Chapter 71

Chapter 71
The phone burned hot in Ariana’s palm long after the call ended.

She stared at the blank screen, the stranger’s voice replaying in her head—distorted, feminine but it sounded a little off, a little too rehearsed. There had been a quiet threat underneath the softness. A weight. And an invitation.

“Meet me alone. You deserve to know who he really is. You deserve the truth.”

Ariana sat frozen on the edge of her bed, her heart rattling between her ribs. Callum was still asleep in his study downstairs, passed out from another late night of planning and counter-planning. Julian was likely off chasing ghosts. And Elena had just brought up tea a few minutes ago. The house was still.

Which meant no one needed to know.

Her fingers hovered over her phone as she typed:

Ariana: Where do you want to meet?

The reply came instantly. Like it had been waiting.

Unknown Number: The Pier 17. 11:00 a.m. Tomorrow. Remember to come alone.

She stared at the message. The Pier 17? That was barely a few blocks from her old apartment. Public enough. Secluded enough.

And if she was being honest with herself… she was tired of waiting to be saved.

⸻

The next morning, Ariana moved through the penthouse like a shadow. She needed to ensure no one suspected her. She wore black jeans, a fitted coat, and sunglasses with her hair tied back in a low sleek bun. She made her way to the foyer with quiet purpose, grateful that Callum was still upstairs.

“Miss Ariana?” Elena’s voice behind her made her flinch.

She turned. Still trying to maintain composure “Yes?”

Elena stood with a linen towel folded over her arm, her face pinched with concern. “Are you going out alone?”

“I just need air. I’ll be back soon.”

The woman hesitated. “Callum said—”

“He’s not my father, Elena,” Ariana said gently but firmly. “I can take care of myself.”

Elena’s frown deepened. She opened her mouth as if to say more—then thought better of it.

Ariana turned, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button down.

⸻

About twenty minutes later, Callum was halfway through reading an encrypted message sent from Julian when Elena knocked once and slipped into the study.

“Excuse me Sir, I think there’s something you should know.”

He looked up. “What is that?”

“It’s Ariana,” she said carefully. “She left earlier. Said she needed air. But she looked nervous. Like she was hiding something.”

Callum froze.

He dropped his tablet and stood in one swift motion, already pulling out his phone. “Elena, did she say where she was going?”

“No. But she had a call late last night. I overheard just a little. It sounded… like someone was asking her to meet.”

Callum cursed under his breath and hit speed dial.

No answer. He called again immediately and the phone beeped this time.

“Julian,” he barked into the phone. “Gear up. Ariana just left home. I need you to track her phone immediately. She’s walking into something.”

⸻

At Pier 17, The area was eerily quiet for a Saturday morning. The usually hustle and bustle of manhattan seemed to be missing.

Ariana stood with her arms crossed, the wind from the river tugging at her coat. Her nerves had settled into a strange calm—like her body had accepted whatever was going to happen. She scanned the area again. The caller had said to come alone. She had.

But no one was here.

Then, a buzz from her phone.

Unknown Number: Come to Building C. Rooftop.

She turned toward the old fish market warehouses—long since abandoned and half-covered in graffiti. Her eyes locked on Building C.

The iron door groaned open when she pushed.

Up the stairs. One flight. Then two. Her boots echoed against the concrete, each step louder than the last. She could hear her heart again.

At the rooftop door, she hesitated.

Then pushed.

The wind hit her first. Cold, biting. And then—nothing.

The rooftop was empty.

She stepped forward slowly, scanning the space. Pipes. Ventilation shafts. No shadows. No figure waiting.

A chill swept down her spine.

Then a voice echoed through the rooftop speakers.

“Well done, Ariana.”

She whirled. “Who’s there?”

The voice was female—but there was something wrong about it. Hollow. Synthetic.

“You’ve been busy since we last spoke,” it continued. “You’re not the same girl who cried herself to sleep over me.”

She blinked. “Liam?”

Silence.

Then laughter.

The voice glitched—and the feminine tone dropped, warping into something deeper. Male.

A man’s voice. His voice.

“Hello, love,” said Liam.

⸻

Meanwhile, Callum’s SUV skidded into the parking zone just across from the Pier 17 as soon as he got the coordinates as to Ariana’s whereabouts from Julian . He leapt out before the driver had even put the car in park, Julian close behind.

“Check the perimeter,” Callum ordered. “She’s not answering her phone .”

They split up. Callum made for the warehouses, scanning the rooftops—and then, like a jolt of lightning, he saw her coat.

Top of Building C.

“Found her.”

Julian’s voice crackled back. “I’m coming up.”

Callum burst through the stairwell door and took the steps two at a time.

When he reached the rooftop, the sight stopped him cold.

Ariana stood still in the center of the roof, staring up at a speaker mounted to a rusted pole. Her face was pale. Stricken. The voice had stopped.

She turned at the sound of his approach.

“Callum…”

But he was already moving, pulling her into his arms. “What the hell were you thinking coming here alone?”

Her hands shook as she clutched his coat. “I had to know. It was him.”

“Who?”

“Liam. He’s alive. He’s the one who’s been calling me. He—he used a voice modulator. He made me think—” Her breath caught.

Callum’s jaw clenched. “Julian,” he called over his shoulder. “Track the signal. Find the feed location now.”

Julian crouched by the speaker. “It’s a dummy system. Wired to loop. He’s not here.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Callum growled. “He was baiting her.”

“Or testing her,” Julian muttered.

Callum turned back to Ariana. Her face was streaked with tears. But there was something else in her eyes too now—something harder.

“We’re going to end this,” he said, brushing a thumb under her cheekbone.

Ariana nodded slowly, eyes burning. “Then let’s start by finding that asshole.”

As the three of them descended the stairs and stepped out into the sunlight, Callum’s phone vibrated with an incoming call.

Unknown number.

He frowned—and answered.

A whisper came through, barely audible. A recording, maybe.

“Did you miss me, Ariana?”

Callum’s eyes darted to her—then to Julian.

The line went dead.

Then, a second message appeared—this time, a picture.

A photo of Charlie.

In her hospital room.

Sleeping.

Unaware.

The caption below chilled Callum to the bone.

“You didn’t think I’d forget about her… did you?”