Mr. Anonymous

Bella's pov-

I was sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to my chest, staring at the silent TV, where reporters were breaking down the viral video of Ethan and Lilian. The headlines had been refocused, thanks to Maggie. My best friend, ever the intense influencer, had launched her platforms with the same fervor, as she filmed a fiery video defending me. "It wasn’t Isabella Hartman who leaked that video," she had declared. “She’s not some bitter ex looking for revenge. Ethan Blackvale cheated on her with her own stepsister and now he’s the victim? Shame on him.”

What she said changed the momentum. And while social media was previously abuzz with accusations that I’d leaked the footage out of revenge, it was now full of sympathy for me. Comments referred to me as “strong,” “resilient,” even “iconic.” Maggie enlisted her faithful devotees to amplify her message, and for the first time since the scandal erupted, I experienced a glimmer of relief. I was wide open, my heart aching from Ethan’s betrayal and Lilian’s slap, but Maggie’s steadfastness was a life changer. “You’re trending like a queen,” she said, plopping down next to me, her leather jacket creaking. “Now let them come on and try to drag you.”

I half smiled, locking my eyes with her's. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Maggie.” My voice cracked, and the burden I was holding was clear. I wished for it to be simple, for life to have been simple, that this was a life I never had, with my father, Victor Hartman, still alive. I may not have been so foolish to fall for Ethan’s lies if he hadn’t been shot under those mysterious circumstances years ago. Perhaps I wouldn’t have sold myself as Isabella Hartman to become Bella Sinclair just to occupy a man's bed?

Maggie cocked her head and a strand of her messy bob fell across her mischievous smile. “Talk to me, Bella. What’s wrong?”

I sighed, fingered the hem of my tailormade dress. “I can’t stop thinking about my dad,” I whispered. “If he were around, I wouldn’t have been so stupid as to trust Ethan. Did I ever tell you how we got together?” Maggie shook her head, leaning in, her heat dragging me back up from the downward spiral. ”It was ages ago, before I vanished. My father’s enemy, one in the underground syndicate, attempted to kill me. I was trapped, horrified, and then Ethan was there. The man took a bullet for me! In his arm. I thought he was my savior. That’s why I had fallen for him, why I’d thrown it all away — my name, my legacy — to be with him. I thought he loved me.”

Maggie’s face clouded and her hazel eyes squinted. “He played you, Bella. That bullet story? Sounds like a setup to me. A guy like Ethan doesn’t put his life in danger for just anybody unless there’s something in it for him.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “You loved him because you believed he was your hero, but he´s not. He exploited your goodwill to make his fortune. You went to prison for him, for Christ’s sake. And what did he do? Slept with your stepsister and then attempted to take control of you.”

I nodded, the tears in my eyes threatening to spill. She was correct, but the truth stung. But there was something about that mysterious E. Black call that offered me opportunity to grab a billion dollar stake for my company that irked me. Was it Ethan, scheming again? 

Maggie leaned in, her voice hard. “Listen to me, Bella. That Ethan Blackvale is not worth it.”

I knew what she was saying was true, but the pain of his betrayal still festered. In my penthouse in San Francisco, I attempted to attend to the moment before me, the Ashcroft empire that I had taken back. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the enigmatic E. Black. The name was far too similar to Ethan Blackvale, something my instincts, forged in years of digital forensics and a covert syndicate, couldn't ignore. 

I leaned into the couch, my emerald dress catching the late afternoon light. Maggie was looking at her phone, her auburn bob pinned behind one ear as she tracked the social media backlash to Ethan’s disgrace. “Miss Popular is still trending, Bella,” she said, looking up. “But this E. Black guy? He’s stealing the spotlight.” She rotated her screen so that I could see headlines: “Anonymous Investor E. Black Acquires Large Stakes in Tech Giants.” No picture, no face — just a name and a trail of brash acts. He had been poaching top tech talent, snatching up engineers and coders from the ranks of Silicon Valley’s elite. The city was abuzz with speculation, but E. Black was a ghost.

I frowned, drumming my fingers on the side of the armrest. “I need to see him,” I said, my voice urgent. “A billion dollars on Ashcroft? That’s not only an investment — it’s a statement. I want to know who he is.” I’d already submitted a request through my legal team, mandating a sit down with this shadow investor. No one laid down that kind of cash for nothing, and I wasn’t about to let another guy dictate the direction of my life.

Maggie arched a brow, her eyes keen. “You suspect it’s Ethan, don’t you? He'll want to worm his way back in?”

I paused, thinking of Ethan’s cold gray eyes, his studied charm. “It had occurred to me,” I admitted. “The name’s too similar. But why use an alias? He’s already lost control of me.” Still, doubt lingered. I had seen him unravel when I confronted him over the leaked video, but what if that was a show? I needed answers.

That night I called Ethan, my heart calm even though I was slumbering with the fury in me. “Is E. Black you?” I cut to the chase when he answered the phone. The silence from his end lengthened, and I waited. But when he started talking, his voice sounded shaky, just as if he were shaken to the core in a way that I’d never heard. “What? No, Isabella, I’m not—I don’t—why would you say something like that?” His discomfort was palpable, not the slick denial I had been prepared to hear. It confused me, it put a seed of doubt. If he wasn’t Ethan, then who?

The following morning a courier brought a letter to my penthouse. No email, no digital footprint — just the snap of parchment and the sanctuary of the wax seal, old fashioned. I trailed my fingers over the raised letters: E.B. The message was short and written in beautiful, delicate hand, “Miss Hartman, I hope we still meet at the tech summit to discuss our common concerns. I hope to see you there. – E. Black.” No phone number, no address, just a time and a place. The secrecy fascinated me as much as it disturbed me.

I held the letter, my heart pounding. Walking into Highlight E. Black was kind of like walking into a lion’s den, but what can I say — I was in it to win it. Whoever he was, he was brazen, and he had an interest in my empire that had to be addressed. Was he a friend, an enemy, or something worse? My history had molded me to suspect anything and anyone, but curiosity taught me to trail with caution.