Chapter 6 The Rival's Shadow

Liana's POV

I didn't sleep.

Not properly.

I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, watching headlights from passing cars crawl across the cracks like slow-moving insects. Every time I closed my eyes, my brain replayed headlines, and Raphael Blackthorne's face was calm, unreadable, and dangerous.

His touch ghosted over my skin, phantom heat that wouldn't fade. Shame burned hotter than fear: I'd let the enemy in, literally, and now the memory was fraying at the edges like cheap paper.

By morning, exhaustion had settled into my bones.

I dressed mechanically. Black trousers. White blouse. Hair twisted into a bun so tight it pulled at my scalp. Armor. That's what clothes are now.

At Blaise Corps, the air felt heavier than usual.

The lobby screens flickered through performance metrics and smiling stock photos.

I scoffed.

Lucy waved the moment she saw me.

"There you are," she chirped, falling into step beside me. "You look wiped. Late night?"

I forced a yawn. "Something like that."

Her eyes lingered on my face a second too long.

We reached the elevators. Brian slid in just before the doors closed, breathless, with his tie crooked.

"Morning, ladies."

His gaze snagged on me and stayed there.

I didn't look back.

As the lift ascended, Lucy leaned closer. "Graham's been asking questions already."

My pulse ticked up. "About?"

She shrugged. "Permissions. Access hierarchies. He mentioned your name."

Again.

I smiled thinly. "I'm flattered."

Lucy laughed. Brian didn't.

On our floor, the office buzzed with tension. IT staff hovered near the server room. Graham's glass office door was shut. That was never a good sign.

I logged in and went straight to work.

The discrepancy from yesterday was still there, buried deep, timestamped wrong by milliseconds. Sloppy if you knew what to look for.

I started mapping access patterns.

Someone had been piggybacking credentials. Short bursts. Off-hours. Always routed cleanly enough to point back at me if anyone followed the trail.

Clever.

But they'd underestimated one thing.

Me.

I built a shadow protocol beneath my usual workflow. Nothing flashy. No alarms. Just mirrored processes and silent flags that logged everything twice, once where the system expected it, and once where only I knew to look.

If someone touched my files again, I'd see it.

A shadow moved in my peripheral vision.

Brian.

"You're intense today," he said lightly. "Everything okay?"

I didn't look up. "Just working."

"You always say that." He leaned on my desk. Too close. "Lucy's worried."

That made me glance up.

"She didn't say that to me."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "She didn't have to."

I straightened in my chair. "Brian, if you have something to say, say it."

He hesitated. A flicker of something, nerves, maybe guilt, passed over his face.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm just looking out for you.."

Then he walked away.

At ten-thirty, Graham summoned me.

Again.

His office smelled faintly of cologne and stale coffee. He didn't offer me a seat.

"I've reviewed your recent access activity," he said, fingers steepled. "You've been busy."

"Doing my job," I replied evenly.

He smiled. It was thin.

When I stepped out of his office, my hands were shaking.

I exhaled and walked back to my seat.

I barely sat before my phone buzzed-a sharp vibration against my thigh like a warning shot.

Unknown number.

Hello!-R

My thumb froze. Before I could reply, another buzz-same number.

Did you get it?

My breath caught.

Before I could process, a courier stepped onto our floor, scanning desks until his eyes landed on me. He walked over, holding a long black box like it contained something fragile.

"Liana Bennett?" he asked.

Every head in the office lifted.

"Yes," I said slowly.

He handed it to me and left without another word.

The box was heavier than it looked.

Lucy appeared at my side almost instantly. "Oh my God," she breathed. "Who's the lucky guy?"

I didn't answer.

I hadn't moved yet.

The box was matte black, no logo, no brand name. Just a slim silver ribbon tied neatly.

I opened it.

White lilies.

Perfect. Pristine. Not a single petal bruised.

The scent rose clean and overpowering white flowers that symbolized purity, rebirth, second chances. In my flat they would have felt hopeful. Here, on my desk surrounded by enemies, they felt like a blade wrapped in silk.

The card rested between the stems.

I hesitated, then picked it up.

No name.

Just four words, written in precise, elegant print.

Hello! Hope you're good?

My fingers curled slightly around the card.

Lucy squealed. "That's so romantic! Do you have a secret admirer?"

Around us, people murmured. Brian stared at the flowers like they'd personally offended him.

Graham glanced out of his glass office, eyes narrowing before he turned away again.

I forced a smile. "Looks like it."

But my pulse had started to race.

I slid the card back into the box and pushed it aside, pretending to admire the arrangement while my mind sprinted ahead.

The lilies stared back, innocent white against the black box. But innocence was a lie I'd learned the hard way. Someone was watching. Close. Too close.

Lunch came and went. I didn't eat.

Lucy tried to coax me out. Curry. Laughter. Normalcy.

I declined.

By mid-afternoon, the trap was set.

I seeded a file, nothing incriminating on the surface. Just a little trap.

Across the office, Lucy was on her phone again, smiling too brightly. Brian paced near IT. Graham hadn't emerged once since the delivery.

Everything felt... tightened. Like a noose being adjusted millimeter by millimeter.

By the time work ended, the flowers were still on my desk.

I debated leaving them behind.

I didn't.

Outside, London was damp and grey, the air thick with rain. I carried the box home like contraband, every step echoing louder than it should.

In my flat, I set the flowers on the kitchen counter and stared at them.

They didn't belong here.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number.

The screen lit my face in the dim kitchen. My thumb hovered over the message.

The message loaded.

Did you get it?

Then, before I could breathe another photo attached: me, leaving the hotel at dawn, rain in my hair, coat clutched tight. Shot from across the street. Someone had been there.

My heart slammed against my ribs.