Chapter 39: Secrets in the shadows

The silence in Michael’s apartment felt heavier night. Every ticking second from the clock on the wall sounded like a secret trying to escape. I had been pacing for what felt like hours, waiting for the sound of his key in the door, for his voice to fill the hallways again. But the air stayed still. The curtains trembled faintly from the draft, whispering to me that he wasn’t coming.

I slipped out of the bedroom and found the maid polishing the marble counter in the kitchen, her movements neat and mechanical.

“Is Mr. Halloran coming back tonight?” I asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

She looked up, a little startled. “Possibly not, ma’am. He has another house by the woods. He usually stays there when he’s… occupied.”

I nodded, hiding my satisfaction behind a polite smile. “Occupied,” I repeated softly, almost tasting the word. “I see. Thank you.”

She gave a small bow and returned to her task. I wandered back toward the bedroom, pretending to yawn, though my mind was alive with movement. When I reached the bed, I picked up my phone and dialed his number.

He answered on the second ring, voice low, smooth, and tired. “Hey, baby. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

I smiled faintly, lowering my tone to a soft, teasing hum. “How could I sleep when you have left me all alone in this gigantic apartment with no one to talk to?”

He chuckled, that confident, careless kind of laugh men have when they believe they are desired. “You’ll survive one night without me, won’t you?”

“Maybe,” I said, stretching the word out like silk. “But the bed feels too big without you.”

He sighed, amused. “You’re trouble, Jessica.”

“Always,” I whispered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Try to get some rest, hmm?”

“Fine,” I murmured, letting a pout thread through my voice. “Goodnight, Michael.”

When I hung up, the apartment returned to silence. I listened for the maid’s footsteps retreating down the hallway and a door clicked shut, A faint hum of water running, Then, quiet.

Now.

I moved quickly, barefoot on cold marble, the soft glow of my power bank’s torch leading the way. Michael’s bedroom door creaked as I pushed it open, and I froze, listening, Nothing. Only my own heartbeat echoing in my chest.

His scent lingered here, dark expensive cologne, heavy with cedar and something musky. It clung to the curtains, the sheets and the velvet armchair by the window. For a moment, I almost forgot my purpose, lost in the atmosphere of his presence. Then the focus snapped back.

I began to search. The bedside drawers first immaculate, of course. A watch, cufflinks, receipts from places too private to name. I slid open another drawer and found nothing but pens arranged with military precision. Typical.

I then turned toward the wall near the door, adjusting the beam of my light. That’s when it happened, the faintest nudge of my elbow against a painting. It teetered, slipped, and hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Damn it,” I whispered under my breath. I bent to lift it and froze, Behind it, the wallpaper broke slightly, and a metal rectangle gleamed faintly in the dark, it was a safe.

I stared at it for a long moment, the air thick around me. Of course he’d have one. The question was what "secrets" he deemed worth locking away.

My fingers hovered over the keypad. I tried his birthday first. It was Rejected.

“Predictable, my ass,” I muttered. Then it hit me, Rose.. I keyed it in and it worked.

A sharp click echoed in the silence. The safe door swung open. Inside lay a pile of documents stacked neatly, like a shrine to his madness. Files, flash drives, envelopes with printed seals. I pulled out a thick folder marked (Confidential – Westbridge Holdings).

This is Sean’s company.

My pulse spiked. I flipped the file open and my eyes darted over the words, mergers, acquisitions, pending deals, insider details no one outside the board should have. There were red ink notes in the margins, Michael’s handwriting looping with manic precision:

Exploit this weakness. Target PR head. Leverage board dissent.

So this was how he intended to destroy Sean.

I leaned back, a sharp smile ghosting across my lips. “You clever little devil.”

At the bottom of the safe sat a phone. I picked it up, half expecting it to demand a password. But luck or was on my side. It opened. Messages lined the screen. The first one caught my attention.

Assistant (Tyler):“We’ve narrowed down the search for Sean’s first love. Her name’s Amara. Early twenties. Quiet, simple, not his type on paper but she’s emotionally available. The kind of woman he’ll want to protect.”

Michael’s reply glared in bold text beneath it:

Michael:“Perfect. Find her. Introduce her to Sean discreetly. Make him 'believe' it’s fate. Nancy’s too loud, too controlling, she will drive him away. This girl will make him forget Rose.”

Another message buzzed into view.

Tyler: “And Rose?”

Michael: “Rose stays pure. Untouched after all she’s mine alone.”

My stomach turned with disgust. He is dangerous, obsessive, and methodical. This is not love, it is ownership dressed in devotion.

I pressed play on a voice note. Michael’s voice spilled into the room, calm and commanding.

“Make sure the media hears about Sean’s financial misconduct. It doesn’t have to be true, just convincing. Once the company’s reputation is in question, Rose will lose faith in him. Then she will turn to me.”

His tone didn’t waver. It was the sound of a man who believed he could bend reality.

I then took photos of everything. The flash from my camera phone flickered across the room, bouncing off silver frames and crystal glasses. Then I slid the phone and files back into the safe, closed it gently, and rehung the painting. Everything looked untouched.

When I returned to my room, the adrenaline was fading, replaced by a slick calm. I sat on the edge of the bed and opened my phone. The screen glowed against the dark, a silent witness.

I created a hidden folder, one disguised to look like a simple calculator app, the kind no one would bother opening. Within it, I stored every photo, every recording, encrypted and labeled with initials only I would understand. Then I reached into my bag and pulled out an old calculator, the kind you’d see in any office. It wasn’t just a decoy, it was a vault. The memory chip hidden inside could hold secrets no one would suspect. I copied everything onto it, pressed the button that sealed its hidden compartment, and put it back into my bag.

The weight of what I had done began to sink in—but so did the thrill. I had just uncovered the truth of a man who thought himself untouchable. I now held the very pieces that could save Rose and Sean if used correctly and Outside, the city murmured softly beneath the window. I crawled under the covers and drifted off.