7. Pinned Between Secrets

Aaron

The shrill alarm is still echoing when my car skids to a stop outside the building. I barely let the driver put it in park before I’m out, striding toward the entrance. Wyatt and the other men fall in behind me without a word. Their silence tells me they feel the tension in my body, the cold storm running through my veins.

“Status?” I bark the moment I reach the head of security.

“Motion was detected inside your office, sir. No confirmed ID yet. The cameras caught shadows but no clear face.”

Shadows. How convenient.

We sweep through the building floor by floor, armed guards splitting to cover every hallway. My heart is hammering, not with fear but with the sharp awareness that someone dared to slip into my world, my sanctuary. My office is more than a room—it’s where the strings of this entire empire are tied.

Anyone trying to get in has a reason.

As I walk, I weigh the possibilities. A drunk who wandered in off the street? Unlikely. My security doesn’t leave holes that wide. Someone sent to steal files? More probable. There are plenty who would kill for the contracts and figures stored in my cabinets.

Or maybe… someone testing me. The thought settles in my mind like ice.

“Clear!” one man calls from the left corridor. Another echoes from the right. Each announcement only makes the tension sharper, drawing me closer to my office.

When I finally step inside, the scent hits me first. My office always smells like polished wood and faint leather, but tonight, something lingers—a trace of warmth, a human presence that doesn’t belong here.

Wyatt waits for my order. I raise a hand and they fan out, scanning every corner. My gaze snaps to the desk. Everything is exactly as I left it. Files stacked, pen aligned. Perfect, precise. Except—

My breath stalls.

There, right at the center of the mahogany, lies a photograph. I step closer, fingers curling into fists. It’s Lena.

“Lena Moore -” her name escapes my mouth like a sharp whisper.

Not a random printout. Not from the files. It’s a candid shot, perhaps in the sanctuary of her bedroom. She lies peacefully on her bed, her eyes closed; she is probably sleeping.

I wonder how peaceful she might look when I stare at her resting figure on the bed. Snapping back from the moment, I realise that I shouldn’t be thinking about it at all. I just know that this photo doesn’t belong here.

I feel the heat crawl up my neck. Whoever was here left this for me to find.

“Search the entire floor,” I order, my voice like steel. “Top to bottom. Check the vents, the stairwells, everything.”

“Yes, sir.” Wyatt signals, and the men scatter again.

But even as they move, my eyes are fixed on that picture. Why Lena? Out of all things someone could have left—a threat, a signature, even a knife—why her face?

I don’t touch it. I let it sit there, mocking me with its simplicity. Minutes stretch into an hour as every hallway is cleared, every room declared empty. The intruder is gone. Whoever it was, they were fast, precise, and smart enough not to get caught.

Finally, I give the signal. “We’re done here.”

The men regroup. Wyatt stays by my side as we head out. His face is expressionless, but his eyes flick once to the photo before I slide it into the drawer. I don’t comment, and neither does he.

The ride back home is silent. Outside the window, the city is a blur of lights, but my mind isn’t on the skyline. It’s stuck on that photo. By the time I step into my house, I know I won’t sleep.

Hours later, the night still clings to me, restless and heavy. I sit in the armchair near the window, staring at the darkness. The picture plays on repeat in my mind. I replay the possibilities: a rival, a thief, an enemy. Yet every time, my thoughts circle back to Lena.

Not because I think she walked into my office—no, she’s too careful, too soft for that. But maybe she knows who did. Maybe she’s being used. Or maybe she’s involved in ways I can’t yet see.

One thing is certain that this wasn’t random. When dawn cracks through the blinds, I haven’t closed my eyes once.

By the time I arrive at the office that morning, the building feels different. The air is sharper, the walls closer. My men are alert, stationed at every corner. I walk through the main hall, and that’s when I see her.

Lena Moore.

She’s standing with a cluster of colleagues, laughing. The sound cuts through the noise of the office, soft and unguarded. For a moment, it disarms me. The picture on my desk flashes in my mind, and my chest tightens.

“Miss Lena.” My voice is low but commanding. Her laughter fades. She glances at me, then shakes her head. “I’m in the middle of something, Mr. King.”

I freeze. She’s never refused me before. “Now.” My tone sharpens.

“Go back to work!” I command, and all the workers shift awkwardly, eyes flicking between us. I can’t stand the audience.

“Everyone back to your stations,” I order. The group scatters instantly, leaving her standing alone. Before she can protest again, I step forward and grab her arm. She stiffens, but I don’t let go. I lead her across the floor, straight into my cabin, and lock the door behind us.

She whirls to face me, her eyes flashing. “What is this? You can’t just drag me in here—”

I don’t hear the rest. Because as soon as our eyes collide, the words die on my tongue.

For one heartbeat, I forget everything. The alarm, the photo, the suspicion. All I see is her—close, trapped against the wall, her chest rising with each breath. My hand lingers near her arm, and an ache burns in my chest. I want—

No.

I slam the brakes on my thoughts and force myself to step back. The air between us is charged, fragile. “I need to ask you something,” I say, my tone clipped, professional.

She blinks, astonished by my shift, but nods cautiously. I pull open the drawer and place the picture on the desk. “This was left in my office last night.”

The color drains from her face. “I don’t know—” she stutters, her words stumbling. “You expect me to believe this is a coincidence?” My gaze narrows. “I swear, I didn’t—”

Her voice falters. I hear the cracks in it, the hesitations. She’s hiding something. “Who’s protecting you?” I press, stepping closer. “Who sent you here?”

“No one,” she whispers. Her eyes dart away, betraying her. I exhale slowly, trying to steady the storm inside me. If she’s lying, why? Then another thought strikes me. “You were late yesterday. Why?”

She hesitates again before sighing. “Transport. I don’t… always have reliable options.” The truth in her voice disarms me for a second. It doesn’t erase the suspicion, but it explains something.

I am confused and lost. Anger surges within my thoughts when I think about her. Suspicious thoughts crosses my mind when I realise that she could be sent by any of my rivals, but I know I have to take it easy and find our before I blame her.

“Go,” I finally say, waving her toward the door. She looks at me with relief and fear tangled together. “Thank you, Mr King -” she sounds timid…as if she was looking forward to escaping the room. There is a sign of relief lingering within her tone.

The moment she leaves, I turn to Wyatt, who’s been waiting just outside. “Keep an eye on her. Discreetly. I want to know everything—where she goes, who she speaks to.”

With a confirming nod, Wyatt agrees, “Yes, sir.”

Later that day, I summon her again. She walks in cautiously, eyes darting between me and the locked door. “You’ll no longer commute on your own,” I say firmly. “From tomorrow, the company’s private car will pick you up and drop you off.”

“That’s not your responsibility. I can’t afford it,” she argues, and I sigh deeply, trying to maintain my posture, “And I can’t afford my staff arriving late. There is something called accountability, and you need to follow the rules, Ms Lena.”

Her lips part, a protest forming, but I cut her off. “This isn’t negotiable.”

I watch the flicker of emotion cross her face—fear, confusion, something else. She nods slowly, though her eyes won’t meet mine. As she leaves the room, my phone buzzes. A message from Wyatt. One line only.

“Sir, she’s being followed.” The storm inside me sharpens into something darker. And I know this is only the beginning.