Chapter 92 Mists of Control
The phone’s insistent vibration against her desk felt like an accusation. To ignore it would be an admission of having something to hide. A crack in the façade. Sierra’s mind, a finely tuned instrument of strategy and observation, calculated the odds. Answering was a risk, but it was also a chance to seize control of the narrative. Ignoring it was ceding ground, a silent confirmation of the guilt Julian was trying to provoke.
With a deep breath that did little to quiet the frantic drumming in her chest, she swiped the screen. She pasted on her most brilliant, boardroom-winning smile, knowing it would carry in her voice.
“Julian! What a wonderful surprise.” Her voice was a masterpiece of airy calm, the kind she used to soothe a nervous client before a multi-million-dollar pitch.
“Sierra,” his voice flowed through the receiver, a smooth, dark current of expensive charm. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. I was just thinking about you.”
Were you? she thought, her fingers tightening on the phone. Or were you watching me and timing this perfectly? “Just catching up on some work,” she said, her tone light. “The London air seems to agree with my productivity.”
“I’m glad to hear it. How did the restructuring meeting go this morning? I imagine there were a few… raised eyebrows.” There was a flicker of something beneath his polished tone, gently casting a line into the water.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a bite. “It went brilliantly,” she said, the word bright and unassailable. “The team is energized. I think we’re on track for something truly special.” She offered no details, no names, no specifics. It was a perfect, non-answer. An expertly painted blank wall.
He paused, a beat of silence that felt like a calculator whirring on the other end of the line. Then, he chuckled, a low, appreciative sound. “I have no doubt. You have a way of inspiring loyalty. But enough shop talk. I called for another reason.”
Here it was. The real reason. Sierra braced herself.
“I was looking at the calendar,” he began, his voice shifting into a more intimate, persuasive register. “And it occurred to me that it’s a terrible waste to have you all the way over in the British Isles and not let you experience a little of the actual countryside. You’re working too hard.”
“It’s what I do,” she replied, keeping her voice even.
“Yes, but even the best instruments need to be savored, not just played.” The metaphor was intimate, almost possessive. “So, I’m flying in this weekend, and we’re going to Scotland.”
The word hit her like a physical blow. A sudden, bone-deep chill, entirely unrelated to the climate-controlled London air of her office, stole her breath. Scotland. The Scotsman. The shadowy threat that had shackled her to this wretched détente. Was it a coincidence or a message? A power play so brazen, so utterly monstrous, it made her scream. Did he know that he was being watched, and she was caught in the middle?
She forced the smile to remain plastered on her face, a grimace of pure will. “Scotland?” she managed, the syllables feeling foreign on her tongue. “Julian, that sounds incredible.” She allowed a note of genuine-sounding delight to creep in. “I’ve always wanted to see the Highlands. Loch Ness, and all that.”
She could almost hear his smile. “I knew you’d be amenable. Think of it—a complete escape. No emails, no proposals, no city noise. Just fresh air, stunning landscapes, and a very comfortable estate on the loch. I want you to relax, Sierra. Let me take care of everything.”
A part of her, the part that was still just a girl from a dusty Arizona ranch, wanted to hurl the phone against the wall. But the partner, the strategist, the woman William Sterling had molded, took over. This was an opportunity. To be seen, to be compliant, to play the part of the adored girlfriend so perfectly that he might lower his guard. She had to believe that.
“Only one condition,” he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Anything,” she said, the word tasting like ash.
“No shop talk,” he said firmly. “Not a word about Sterling, Quinn & Spencer or Nexora. This is about us. A weekend for us. Agreed?”
Relief, so potent it almost made her dizzy, washed over her. It wasn’t an interrogation. It was a date. A ridiculously extravagant date, but still. It meant her performance was working. He wasn’t pushing for information; he was pushing for intimacy. This was a game she could play. This was a battlefield she understood.
“Agreed,” she said, and this time, the warmth in her voice was almost real. “No shop talk. Just you, me, and Nessie.”
“Perfect,” he said, his satisfaction palpable. “I’ll have my assistant send the details. Pack some warm clothes and probably a raincoat. The Scottish air can be brisk and wet.”
“I’m looking forward to it already,” she lied.
They said their goodbyes, and Sierra ended the call, letting the phone slip from her grasp onto the desk. She leaned back in her chair, the tension draining out of her so completely she felt boneless. Maybe she was spiraling. Maybe Chloe was right. Perhaps this wasn’t some grand, conspiracy-laden chess match. Maybe it was exactly what it appeared to be: a wealthy, powerful man trying to impress the woman he was dating in the most over-the-top way possible.
A cynical but calming logic settled over her. So what if it was a test? Was she passing? She was gathering intelligence. And in the meantime, she was about to be wined and dined in the Scottish Highlands by a billionaire. A girl could do worse. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but for the first time all day, she felt the sharp edges of her paranoia begin to soften. She would play the part, enjoy the luxury, and use the time to observe. Figure out how to turn circumstances to her advantage.
She stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the rain-slicked London streets below. Evening was setting in, and the city lights were coming on, blurred into a watercolor of gold and white. She was still in control of herself. She was handling things.
As a genuine, if weary, smile touched her lips, her phone lit up again on the desk behind her, casting a soft glow on the proposal she’d been editing. She turned, expecting perhaps a follow-up text from Julian with details about the trip or another text from the unknown number.
It was neither.
The name pulsing on the screen, stark and achingly familiar, sent a shockwave through her system so violent it stole the air from her lungs. It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a threat. It was a ghost from her other life, a summons from the place she was trying to save.
Her heart stopped.
It was Ryder.