Chapter 125 Chapter 125
I stared at the phone in my hand for a long time before I pressed the button to call Mason. My fingers shook even though I tried to steady them, the tremor betraying me no matter how tightly I curled the hands around the device. The room was quiet except for the sound of my own breathing, sharp and shallow, as if every inhale risked breaking the silence.
Stanley and Serena were a few feet away, keeping their voices low as they whispered with Nolan, who was still working at the system with his relentless focus. Their movements were muted, blurred at the edges of my vision, like figures trapped in glass. All I could hear, all I could truly feel, was the weight of the decision in my hand.
The screen lit against my skin. My thumb hovered over the green icon, trembling. I told myself I was ready, that I could handle this, that I had to. But the truth was, I was terrified.
What if Dominic already knew what Mason had done for us in the past? What if this call was the last one I would ever make to him? Why had he not reached out in days?
I forced my thumb down.
The phone began to ring, each ring stretched unbearably long, as though time itself mocked me, forcing me to wait, to suffer, to wonder if I had already doomed him.
My chest tightened with every pause. I couldn’t breathe properly and hand pressed against the table beside me to keep myself upright. Nolan typed rapidly at his keyboard, the steady rhythm filling the background, but to me it sounded like the ticking of a bomb.
And then finally he picked up.
“Hello.”
His voice was low. So low I almost thought I had imagined it. It wasn’t his usual calm tone, No. H3 was usually calm and a naive person but this voice carried something else, fear tightly caged, hidden but still there as if someone stood right behind him, listening, waiting for him to slip.
My throat closed. “It’s me,” I whispered. I held the phone so close to my mouth it almost brushed my lips, afraid that even the air between us might betray the call. “Are you safe to talk right now?”
For a heartbeat there was nothing. No reply, no sound but the faint static of the line. Then I heard a door shutting on his end, muffled but distinct. My pulse jumped.
Mason’s breathing grew louder and uneven. “I should not be on the phone too long,” he muttered. “People are watching. They always are these days.”
I closed my eyes, pressing my palm hard against my thigh to keep myself anchored. My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick. I wanted to scream at him to get out, to run, to save himself before it was too late. But I couldn’t. One wrong word, one reckless plea, and Dominic’s people could trace the call, could catch Mason, could destroy him.
“I…” My voice faltered. I forced it steady. “I need your help again.”
Every syllable felt heavy, like a stone dragged across my tongue. Each word carried risk, his life, my guilt, the fragile thread of trust between us.
“There is a name I need you to look up. Elia Torres. Do you think you could find anything about her in the files you see?”
Mason let out a sound but that broke halfway through. It sounded like resignation. “Do you know what you are asking me?” he whispered, and I imagined him glancing over his shoulder, jaw tight, voice barely above a breath. “If I dig too deep and they catch me, there is no second chance. You know that.”
My throat tightened. “I know. But if you don't do this, i will use what I have on you.” The words splintered out of me, raw and desperate. I hated myself in that moment. I hated that I was asking him to put himself at risk for all of us but he owed me. My eyes burned and my lashes blurred. This isn't who I am.
“I would not ask if there was another way,” I whispered, as if to make myself feel better. “But this is important. Too important to ignore.”
A long silence filled the other end of the line and it made my heart pound so hard I pressed a hand against it, afraid it might give me away, afraid Mason could hear it hammering through the phone. For a breathless instant I thought he had hung up, that I had lost him before I could even explain.
Then his voice returned, softer this time. “I will try,” Mason said. The words sounded reluctant, weighted, but they were a promise nonetheless. “I can go through the reports and the systems. Maybe something small. If there is anything about an Elia Torres, I will find it and let you know.”
Relief rushed through me and I almost sagged against the chair. But then dread followed, just as sharp, crashing over me like cold water. I was pulling him deeper into the shadows. He had already done too much and yet here I was, placing another blade in his hand, one that might cut his own throat.
“The clock is ticking,” I whispered. My voice was barely audible. “Please… be careful.” I added.
He gave a low hum in reply, nothing more than a breath. I could hear movement on his end, soft and irregular, as though he was pacing or shifting through the room with caution. His breaths came faster now, ragged in the stillness. And then his voice dropped, so quiet I had to strain to hear it.
“Boss, he is planning something soon.”
The words struck me and I stayed rooted to the spot. My blood ran cold. “What?” My voice cracked on the single word.
I heard the scrape of fabric, a muffled sound that might have been a chair pushed against a wall, or maybe footsteps close by. His voice came back after what felt like an eternity, clipped, urgent.
“If I can get proof,” Mason said, “you will have what you need. But I cannot guarantee I will make it out if he finds out.”
My heart beat shot up again. His voice sounded further away now, distorted, like the connection itself struggled to carry his warning.
“I understand.” I wispered. “If you do this one thing, you're free from me.” I said and hung up.
The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at the screen of my phone and all I could feel was the crushing weight of what I had just done. Dread because I might have just sent a fellow person into his own death but you cant blame me. Thats the price you have to pay for double crossing.
My grip loosened, and the phone slid onto the table with a dull thud. My hands trembled so violently I had to clutch them together in my lap, squeezing until my nails dug crescents into my palms.