Chapter 3: The Task

I'd barely slept.

The package sat on my nightstand like a ticking bomb, wrapped in innocent brown paper that gave no hint of its contents or importance. Every time I'd closed my eyes, I saw Damien's face. Those cold, merciless eyes that had looked at me like I was already dead if I failed to comply.

At 7:30 am, I stood in my tiny bathroom, staring at my reflection. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my hands still trembled slightly as I brushed my teeth. In twelve hours, my entire life had been upended by a man who spoke in commands and owned people like they belonged on chessboards.

At 8:15, my phone buzzed. A text from my boss, Richard. Where are you? The Jameson files need to be processed by 10 AM!

My stomach fell. I was usually at work by now, deep within the mundane world of insurance claims and deadlines. But now…

I typed back: Family emergency. Will be in soon.

It wasn't entirely a lie. My family, Alex and Mara, were in danger. That made this an emergency, even if Richard would never understand the stakes. And maybe I could go in later and pack up some stuff, say goodbye to a few people before I never saw them again.

Another buzz, this time from Mara: Wanna meet for coffee after work? My treat? I have so much to tell you about that cute guy from the first floor.

My hands shook as I texted back. Rain check? Dealing with some family stuff.

What family stuff? Is Alex okay?

Yeah it's just some... other stuff. I'll tell you later. I promise.

My response was lame and I knew it. But I was too stressed to think of a good excuse. Besides, Mara could smell my lies from a mile away anyway.

And even though I hated not telling her everything that had happened, what was the alternative? Actually, Mara, a billionaire showed up at my door last night and threatened to kill someone if I didn't sign this contract to marry him, and now I'm delivering mysterious packages to journalists.

Yeah, like that didn’t sound crazy at all.

~0~

The package felt heavier than it looked as I slipped it into my purse. Whatever was inside felt ominous, and the weight of what it could be, made my shoulders ache.

The Metro Tribune building was a gleaming tower of glass and steel in downtown Manhattan, the kind of place where important people made decisions that shaped the world. I'd walked past it dozens of times on my way to job interviews, never imagining I'd have a reason to enter.

The lobby was all polished marble and hurried professionals, everyone moving with the sharp purpose of people who knew their time was valuable. I felt underdressed in my simple black pants and white blouse.

"I'm here to see Angela Martinez," I told the receptionist, a polished woman whose manicure probably cost more than my monthly metro card.

"Fifth floor, news desk. Elevators are to your right."

The elevator was packed with reporters and editors, all carrying the caffeine-charged energy of a newsroom in motion. I caught fragments of conversations. Something about a city council scandal, a missing persons case, a corporate merger that might affect thousands of jobs. Real news. Important news. The kind of news that changed lives.

What could possibly be in my package that belonged in this world?

The fifth floor was controlled chaos. Desks arranged in clusters, phones ringing constantly, the rapid-fire clatter of keyboards, and the low hum of conversations that could range from celebrity gossip to international crises.

"Excuse me," I waved trying to get the attention of a harried-looking intern rushing past with a stack of files. "I'm looking for Angela Martinez?"

He pointed toward a corner office where a woman in her forties sat hunched over her computer, dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, coffee cup in hand. Even from a distance, I could see the intense way she leaned into her work like it was the most important thing in the world.

I approached the glass-walled office and knocked softly.

Angela looked up, and I was struck by her eyes. Sharp, intelligent, with the kind of alertness that came from years of hunting down truth in a world full of lies. This was a woman who asked hard questions and didn't accept easy answers.

"Angela Martinez?"

"That's me. You are?"

"Lena Brooks. I have something for you." I pulled the package from my purse, my hands steadier than I'd expected. "Someone asked me to deliver this directly to you."

Angela's expression shifted subtly, becoming more guarded. "Someone?"

"I..." I hesitated. Damien hadn't told me what to say if asked. "I'm just the messenger."

Angela studied me for a long moment, then took the package. Her fingers were careful as she examined it, and I noticed small scars on her hands—probably from years of investigative work that took her to places where journalists weren't welcome.

"Thank you," Angela said finally, setting it on her desk but not opening it. "Can I ask how you know this... someone?"

"I don't, really." That was the truth, at least. "I was just asked to make sure you personally got it."

Angela's lips pressed together, her eyes remaining sharp and assessing. I could see she wasn't satisfied with my answer, but after a moment said, "Well, thank you for making the trip."

