Chapter 71 Chapter 71
Lena’s POV
The elevator doesn’t leave me.
It follows me out of the building, into the street, into the back of my mind like a bruise I can’t stop pressing just to confirm it still hurts.
Because both are true.
Sebastian’s voice isn’t loud when I remember it. That’s the worst part. It’s low. Strained. Like the words are dragged out of him against his will. Like he hates them as much as I do.
I sit at my desk the next morning pretending to work, pretending my chest isn’t tight, pretending my hands aren’t shaking slightly as I type. I’ve reread the same email four times without absorbing a single word.
Because both are true.
Hate me and protect me.
I don’t know how both can exist at once. I don’t know how he can look at me the way he did in that elevator—like I’m something precious and dangerous at the same time—and then walk away as if I’m nothing.
The office hums around me. Phones ringing. Chairs moving. Voices blending together. Normal. Safe.
But I don’t feel safe.
I log into my email again, more out of habit than need, and that’s when something feels… off.
My inbox looks different.
Not empty. Just… wrong.
There are read receipts on emails I know I haven’t opened yet. A thread from last week is flagged. A draft I don’t remember starting sits half-written in my drafts folder.
A chill crawls up my spine.
I check the sent folder. Nothing unusual. Trash. Spam. Everything looks normal until it doesn’t—until I click on account activity.
There’s a login timestamp from 2:14 a.m.
I was asleep at 2:14 a.m.
My mouth goes dry.
Maybe it’s a system glitch. That’s what I tell myself first. IT issues happen all the time. People forget they logged in from home. Servers act up.
Except… I didn’t log in from home.
I check the IP location.
Not mine.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as my heart begins to thud louder, harder, like it’s trying to get my attention.
You’re overthinking, I tell myself. You’re sensitive right now. Heartbroken. Paranoid.
But the word paranoid tastes wrong.
I lock my screen and lean back in my chair, forcing myself to breathe slowly. In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
Then my phone vibrates.
A notification from the company’s security app.
Keycard Activity Alert
My stomach drops.
I open it with fingers that suddenly feel clumsy.
There’s a log entry from last night.
11:46 p.m.
My keycard.
Access granted.
Office floor.
I stare at the screen, my pulse roaring in my ears.
I was at home at 11:46 p.m. I remember it clearly. I was curled up on the couch with my toe elevated, half-watching a movie I didn’t care about, thinking about a man who had shattered me without blinking.
I wasn’t here.
I wasn’t anywhere near the building.
Someone used my card.
The air around me feels thinner, sharper. Like the office has tilted slightly off its axis.
I glance around instinctively.
People are working. Laughing softly. Typing. Sienna stands near the copier, talking to someone from finance. She laughs, head tilted, hair falling perfectly into place.
Her eyes flick to me.
Just for a second.
Then away.
My skin prickles.
Stop it, I tell myself. Not everything is a conspiracy.
But the elevator.
The note on my desk.
Stay out of things you don’t understand.
Sebastian’s face when he stopped himself from catching me.
The way his hands shook.
This isn’t just in my head.
I spend the rest of the day in a fog, going through motions, responding when spoken to, nodding when required. Every time someone walks behind me, my shoulders tense. Every time my email refreshes, my heart jumps.
By the time I get home, I feel wrung out—emotionally and physically. My toe aches dully, a reminder that my body is still healing even if my mind refuses to.
Avery is already home, curled up on the couch with her laptop open and a glass of wine within reach. She looks up the moment I close the door.
Her smile fades instantly.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Something is wrong.”
I drop my bag and sink onto the armchair opposite her, suddenly exhausted in a way sleep won’t fix.
“I think…” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow before continuing. “I think something is happening. Like—actually happening.”
Avery straightens, all humor gone. “Talk to me.”
So I do.
I tell her everything.
About the anonymous note on my desk. About my computer acting strange. About the email login. The keycard alert. The elevator. Sebastian’s words.
As I speak, her face changes—not to disbelief, not to teasing concern, but to something sharper. More serious.
Alarm.
“That’s not normal,” she says when I finish, her voice low. “Any of it.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I keep trying to explain it away, but it won’t leave me alone.”
“Because it shouldn’t,” she says firmly. “Lena, this isn’t about heartbreak anymore. Someone is watching you.”
The words land heavy between us.
Watching you.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware of the walls, the windows, the quiet hum of the refrigerator. Home has never felt so exposed.
“What if I’m just connecting dots that aren’t there?” I ask weakly. “What if I’m letting what happened with Sebastian mess with my head?”
Avery shakes her head immediately. “No. This is pattern behavior. Someone accessing your work email? Using your keycard? That’s deliberate.”
A knot tightens in my chest. “Why me?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, she looks at me carefully, like she’s choosing her words.
“Because,” she says slowly, “you’re connected to someone powerful. And something about that someone has changed.”
Sebastian.
The name echoes in my head without being spoken.
I stand and pace the living room, every instinct screaming to do something even though I have no idea what that something is.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to stay out of,” I say. “I don’t know anything.”
“That might be the point,” Avery replies. “Fear works best when you don’t understand it.”
My phone buzzes in my hand.
The sound is sharp in the quiet room, and I flinch before I can stop myself.
Unknown number.
My heart stutters.
Avery notices immediately. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, staring at the screen.
The message preview loads.
You were told to stay out of it.