Chapter 124
Cedric's hand settled on the back of Evelyn's head, his fingers threading into her hair as he gently pressed her face against his chest.
He didn't say anything. He just held her there.
Evelyn's face buried into the fabric of his shirt, catching the scent of his cool, woody cologne. Today it was fainter than usual—he'd sweated at some point, the top notes had faded, leaving only the steady base of sandalwood.
Her arms circled around his waist, her palms pressed flat against the back of his shirt. His back was warm. The lines of muscle tensed beneath the thin fabric, taut as a bowstring ready to release.
"Sleep," Cedric murmured against the top of her head.
Evelyn didn't move.
She knew nothing would happen tonight. Not because of the bug. Not because of the danger. Because Cedric never touched her when she was vulnerable.
His self-control bordered on ruthless. But that control wasn't coldness—it was the opposite. It was an extreme form of tenderness.
3:00 a.m.
Evelyn woke to a faint vibration.
She opened her eyes to find herself in bed. Cedric wasn't beside her, but the blankets were tucked tightly around her, and his pillow still held traces of warmth.
Soft footsteps came from the direction of the living room. Thirty seconds later, they disappeared.
Her phone screen lit up. A message from Cedric.
[Box relocated. Keep sleeping.]
Evelyn didn't keep sleeping. She sat against the headboard, her fingertips tracing the patch of fabric beside her that still held his body heat.
In the darkness, her eyes were bright.
The bug planted in this apartment three months ago. Someone had been monitoring Cedric's private life for three months.
Three months ago, Evelyn had just started at Parker Group.
Three months ago, Cedric had placed that decade-old photograph in the corner of his display case.
If the bug had been there since then—
Then they already knew how Cedric felt about her.
This wasn't a business rival monitoring competitive intelligence. This was someone using Cedric's feelings for her to track their every move.
Evelyn's fingers curled away from the pillowcase, folding into her palm.
Outside the window, Emerald City slept. She stayed awake.
The way her mother used to stay awake—clear-eyed, alone, silent—working late at Ashford Group all those years ago.
---
Safe house. 10:00 a.m.
The metal box sat open on the folding table.
Evelyn sat in front of it. Cedric stood by the evidence wall, holding a report the tech team had just sent over.
"The bug is military-grade micro-surveillance equipment. Not available commercially." Cedric's voice was cold and flat, as if reading a technical manual that had nothing to do with him. "The supply chain traces back to a security vendor in Emerald City. That vendor's largest client—"
He paused.
"BW Fund."
Evelyn didn't stop opening envelope 011. But her nail left a white mark across the paper.
BW Fund. Her father Benjamin's company.
"Lillie," Evelyn said.
"She was still employed three months ago. The purchase timeline matches her tenure."
Evelyn sliced open the seal on envelope 011.
This one was thicker than the previous ten combined.
On top was a handwritten note. The moment Evelyn saw the handwriting, her fingers froze.
It wasn't her mother Lily's writing.
The strokes were sharp, the endings crisp, the pressure heavy. Every line looked carved into the paper.
Evelyn recognized this handwriting.
On the back of the photo Lillie had left her, the words "Lily, I'm sorry" had been written in this same hand.
The note contained only three lines.
[In Lily's last three months at Ashford Group, Upton started watching her.]
[She discovered something she shouldn't have.]
[Letters eleven through seventeen are her final records. I stole them from Benjamin's safe.]
Evelyn's fingers lingered on the note.
This wasn't something Lily had left in the box. This was something Lillie had added later.
She'd stolen these from Benjamin, tucked them into the metal box before Evelyn found it.
The person who'd left wear marks on the bomb shelter hatch—that was Lillie.
Evelyn set the note aside and pulled out the documents underneath.
Letter eleven contained five pages. The first three were Lily's handwritten work logs. The last two were photocopies of pictures.
The first entry in the work log read:
[June 20. While organizing old files in Mrs. Ashford's study today, I accidentally triggered a hidden compartment in the bookshelf. Inside was a locked metal box. No key. Upton appeared behind me after I'd already closed the compartment. But his expression was wrong.]
Evelyn kept reading.
[June 23. Upton showed up near my work area three times today. Once in the morning, once during lunch, once before closing. He never used to come to this floor.]
[July 1. When I arrived at work this morning, I found my workstation had been searched. The order of files in my drawer had been changed. The paperclip I'd deliberately placed between pages three and four as a marker was gone.]
[July 8. Upton called me in for a meeting. He said Susan thinks my work ethic is excellent and wants to give me a raise. Thirty percent. I know this isn't a reward. It's hush money.]
Evelyn's breathing grew shallower. She turned to the final page of the log.
[July 15. Today is my last day at Ashford Group. My resignation was approved. Reason listed: health issues. Before I left, I went to the break room. Upton stood at the end of the hallway watching me. He didn't speak. But I saw the bottle of water in his hand—the cap had been opened and screwed back on.]
The log ended there.
The two photocopied pictures on the following pages made Evelyn's pupils contract sharply.
The first: a medical prescription. The drug name was unfamiliar to Evelyn, but someone had marked it in red pen: "slow-acting poison."
The second: a pharmacy purchase record. The buyer's signature line read Upton's name.
Evelyn placed both photos on the table, her finger pressing down on the drug name.
Her hand was shaking. Not a tremor—a deep, uncontrollable trembling that came from somewhere inside her bones.
"Cedric."
Cedric was already beside her. He'd seen the photos.
"My mother wasn't sick."
Evelyn's voice came out raw, as if something sharp had scraped across her throat.
Cedric's arm came around her from behind, the full length of it crossing in front of her collarbone as he pulled her back from the chair, pulled her into him. Her back pressed against his chest, his heartbeat pounding heavily against her shoulder blade.
"They poisoned her."
Evelyn's voice broke.
Not into tears—into something deeper, more complete. Like fine porcelain fired at high heat and then doused in cold water. It looked intact on the surface, but inside, it was webbed with hairline fractures.