Angela placed the package in a drawer in her desk, pausing as if contemplating whether she should really keep it.

I wondered what kind of packages she normally received. I didn't blame her for being suspicious. I wasn't even sure if the package should be trusted, but I hoped beyond anything that I hadn’t just put this woman’s life in danger.

"Is everything okay?" Angela asked, studying my expression carefully as if expecting me to reveal more about the contents I’d just delivered.

"Yes, sorry. I should go." I managed a weak smile. She nodded goodbye.

I left the newsroom feeling more unsettled than when I'd arrived. The elevator ride down seemed longer, each floor marking my descent back into a world where I understood little and controlled even less.

My phone buzzed as I stepped onto the street. Richard again: Lena, I need you here NOW. The Jameson account is falling apart and I need those files processed immediately. This is your final warning.

My final warning. If only Richard knew what real warnings looked like.

I typed back: Still dealing with this emergency. Sorry.

But even as I sent the message, I knew it was ridiculous. I should have just told him that I wasn’t going to be coming in anymore. Damien made it clear that I would no longer have this job. And with Richard pissed at me, I no longer felt like going into the office to get my stuff. I didn’t need him yelling at me, making things worse.

I decided I needed to go for a walk. I needed to take a breath and process what my life had become in less than twenty four hours. As I strolled through Central Park, I watched as families walked by with children, couples held hands, joggers ran past with the easy confidence of people whose biggest worry was beating their personal best time.

I envied them for their normalcy.

My phone vibrated, Mara, flashed across the screen.

"Hey," I answered, trying to sound normal.

"So I've been thinking about it and Alex is the only family you care about. So what's going on? What's this family stuff?" my friend asked, before pausing. "Lena, are those birds I'm hearing? Are you outside? Why aren't you at work?"

I chewed on my lip. Too tired to even try and lie.

Mara continued. "You're acting weird, Lena. And now you're not even at work. What the hell? Spill."

I shifted under the weight of her questions. "It's complicated," I admitted.

"Complicated how? Is Alex really okay? You're scaring me."

"Alex is fine." Damien had given his word that he would be. And that would have to be enough…for now.

"Then what is it?"

"I can't really talk about this right now, Mara. I'm sorry. I just need some time to figure things out."

"Figure what out? Please tell me what's going on. We don't keep secrets, Lena, and if you're in some kind of trouble you know I'll help." I smiled, my best friend was always there to the rescue. But she couldn’t help me with this.

I breathed deeply. "I promise I'll explain everything soon. I just can't right now."

Mara was quiet for a moment. "Okay, but if someone's hurting you—"

"No one's hurting me." Not physically, anyway.

"Good. Because you know I'd have to kill them, right?"

I managed a small laugh. "I know."

After hanging up, I sat on the park bench and watched the city move around me. Soon I would be picked up by god knows who to do god knows what.

Maybe deliver another package, this time to a loan shark who owed Damien money?

Where would it end?

I didn’t know whether to cry or scream.

I just knew I was exhausted.

~0~

**BREAKING NEWS: Car bomb discovered in vehicle belonging to Metro Tribune investigative reporter Angela Martinez. The device was found after authorities were alerted and has been safely disarmed by the NYPD bomb squad. Investigation ongoing.More details to come.**

I stopped folding my sweater, my eyes fixed on the television screen. Angela Martinez. The woman I'd delivered a package to just hours ago.

Car bomb.

The words echoed in my mind as the reporter continued speaking, but I could barely process the rest of the details. Someone had tried to kill Angela Martinez today. Someone had planted a bomb in her car.

But Damien had known. Somehow, he'd known about the threat and used me to deliver that information. Information that had saved the journalist's life.

My hands shook as I realized the full scope of what I'd been pulled into. Bombs and threats and secrets important enough to kill for.

And I was standing in the middle of it, holding pieces of a puzzle I didn't understand, forced to be married to a man who would use me like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

How many other lives hung in the balance of Damien's decisions? How many other threats was he managing, how much more danger existed?

And why had he chosen me?

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: Well done. A car will pick you up at 8.

Of course, he'd had my number, and of course, he'd been waiting. The bomb, the package. It was all connected, all part of something larger and more dangerous than I could ever imagine.

I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but what I did know was that I had just gotten my first real glimpse into the world of Damien Black, and I didn’t know how much more of it I could take.