Chapter 50

Chapter 50
Sylvia’s POV

Morning came like a blur with the first light filtered weakly through the curtains, pale gold slipping over the edge of my bed, painting the sheets with a false calm. For a few seconds, I almost believed I’d dreamed everything — Abigail’s whispered threat, Matteo’s warning, that faint vibration echoing through the hall like a pulse. In all this chaos I had totally forgotten I was pregnant as stress and unrest has become my hobby in the quest of nabbing Abigail.

But then I turned and saw the laptop still open on the desk, files spread out, my coffee cup gone cold. Reality slid back into my skin like a chill.

The house was quiet — too quiet. No voices from the maids, no footsteps from the hall. The stillness wasn’t peace; it was tension holding its breath.

I sat up slowly, hand brushing over my stomach. You’re safe, I whispered to myself, or maybe to the tiny life inside me. I won’t let anyone touch us.

The floor felt so cold under my feet as I crossed to the window. Outside, the garden shimmered faintly under the early light, the trees heavy with dew. Derek’s black SUV was gone — probably still out with his men. He’d left before dawn again.

I should’ve felt relieved that he was out there taking control, handling the chaos Abigail stirred up. But instead, a knot of unease twisted tighter in my chest. Because last night, someone else in this house had been listening. And if that person was feeding Abigail, Derek might be walking straight into a trap.

I made myself move, dressing in a loose ivory blouse and soft leggings, something comfortable enough to pass for calm. Then I sat at my desk and powered on the laptop.

The files I’d left open blinked back to life — but something was wrong.

The tabs I remembered leaving on the clinic’s staff list were gone. The folder I’d labeled CrossCheck E was empty. I frowned, opening the history. Several entries from midnight had been wiped clean.

“What the…” I whispered, clicking through with my heart pounding and hands trembling.

It wasn’t just random data loss — it was deliberate deletion. Whoever had touched this laptop knew exactly which files mattered.

I felt my pulse quicken. I'm certain I'd left the laptop on sleep mode, password-protected. Only Derek and I had the codes. Matteo too, because he’d helped set up the encryption weeks ago.

Matteo.

The name echoed too easily in my mind, but I pushed the thought away. He’d helped me last night. He’d warned me. He couldn’t—. Sylvia it has to be someone else I thought to myself.

A sharp knock on the door cut through my thoughts jolting me back to reality.

“Come in,” I called, heart thudding.

It was one of Derek’s guards — a broad-shouldered man with a clean-shaven face. I recognized him faintly: Luca.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said respectfully. “Mr. Sean asked me to inform you he’ll be home by noon. He wants you to stay inside till then.”

I studied his face. “Did something happen?”

He hesitated. “Just precaution, ma’am. There’s been some sneaky unsteady movement from one of our informants.”

The way he said movement made my stomach turn. “Was it Abigail?”

He didn’t answer directly. “Just keep the doors locked, please.”

I nodded slowly, dismissing him with a faint smile I didn’t feel. As soon as he left, I closed the door and locked it behind him.

Movement from an informant.
Deleted files.
Someone is listening.

It was all connected — I could feel it.

I opened a backup drive Matteo had told me to keep. He’d set it up himself, encrypting it under my name, saying “just in case someone snoops around your system.” I plugged it in, waiting for the blue light to blink on.

It didn’t.

The drive stayed dark, unresponsive.

I tried another port. Nothing. Then a message flashed across the screen:

ACCESS DENIED – INVALID KEY .

“What the hell…” I whispered, leaning closer. Matteo had gotten the drive. He’d also created the password. There was no way it could be invalid unless—

—someone changed the encryption key.

And only Matteo could have done that.

My heart pounded. I tried to tell myself there was another explanation — maybe he’d upgraded the code, maybe it was just a system glitch. But even as I thought it, my chest grew tighter.

I reached for my phone and dialed him. It rang once, twice, then clicked to voicemail.

His voice came through low and familiar: “You know what to do after the tone.”

I hesitated, then whispered, “Matteo, it’s me. Something’s wrong with the files. Call me back. Please.”

I hung up, trying to steady my breathing. My mind replayed last night — Matteo’s tone, the urgency in his voice, the way he said ‘Don’t trust anyone new.’

Had he meant himself?

A soft noise from outside snapped my head up — faint, metallic. Like the sound of a latch turning. I moved quietly to the window and parted the curtain.

The gardener — or at least, someone dressed like one — was near the east fence, talking on a phone. I squinted. His body language was off. Too still. Too alert.

He wasn’t trimming the hedges; he was watching the mansion.

I reached for my phone again, thumb hovering over Derek’s contact — then stopped. If Matteo’s line had been compromised, calling Derek through the same network could expose both of us.

I needed proof before I said anything. Proof that wouldn’t rely on anyone else.

I went back to the laptop, opened the last autosaved file, and searched through the directory logs. Most of it looked fine — until I saw the anomaly: a remote login at 2:13 a.m.

Location: Tangier, Morocco.

I froze.

Tangier. That’s where Matteo had been stationed last year, managing Derek’s overseas operations before being recalled to LA. He was the only one who still had remote clearance to that region.

A cold shiver ran through me.

I cross-checked the IP trail. Whoever had accessed the drive had tried masking it with a VPN — but not well enough. Matteo’s encryption ID still flickered faintly in the metadata, like a fingerprint half-wiped from glass.

