Lucas Gray

‎For the first time since signing the contract, Elias was alone.

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‎The silence inside the penthouse felt unusually quiet. No orders. No threats. No dark eyes following his every movement. Alessio had left nearly an hour ago, and the absence of his presence should have been comforting. Instead, it felt wrong. Dangerous. Like the calm before a storm. Elias sat at the desk staring at the note folded between his fingers. The words hadn't changed no matter how many times he reread them.

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‎We're watching you.

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‎The message wasn't what unsettled him. It was the fact that someone had slipped the note into his pocket without him noticing. Between Roman's messages, Alessio's secrets, and the mysterious name that kept resurfacing, Elias felt like he was trapped in a game where everyone knew the rules except him.

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‎His gaze drifted toward the hallway. He thought about the address he had found. About L. Gray. About the way Alessio's expression had shifted whenever that name was mentioned. Every instinct told him to leave it alone. Unfortunately, curiosity had always been one of his worst habits.

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‎The penthouse was far larger than any one person needed. Over the last few days, Elias had memorized parts of it simply from pacing whenever he couldn't sleep. There was one room, however, that remained untouched. A black door hidden at the end of a private corridor. Alessio never entered it when Elias was around. The staff never approached it. Even the guards seemed to pretend it didn't exist.

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‎Which made it the first place Elias went.

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‎The door was locked, exactly as expected. He reached for the handle anyway, testing it. Nothing. Frustration flared inside him. He was about to walk away when he noticed a small panel beside the frame. A fingerprint scanner. The sight immediately raised more questions. Who needed biometric security inside their own home? Someone protecting dangerous information. Someone with secrets worth killing for.

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‎Kneeling beside it, Elias noticed the edge of the scanner casing wasn't fully attached. One corner protruded slightly from the wall. Frowning, he pressed against it. The panel shifted. His breath hitched. Carefully, he pulled the cover loose and exposed a maintenance switch hidden beneath. Whoever installed the system clearly hadn't expected anyone to look this closely.

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‎"This is either very smart or very stupid," he muttered.

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‎He pressed the switch. A green light flashed. The lock clicked open.

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‎For several seconds, Elias simply stared at the door. Then, before common sense could stop him, he slipped inside.

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‎The room beyond looked more like a private archive than a study. Tall bookshelves lined the walls. A massive desk sat in front of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Everything was perfectly organized. Every object. Nothing looked used. It felt less like a room and more like a vault.

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‎His attention immediately settled on the desk.

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‎The top drawer contained contracts. The second held company reports. The third drawer made his blood run cold.

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‎Files. Dozens of them.

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‎Each labeled with a name.

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‎Elias's stomach tightened as his eyes scanned the labels. Most meant nothing to him. Then he found one that did.

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‎ELIAS HART.

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‎His hands trembled as he pulled it out.

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‎Inside were photographs.

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‎Not recent photographs.

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‎Old ones.

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‎A picture of him leaving work months ago. Another of him entering his apartment building. One taken outside a grocery store. The dates printed beneath them stretched back long before he had ever stepped into Moretti Tower.

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‎A sick feeling settled in his stomach.

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‎There were copies of his employment records. Academic transcripts. Bank statements. Rental agreements. Even detailed notes describing his routines. Someone had documented his life piece by piece. Not for days. Not for weeks.

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‎For months.

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‎ Long before he had ever stepped into the Moretti Tower.

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‎Elias dropped the file onto the desk as if it had burned him.

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‎This wasn't an employee background check.

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‎This was surveillance.

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‎Someone had been watching him long before the interview.

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‎Trying to steady his breathing, Elias shoved the file aside. Another folder caught his attention.

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‎L. Gray.

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‎His pulse spiked.

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‎He opened it immediately.

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‎Unlike his own file, this one was thin. Several pages had clearly been removed. What remained was fragmented. Incomplete. Yet it was enough to make his stomach twist. The first page identified the man as Lucas Gray, a financial analyst hired three years earlier. The second contained records of internal transfers. The third was a termination notice.

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‎The final page stopped him cold.

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‎Across the center was a red stamp.

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‎STATUS: DECEASED.

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‎Elias froze.

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‎Not missing.

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‎Dead.

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‎His eyes scanned the page again and again. There was no cause of death. No official report. No explanation. Just a handwritten note at the bottom.

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‎Transfer completed.

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‎"What the hell does that even mean?"

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‎The question had barely left his mouth when the study door opened.

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‎Elias nearly dropped the file.

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‎A woman stood in the doorway. She appeared to be in her late forties, dressed in a dark suit with silver-framed glasses resting on her nose. Her sharp eyes immediately landed on the folder in his hands. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

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‎Then she sighed.

‎"You weren't supposed to find that."

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‎Elias straightened and backed up instinctively. "Who are you?"

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‎The woman stepped inside. Shutting the door, she adjusted her glasses.

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‎"My name is Sophia. Mr Moretti's legal counsel.“

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‎His grip tightened on the file.

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‎"What happened to Lucas Gray?"

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‎The question wiped all expression from her face.

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‎For the first time since entering the room, she looked genuinely uneasy.

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‎"Elias," she said carefully, "put the file down."

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‎"What happened to him?"

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‎Sophia studied him for several seconds, as if deciding whether he was worth saving.

‎When she spoke again, her voice was was lowered.

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‎"Lucas Gray didn't disappear."

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‎Elias stared at her.

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‎The words hit harder than he expected.

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‎His throat suddenly felt dry.

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‎"Then where is he?"

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‎A long silence followed.

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‎The woman closed her eyes briefly before answering.

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‎"He's buried under a different name."

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‎The blood drained from Elias's face.

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‎Before he could ask another question, a phone rang somewhere in the room. The woman's expression changed instantly. Fear flashed across her features. Real fear.

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‎She looked at the screen and went pale.

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‎"Leave," she said sharply.

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‎"What?"

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‎"Now."

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‎The urgency in her voice startled him.

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‎Heavy footsteps echoed from somewhere outside the study. Slow. Deliberate. Approaching.

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‎The woman grabbed the L. Gray file and shoved it back into his hands.

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‎"Elias," she whispered urgently, "if Alessio finds you in here, everything is going to haywire."

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‎The footsteps stopped outside the door.

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‎Then the handle began to twist.

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‎Sophia face went pale.

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‎"Hide the file."

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The door swung open abruptly. Alessio stood there, hands in his pockets. Staring at us like we were fugitives.

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His gaze moved from Sophia. Then to me.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

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"Sophia."

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Alessio calm voice sounded angry.

This was worse.