he was right. And she hated that more than anything.

Ava turned away, arms crossed, forcing her breath to steady.

“You think it’s going to get worse?”

Luca’s voice was quiet, but certain.

“I know it will.”

Ava’s phone finally buzzed and the life signal was restored.

One new text.

Unknown Number:

Move in with him. We dare you.

Then another.

Ava, you have no idea who you’re standing next to.

Ava’s eyes locked on her phone screen.

Now we know where you sleep.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She just stood there, still holding the strap of her bag in one hand, the cold buzz of that message vibrating through her chest.

Behind her, Luca closed the penthouse door with a soft click.

He noticed the tension before she even showed him the screen.

“What is it?” he asked.

Ava held it up wordlessly.

He took the phone. Read it once. Twice. Then walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and tapped something on his device.

“Whoever this is, they’re monitoring your phone’s location in real-time. You left breadcrumbs when you connected to public Wi-Fi at your office. My people will block it.”

“I didn’t ask for your people,” Ava said, voice tight.

“You didn’t have to. You’re here, aren’t you?”

She hated that she didn’t have a comeback for that.

The penthouse was exactly what she expected: sleek, expensive, impersonal. All cold stone, glass, chrome edges. It didn’t feel like a home it felt like a war room.

“You live here?” she asked.

“I sleep here. I live at work.”

“Of course you do.”

He gave her a look but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he walked across the open space and pointed down a hall. “Guest rooms to the left. Lock the door if it makes you feel better.”

“I don’t need a lock,” Ava said.

“You’ll use it anyway.”

She didn’t respond. She walked down the hall with her bag, entered the guest room, and closed the door behind her.

Inside, the space was as perfect and sterile as the rest of the penthouse. A king-sized bed, too many pillows, a wall-mounted flat screen, and zero personality.

She dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed.

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

This wasn’t about Luca anymore. This wasn’t about business.

This was about being watched. Followed. Chosen as a target for a reason she didn’t understand.

And the one person who seemed calm in all of it?

Was the man who played God with her career two days ago.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock.

Ava opened the door, and Luca stood there with two glasses of dark liquor in his hands.

“I figured yelling at each other in the kitchen was too predictable,” he said, offering her one.

She took it without speaking and followed him back out to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.

They drank in silence for a moment.

Then he asked, “Do you believe me now?”

“That you didn’t send the messages? Maybe.”

“Not good enough.”

She looked over at him. “You don’t get to ask for full trust from someone you tried to buy.”

“I didn’t try to buy you,” he said. “I tried to buy your company.”

“Same thing.”

“No,” he said, quietly. “It’s not.”

There was something in his tone. Not an apology. But not cold, either.

She studied him. “Who are you when you’re not performing for boardrooms?”

He glanced at her like she’d asked a question most people didn’t dare to.

“I don’t know,” he said after a pause. “Haven’t had time to figure that out.”

Ava took another sip of her drink and let that sit between them.

Then her voice became softer this time “Do you ever feel like you built something so strong, so guarded, that you forgot how to let anything real in?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“I feel that every day,” he said.

The lights in the penthouse flickered.

Ava’s phone buzzed again with one last message, no number.

“He’s lying. He always lies.”

Ava stared at the latest message.

“He’s lying. He always lies.”

She didn’t say anything. Just turned the screen toward Luca.

His expression barely shifted, but his hand tensed around the glass.

“How are they doing this?” she asked, voice low.

“Someone has access to your phone remotely,” he said. “They’re inside your system, not just tracing your location. This level of surveillance it's personal. And sophisticated.”

Ava put her drink down and stepped back. “And you still think this isn’t connected to you?”

“I don’t know,” Luca admitted. “But whoever they are, they’re trying to divide us. That message is meant to rattle you.”

“Well, it’s working.” She dragged her fingers through her curls. “I’m not used to being someone’s target, Luca. I’m not built for this.”

“Yes, you are.” He said it without hesitation. “You’re just not used to having to be.”

She gave a short laugh, sharp and tired. “Don’t try to be poetic with me.”

He moved closer only a step, but it felt like more.

“I’m not being poetic. I’m being honest.”

Ava met his gaze, and for a second, the noise between them went quiet. It wasn’t just tension now. It wasn’t just attraction or heat or rivalry. It was the sense that something bigger had started moving and neither of them could slow it down.

She looked away first.

“What are we doing here, Luca?” she asked, softer now.

“We’re surviving.”

“Together?”

Another pause.

“That depends on you,” he said.

Ava took a breath and picked up her phone again. She stared at the message for a long beat, then deleted it.

“They want me scared. I get that,” she said. “But I don’t break easily. If they want to get in my head, they’re going to have to try a lot harder.”

Luca nodded once. “Good.”

She turned to head back to the guest room but stopped halfway down the hall. “Hey.”

He looked up.

“If you’re lying to me about any of this,” she said, “I’ll find out.”

“I’m counting on it,” he replied.

That night, Ava couldn’t sleep.

And across the hall, neither could Luca.

What neither of them knew

Was that a second envelope that had already been delivered?

But this one wasn’t for Ava.

It was for him.

Ava stood in the doorway of the guest room for a long time before she finally stepped inside and locked the door behind her.

The room was silent, but her mind was anything but. Her thoughts churned: the photo, the threats, the message accusing Luca of lying. And worst of all, the feeling that this was just the beginning.

She sat on the edge of the bed, shoes still on, staring at the city lights outside the wide window. She could still feel the weight of his voice in her chest.

“That depends on you.”

What the hell did that even mean?

Across the penthouse, Luca sat alone in his private office, lights dimmed, the cold amber in his glass untouched.

The second Ava had shown him the new message, something in him had shifted. Don't panic. Not fear. But a bitter, sharp tension. The kind that only came when a threat felt too close.

He didn’t like unknowns. And whoever was behind this wasn’t just some corporate rival trying to spook Ava into submission. This was personal. Deliberate. Clean, but loud enough to be heard.

And now it was happening in his space.

He glanced at the small black envelope sitting on the corner of his desk. It had arrived an hour before Ava did not notice. No address. Just his name, printed in blood-red ink, just like hers.

He hadn’t opened it yet.

Not because he was afraid.

But because some part of him already knew it wasn’t about him.

It was about her.

The woman who had told him no. Who had looked him in the eye and didn’t flinch when the world expected her to fold. Who now slept down the hall in his home.

Luca picked up the envelope, feeling its weight, no more than a few sheets of paper.

He opened it slowly.

Inside: a photo.

Of Ava.

But not this week. Not even from this year.

She looked younger. Barely twenty. Dressed differently. Smiling.

Standing in front of a house Luca recognized.

His house.

Only she’d never been there.

His grip on the photo tightened, the edges crinkling.

Whoever was behind this knew everything.

And they were ready to blow it all apart.

Luca turned the photo over.

One line is written on the back.

“How long do you think she’ll trust you when she finds out the truth?”