I leaned back, pressing a hand to my mouth.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Matteo had tampered with my system.

The man who had sworn to help me expose Abigail’s lies was now part of the manipulation.

Why?

The question burned through me, twisting between disbelief and betrayal. Matteo had been one of Derek’s oldest friends — loyal, quiet, devoted. He’d saved Derek’s life twice during the old turf wars. I couldn’t imagine him turning on us. Unless someone forced him.

Abigail.

The pieces started aligning like cruel constellations. Her phone call last night — “He owes me, and if he wants his family breathing, he’ll do what I say.”

Was she talking about Matteo?

My chest ached. I could almost see it: Abigail blackmailing him with something unforgivable, forcing him to betray Derek from within. It wasn’t loyalty that made him warn me last night — it was guilt.

I swallowed hard and closed the laptop, my hands trembling.

I needed to talk to Derek before he came home — not on the phone, not through anyone else. In person.

The air in the room felt heavier now, charged. I packed the laptop into a small bag and hid the corrupted flash drive beneath a pile of scarves. Then I took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror.

I didn’t look like a woman falling apart. I looked like someone ready to burn truth out of the shadows.

Downstairs, the air smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant. The maids were whispering in the kitchen, their voices halting when I passed. One of them gave me a nervous smile; the other avoided my gaze.

They knew something too.

I poured myself a glass of water, my mind running wild. If Matteo had betrayed Derek under duress, then everything — the missing files, the inside leak, even Derek’s risky moves — had been orchestrated to divide us. Abigail was tearing the house from within.

And I was her main distraction.

I turned toward the back corridor, meaning to head to Derek’s study — maybe search for Matteo’s backup notes — when I noticed something odd on the side table near the stairs.

A small black flash drive.

Unmarked.

I frowned and picked it up. It was warm, as though someone had just left it there.

For a second, I hesitated. Then I slipped it into my pocket and went back upstairs, locking my door behind me again.

I plugged it into the laptop.

One folder. No name. Inside, a single file: “For_S.”

My pulse quickened. I opened it.

It was a video — grainy, shot from a security camera. The angle showed a dimly lit room, marble floors, and a desk. Derek’s private office.

And Matteo.

He stood near Derek’s chair, typing something into the computer. His face was pale, tense. A voice off-screen — female, sharp, taunting — said, “Good. Now erase the record of her call. Make sure she never finds that file again.”

Matteo froze, looking toward the camera — not at it, but in that direction, like he knew it was there. His lips moved silently. Then he whispered, barely audible, “I’m sorry, Silvia.”

The video cut off.

I sat there, numb.

My mind couldn’t process the flood of betrayal, fear, and pain that came all at once. Matteo had tried to cover his tracks, but he’d left this — maybe as a warning, maybe as a desperate plea. Either way, the truth was right there: Abigail owned him.

And if he was her pawn, she was already ten moves ahead.

The laptop chimed suddenly — a new message appeared in the corner of the screen. No sender ID. Just a line of text:

“Stop digging, or you’ll bury him too.”

I stared at it, every muscle locking tight.

He wasn’t Matteo.

It was Derek.

I slammed the laptop shut, breath coming fast. The message vanished before I could screenshot it.

For a long time , I sat in silence, just listening to the faint ticking of the clock, the sound of my heart pounding against the walls.

Then I whispered, almost to myself, “You made a mistake, Abigail.”

if you really thought threats would silence me — you're forgotten one thing: I’d already survived worse than fear.

I opened the laptop again, wiped my eyes, and began copying every traceable code, every timestamp, every log Matteo had left behind. Whatever she thought she’d buried, I was going to dig up, no matter the cost.

The morning sun climbed higher, hitting the room in blinding gold. The mansion around me was waking, unaware of the storm building inside its walls.

And as I worked, I could almost hear Derek’s voice in my head — the way he’d once said, “Truth always finds its way, even in the dark.”

He was right.

But this time, the truth might destroy all of us before it sets anyone free.

____

Just as Sylvia hit “save” on the final copied file, a distant rumble echoed through the open window — the low growl of engines approaching the estate.
She froze, her hand hovering above the keyboard.
Down the driveway, Derek’s convoy came into view — black SUVs gliding through the gates like shadows. Her breath caught at the sight of him stepping out first, tall, composed, but with that restless energy that always gave him away before a storm.
He was home.
And he had no idea that the real betrayal wasn’t out there with his enemies — it was already here, breathing beneath his own roof.
Sylvia’s fingers curled around the edge of the desk, torn between running to him and locking her door again. Because she knew that whatever Abigail had set in motion, it was reaching Derek next.
The laptop screen flickered once more before shutting down on its own, as if the house itself wanted to silence her discovery.
She whispered to the empty room, “Please, Derek… don’t walk into her game.”
Outside, Derek glanced toward the mansion’s upper windows — toward hers — his expression unreadable as the wind lifted his coat. He adjusted his cuff, murmured something to Luca, and started up the steps.
He didn’t notice the second SUV that hadn’t stopped behind him — the one that lingered a few meters back,
engine still idling, a silhouette inside holding a phone to their ear.
The voice on the other end laughed softly and said, “He’s home. Begin.”
The line went dead.
And inside the mansion, Sylvia’s light went out.