Chapter 5

 The Secret File

Liam's POV

The package was already inside my apartment.

I knew I hadn't left it there.

The moment I locked my front door behind me, something felt wrong. My hockey bag was exactly where I'd dropped it, my keys were still on the kitchen counter and the living room was untouched.

But the brown envelope sitting in the middle of my dining table definitely hadn't been there when I left for the charity scrimmage. I stopped breathing, and slowly, I looked around the apartment.

The windows were locked, the balcony door was shut and nothing looked disturbed. But whoever had come inside hadn't stolen anything, but they'd only left something behind.

A chill crawled up my spine, I crossed the room cautiously, every instinct telling me to turn around and call the police. But instead, I reached for the envelope. It has no return address, and no postage stamp but only my name. LIAM COLE

Written in neat black block letters, someone hadn't mailed it and someone had entered my apartment. My fingers tightened around the envelope, and for some seconds I simply stared at it, wondering if opening it was exactly what whoever sent it wanted.

Then I tore the seal, inside was a thick folder secured with a black elastic band.

But the first thing that slipped out wasn't a document, but it was a photograph. My stomach twisted. Mia. She was sitting in a café, smiling across the table at a man I had never seen before.

The picture wasn't romantic enough to prove anything, but just coffee conversation. A smile, the date stamped in the corner made my pulse quicken. Fourteen months ago, long before tonight, and long before Marcus. I frowned.

Another photo followed, this one showed the same man opening a car door for her.

Different date and different location, and then another. A hotel lobby, another, and an office building downtown.

Every photograph was taken from a distance, almost professionally. Someone had been watching them, not for days but for months. I spread the pictures across the table.

The man appeared over and over again.

Always dressed in expensive suits, always carrying a leather briefcase and always looking over his shoulder as if he expected someone to be following him.

Who was he? I asked, reaching deeper into the folder. Printed screenshots, text conversations, and some messages had names covered with thick black markers.

And others only showed initials. M: He still trusts me.

Unknown: Good. Don't rush him. M: He's getting attention from professional scouts.

Unknown: That's why you stay close. My heartbeat started hitting fast, sounding in my ears.

Stay close? I kept reading. M: He's completely focused on hockey. Unknown: Exactly why he'll never see it coming. The page slipped from my fingers. "What the hell..." I whispered the words to my empty apartment.

Nothing about these conversations sounded like a normal relationship, but they sounded...calculated. Like someone discussing an investment, and not a boyfriend, or a project.

I swallowed hard and reached for the next document, there was Bank transfers. Most of the names had been blacked out, amounts large enough to make my eyes widen.

Ten thousand dollars, twenty-five thousand and fifteen thousand dollars. Every payment was connected to dates that meant nothing to me, until one caught my attention.

The week I had been named captain. Another: The day I signed my university athletic scholarship. And another: The week I scored the overtime winner that put Frostford into the national rankings.

A coincidence? They had to be coincidences, didn't they? I rubbed both hands over my face. "This is insane." A folded sheet rested inside the financial records.

Unlike everything else, it wasn't printed, and it was handwritten. And the handwriting was precise, almost mechanical. If you're reading this...you're finally asking the right questions.

My mouth went dry, don't trust what you see and don't trust what you've been told.

And whatever you do...my eyes moved to the final line. And don't let Coach Derrick know you have this file.

The room suddenly felt too quiet. I read the sentence again and again. Coach Derrick? I asked myself. No.

That made no sense, because Coach Derrick had believed in me before anyone else had. And he'd fought for my scholarship and named me the team captain.

He always defended me, on countless occasions, there was no way—A knock sounded against my apartment door. Three slow knocks, and then silence. I froze. Nobody knew I was home, but another knock sounded, closer and more deliberate, this time.

I slid the folder back into the envelope and reached for the hockey stick leaning beside the kitchen wall. Because, whoever stood outside...had arrived less than five minutes after I opened the file.

And somehow...they already knew.