Chapter 25

Diane's POV

I've always believed that if I do my job well enough, people won't have anything to say.

Apparently, I'm wrong.

The morning starts normally. I arrive ten minutes before eight, as usual. I review Conrad's schedule, confirm his 9:00 a.m. strategy meeting, reschedule a lunch appointment that's been double-booked, and print out the quarterly reports he asked for the night before.

Nothing unusual.

Except that everything feels unusual.

After what almost happened at his house, I'm more aware of him than I want to be. I tell myself to be professional. To act like nothing has changed. Because technically, nothing has.

He's still my boss, and I'm still his secretary.

And that's how it needs to remain.

At exactly 8:32 a.m., my computer chimes with an internal message notification. I glance at the corner of the screen, expecting it to be from accounting.

It isn't. My heart skips two beats as I stare at the unknown user.

Unknown User: Must be nice being close to the boss.

I stare at it for a few seconds, trying to process it.

I don't respond. I don't have to. I'm being skeptical.

Another message comes almost immediately.

Unknown User: Private meetings must come with benefits.

My stomach tightens, and my gaze hardens.

I look around the office floor subtly. Everyone seems busy. Phones ringing, keyboards clicking, no one looking at me.

But someone has taken the time to create an anonymous account just to send me that.

Another message appears.

Unknown User: Be careful. People are talking.

I minimize the chat window and try to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me, but I can't concentrate. My mind is racing. Are people actually talking? Did someone see me at Conrad's house? Or are they just guessing?

I take a slow breath and stand up.

If I'm going to handle this, I'm not going to do it alone.

I knock on Conrad's office door and wait.

"Come in." He says.

He's behind his desk, reviewing documents. He looks up when I enter, his expression neutral but attentive.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

I close the door behind me. "I just received some anonymous messages through the internal system."

His posture changes immediately. He sets the document down. "From who?"

"I don't know. The account says 'Unknown User.'"

"Show me."

I walk around the desk and hand him my tablet. He reads through the messages without speaking. The silence stretches a moment longer than I like.

When he finally looks up, his face is calm, but I can see the tension in his jaw.

"Did you respond?" he asks.

"No."

"Good."

He leans back slightly in his chair. "IT can trace internal accounts. I'll have them look into it."

"Sir." I hesitate. "Is this because of... last night?"

His eyes meet mine directly. "Nothing happened last night."

"I know." I say quickly. "I just mean, someone might have seen me."

"That doesn't give anyone the right to harass you."

His tone is firm. Not angry. Just decisive.

"I don't want people thinking I'm here because of you." I say before I can stop myself.

He studies me carefully. "You were hired because you are efficient, organized, and capable of handling pressure. That is the only reason you are here."

Everything pauses, literally pauses, as I stare at him, half shocked, half surprised. Did Conrad just say I was hired because I'm efficient, organized and capable of handling pressure? Or am I hearing things?

I open my mouth. "Sir..." I start.

He sighs. "Diane, don't say what your mind is telling you. At least not now." He cuts me off.

"I don't tolerate disrespect toward my staff." He quickly adds.

The way he says it makes something settle in my chest.

"Thank you." I say quietly.

"I'll handle it." He repeats. "If you receive anything else, inform me immediately."

"Yes, sir."

I leave his office feeling slightly reassured. He sounds confident. In control. As if the situation is already solved.

For the next hour, I focus on work. I schedule his afternoon calls, coordinate with the legal department, and prepare a briefing folder for his investor meeting. I don't receive any more messages, and gradually, my anxiety eases.

Until I return from the records room.

There's an envelope sitting on my desk.

It wasn't there before.

No name. No department stamp. Just a plain white envelope.

I look around the office. No one seems to be paying attention to me.

My fingers feel unsteady as I pick it up and open it.

Inside is a photograph.

I recognize it immediately.

It was taken outside Conrad's house.

I'm standing near the taxi. The lighting makes it clear it was taken deliberately, not accidentally. Whoever took it was close enough to capture my face clearly.

My chest tightens so hard that I fear I might collapse. I can't even breathe.

At the bottom of the photo, in thick black ink, are the words:

Next time, it won't just be a picture.

For a moment, I can't move. I can't think.

This isn't gossip anymore. This isn't someone being petty in the office chat.

This is a threat.

And it means one thing very clearly.

Someone has been following me.

A memory surfaces immediately: the black car parked across from my apartment building last night. I told myself I was imagining it. That I was overthinking.

Now I'm not so sure.

I slide the photo back into the envelope and stand up.

This is no longer something I can brush off.

I walk straight to Conrad's office and knock again, more firmly this time.

"Come in."

When I enter, he looks up and immediately notices my expression.

"What happened?"

I don't say anything at first. I simply walk forward and place the envelope on his desk.

He opens it and pulls out the photo.

I watch his face carefully.

The shift is instant.

His eyes darken. His jaw hardens in a way I've never seen before.

"Where did you get this?" he asks quietly.

"It was on my desk."

"When?"

"Just now. I was gone for maybe ten minutes."

His fingers tighten around the edge of the photograph.

"This is not office gossip." I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Someone is following me."

He stands up slowly.

"Has anything else happened?" he asks.

I hesitate, then nod. "Last night after you dropped me off, there was a car parked across from my apartment. I didn't think much of it at the time."

His expression turns sharp and focused.

"You should have told me."

"I didn't want to overreact."

"This is not an overreaction."

There's something different about him now. Not just protective. Strategic.

He picks up his phone immediately. "I'm calling security. And IT. This will be handled properly."

I swallow. "Sir... what if this isn't about you?"

He looks at me.

"What if it's about me?" I continue. "What if someone has a problem with me specifically?"

"Then that is still my concern." He says evenly. "You work for me. Your safety matters."

The certainty in his voice doesn't feel possessive. It feels responsible.

"I don't want this to affect the company." I say.

"It already has." He replies. "Someone used internal systems to harass you and entered this floor to leave a threat. That makes it my problem."

He steps closer, not invading my space, but close enough that I feel grounded.

"I don't think the company driver taking you home is enough. I'll do it myself." He says, his tone sharp and firm.

My jaw drops. I blink. "W... why?"

"Because your safety matters, Diane." He says, and I nod slowly.

This situation has escalated quickly.

And the worst part is not knowing who's behind it.

An employee? A competitor? Someone from Conrad's past?

Or someone from mine?

As Conrad begins issuing calm, precise instructions over the phone, I realize something unsettling.

Whoever sent that photo isn't just trying to intimidate me.

They're testing how far they can go.

And something tells me this is only the beginning.