Chapter 3 Answers and Ashes

If I'd had any sense, I would've thrown the black card straight into the trash, dismissing it as a prank or a mistake, but I didn't. Instead, I stared at it for over an hour, flipping it between my fingers like it might change, like it might spell out something more than a single word 'soon'.

As I sat there, trying to make sense of the card, I felt a growing sense of unease. It was as if the card was more than just a simple message - it was a harbinger of something bigger, something that I couldn't quite grasp. Eventually, I shoved it into a drawer, locked the drawer, and tried to pretend it didn't feel like the beginning of something I couldn't stop.

But I knew I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that easily. I needed to talk to someone, someone who might understand what was going on. Layla was the only person who came to mind. She was my closest friend, and I knew she would listen to me without judgment.

I texted her, before I took a cab to her place uptown.

The sky was smeared with clouds, the streets wet from early rain, but even the damp wind couldn't shake the unease curled in my chest. I felt like I was walking into a storm, and I didn't know how to prepare.

When I arrived at Layla's apartment, she opened the door in her favorite lavender robe, oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. "God, you look like you haven't slept in a week," she said, concern etched on her face.

"I haven't," I replied, brushing past her into the apartment. "You'll want to make tea. This is... a story."

Layla followed me to the couch, kicking aside a pair of heels and a blanket. "Okay, shoot," she said, her eyes locked on mine.

So I told her everything - the boardroom, the firing, the gold eyes and electric tension, the man who came to my apartment, the missing hallway visitor, and the card. Layla listened without interrupting, but the more I spoke, the tighter her mouth got.

When I finished, she didn't laugh or joke. She just asked, "What did you say his name was again?"

"Damian Thorne. CEO of Thorne Global," I replied. "You've heard of him, right? The famous billionaire bachelor of Los Angeles."

Layla nodded slowly, her expression serious. "Yeah. I've heard of him." But something in her tone was off, like she wasn't hearing his name for the first time, but trying to forget the first time she had.

"Layla," I said, sitting up. "What is it? Do you know something?"

Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. "I wasn't sure it was the same man. The name's common enough. But... Evie, I dated someone a few years ago. Real smooth, charming, rich, and mysterious as hell. Dropped out of nowhere, disappeared the same way."

I leaned forward, my heart racing. "And?"

"He worked for Thorne. Said his boss wasn't... normal."

I laughed nervously. "What's that even mean?"

"He called him Alpha," she whispered.

My stomach dropped. "Look, I thought it was some weird corporate nickname or culty boss worship, but then he said things. Dark things about... loyalty and bloodlines. Bonds that can't be broken. And then he ghosted me completely. Changed his number. Quit his apartment overnight."

I stared at her, my mind reeling. "Are you messing with me?"

"Do I look like I'm in the mood to joke about a man leaving claw marks on my damn window?" Layla replied, her voice low and serious.

I flinched. "You never told me that."

"I didn't want to scare you."

"Well, too late for that," I huffed.

Layla stood and poured herself a shot of whiskey - at ten-thirty in the morning. "Evie, whatever's going on... you need to stay far, far away from this man."

"Hello...I was fired, Layla. I don't plan to go anywhere near him," I replied.

"Good."

I hesitated. "But I didn't go to him. Someone came to me. And now I feel like I'm being watched."

Layla's eyes darted to her window. "Maybe we should call the cops."

"And tell them what? That the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company might be sending cryptic stationary to my apartment and vaporizing men in my hallway?''

She didn't have an answer, and neither did I. We sat in silence until my phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You shouldn't have spoken to her.

My hands trembled as I showed the message to Layla and her eyes widened in fear.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Layla's phone buzzed too. She glanced at it, and her face went pale. "It's the same number," she whispered. "The message says... You're next."

My heart sank. We were in this together now. I grabbed Layla's hand, and we sat there in stunned silence. I didn't know what all this was or what was going on. After confronting my almighty boss, I'd started recieving something akin to threat notes.

Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment, and we both froze. Another knock came, this time harder.

Layla's eyes met mine, and we knew we had to act fast. "Do you have a back door?" I whispered.

She nodded toward the kitchen. We crept quietly across the apartment, but before we made it to the hallway, the door exploded inward. Splinters flew everywhere, and I heard Layla scream. And then, I saw a man. He was tall, his hair dark. A black coat flaring like wings.

"Run!" Layla shouted, shoving me toward the back. But she was too slow. He caught her arm in a blur of movement.

"No!" I turned, grabbed the closest thing I could-her marble fruit bowl-and hurled it. It struck his temple, but he barely flinched. And then he turned to me.

I ran. Out the back, down the stairs, and out into the alley. My lungs burned, and my vision blurred. Somewhere behind me, I heard another voice... calmer, smoother, with a razor's edge. "Don't hurt her."

Then suddenly there was nothing. Just black. Like something had reached inside my skull and flicked off the light.

When I woke, it was dark. I looked around, and realized that I was not in my room nor Layla's. I stared at the stone walls, the soft sheets, and then to the fire crackling somewhere to my right. I sat up too fast, and the world tilted. My limbs were sluggish, and my mouth tasted like metal.

"Where...?"

"You're safe," came a voice. I turned sharply toward the direction the voice came from. Damian Thorne stood by the door, with his arms crossed. Only this wasn't the tailored-suit CEO I remembered. He was dressed in black slacks and a loose, open-collared shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His presence filled the room like smoke... heavy, unshakable, dangerous.

The card had said soon, but he'd meant now.