Chapter 8 THE CHOICE
The message burned on her screen long after the words stopped glowing.
Meet me tonight. Or you’ll never know who you’re really working for.
Lora sat frozen, phone in one hand, the other pressed flat against the desk as if she could steady the ground that way. The office around her blurred — phones ringing, printers humming, So-ra’s laughter from the next cubicle. It all sounded far away, like a soundtrack to someone else’s life.
She read the message again. And again. The words didn’t change.
Her first instinct was to delete it. Pretend it hadn’t come. Her second was to send it to Steve. But a quiet, unfamiliar thought whispered under both — what if it’s true?
Her firm had contracts with the Han Foundation. If someone wanted to reach Steve or his father, getting to her through work would be easy. But the tone of that text wasn’t random. It felt personal.
She locked her phone, slid it into her bag, and stood.
So-ra glanced up. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Just tired,” Lora said. “I’m heading out early.”
“You okay?”
“Fine,” she lied.
She didn’t remember much of the subway ride home — only that the car felt too full, the air too thin. When she reached her building, she checked every mirror in the lobby before stepping into the elevator.
Inside her apartment, she dropped her bag and leaned against the door. Her reflection in the dark window looked like a stranger. She thought of the message again. Meet me tonight.
Her phone buzzed. Steve.
I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere.
Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Okay, she wrote, then hesitated.
Would she tell him about the message? Or keep it to herself until she knew what it meant?
She placed the phone face-down on the counter. The rain had started again outside, quiet but constant. It made everything feel suspended, like time itself was waiting.
Fifteen minutes later, a knock.
She opened the door to Steve, drenched, serious, eyes scanning the hallway before he spoke.
“Any more messages?”
She blinked. “How did you—”
“You weren’t the only one who got one.”
He stepped inside, shaking water from his coat. “Mine said, Stoplying to her.”
Lora’s pulse stumbled. “To me?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
He met her gaze and didn’t answer right away. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
The way he said it made her stomach tighten. “You think it’s connected to your father?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Then who—”
He cut her off with a shake of his head. “I need you to trust me, Lora.”
She almost laughed. Not cruelly, but out of disbelief. “Trust is a lot to ask for right now.”
“I know.” His tone softened. “But you’re in the middle of something you don’t see yet. I’m trying to keep you out of it.”
Her chest ached. “You can’t protect me from something you won’t name.”
He ran a hand through his hair, water dripping onto her floor. “There are things happening in the foundation that shouldn’t be. Funds moving where they shouldn’t. I’ve been tracking them quietly. And now someone knows.”
“Knows and decided to threaten me?”
“Or warn you.”
She stared at him, weighing every word. His face held no hint of deceit — but then again, he’d learned how to wear composure like armor.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because you’re close enough to matter. Because you notice things.”
She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or afraid. “So what do we do?”
He hesitated. “We stay quiet. Until I can find proof.”
The plan sounded simple, which made it dangerous.
Lora turned toward the window. The city lights blurred against the rain, a thousand small reflections. “And if they contact me again?”
“Forward it to me.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we wait.”
The word scraped against her nerves. She thought of the Chairman’s advice — Which is braver: waiting or walking?
Sometimes bravery didn’t look like motion. Sometimes it looked like stillness.
Steve’s voice broke the silence. “I’ll have a driver take you to work tomorrow. Don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
He almost smiled. “That’s a first.”
“I’m learning.”
He moved closer, just enough for her to feel the warmth under the dampness of his coat. “You shouldn’t have to learn it this way.”
For a moment neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rain. Then his phone buzzed.
He frowned, pulled it out, and his expression changed.
“What is it?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. He turned the screen toward her. Another message.
Too late. She already said yes.
Lora’s breath caught. “What does that mean?”
He looked at her sharply. “Did you reply to them?”
“No. I didn’t even—”
“Think.” His tone was sharper than he meant. He stepped back, rubbing his jaw. “Someone’s playing both sides.”
“I didn’t reply,” she said again, steadier this time. “But they know I got the message.”
He swore under his breath. “Then they’re watching more than I thought.”
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Both of them froze.
She picked it up slowly. A new text, same unknown number.
Don’t let him lie again.
She looked at Steve. “They’re talking about you.”
“Or trying to turn you against me.”
“Why would they?”
“Because it’s easier to break trust than build it.”
The lights flickered once. The rain outside thickened, turning into a steady pour that blurred everything beyond the glass.
Steve took a step toward her, then stopped. “If anything happens, you call me first. Not the police, not anyone from work. Me.”
She nodded, though her throat had gone dry.
He started toward the door, then turned back. “Lock everything. Don’t answer unknown calls.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find out who sent those messages.”
The way he said it made her stomach twist. “You’re going after them alone?”
He smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “You make it sound like I have a choice.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Lora stood there, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall. Her reflection looked back at her from the dark window — tired, uncertain, older than she remembered.
She checked her phone again. The message still sat there like an open door.
Her pulse picked up. She opened the text thread, typed one word. Who are you?
The reply came almost instantly.
Someone who’s been on your side longer than he has.
She swallowed hard. Prove it.
Three dots appeared. Then a photo came through.
It was Steve. Taken from behind. Standing in her hallway just moments ago.
Her hand went cold. The timestamp read one minute before.
Which meant whoever sent it wasn’t somewhere far away.
They were here.
Her eyes swept the room. Everything looked normal — sofa, lamp, half-finished mug of tea — until she noticed the smallest thing.
The balcony door.
It was open. Just an inch.
A drop of rain slid down the glass, slow as breath.
Lora moved backward until her shoulders hit the wall. Her phone buzzed again.
Don’t scream. I only want to talk.