Chapter 2 Fractures

The suite was too quiet after Callum left.

Lena sat alone on the bed, the velvet headboard behind her cool against her spine. The curtains were drawn shut, cutting out the light. Outside, the city pulsed, oblivious to her unraveling. She glanced at the phone again.

The video still sat in Callum's inbox.

She hadn't wanted to see it again. That single frame-her singing in the bath, eyes closed, unaware-was enough to make her stomach twist. It was a moment so private she hadn't even remembered it clearly until the image surfaced. Now it felt poisoned.

She rose and walked barefoot across the suite, grabbing the remote and switching on the muted television. A news anchor was reporting about Callum.

"Still no public statement from Maddox's camp. Sources suggest a breakdown or retreat from Hollywood's pressure. The actor hasn't been seen publicly in eleven months-"

Lena turned it off.

They had no idea.

The world thought Callum was hiding from fame. The truth was far more complicated-and far more dangerous. He wasn't hiding from the world. He was hiding from the people who once claimed to know him best.

Her reflection caught in the mirror-flawless face, high cheekbones, delicate collarbones, a body she had been taught to sell, shape, and shield. To the world, Lena Hale was poised, enigmatic, untouchable.

But the cracks were there. Hairline fractures only visible in silence. And tonight, the silence was deafening.

She walked to the minibar, pulled out a tiny bottle of vodka, and unscrewed the cap with shaking fingers. She downed it in one gulp, then grabbed another. Her hand brushed against her phone.

She paused. Something was off.

The screen was lit.

A text.

Unknown number. Again.

Room 1212. No cameras. Just truth.

Her blood ran cold.

She'd stayed in dozens of hotels across Europe and the States. Always penthouses. Always private. Always with Callum. This wasn't a coincidence.

Her fingers hovered over the message. Was this real? Was someone in the building?

She stepped back and checked the deadbolt. Locked. Then the chain. Still secure.

Another message appeared.

I wouldn't scream. The walls are thin.

Her breath hitched.

She spun and looked around the suite, heart pounding against her ribs. The light above flickered once. She caught sight of the smoke detector on the ceiling. Too small. No way a camera could fit in there-could it?

Then again... she'd been wrong before.

She grabbed her bag, shoved her phone inside, and walked toward the door-then stopped herself.

Whoever this was, they were playing a game. And games had rules.

She stepped back into the bedroom, opened the nightstand drawer, and pulled out the silver letter opener. She slid it into her jacket pocket. Just in case.

Elevator rides were normally her chance to breathe. Not this time. Her hand was on the button for the twelfth floor, but she hesitated. What if it was a trap? What if someone was leading her into something she couldn't walk back from?

But then again-wasn't that already happening?

The elevator dinged. She stepped inside, alone. Her reflection in the mirrored walls looked calmer than she felt. The lights hummed above her.

Floor 12.

The hallway was dimmer than she expected. Fewer lights. No guests. The carpet muffled her steps. Room 1212 was halfway down, beside a service closet.

The door was ajar.

Her hand tightened around the letter opener in her pocket.

She pushed it open with her shoulder.

The room inside was dark, the blackout curtains drawn tight. But the glow from a small desk lamp revealed a man sitting in the corner, partially shadowed. A laptop sat closed in front of him.

"Lena," he said. His voice was deep. Calm. Unrecognizable.

Her heart stumbled.

"Who are you?"

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said. "But I could."

She didn't relax her grip.

"Why me?" she asked.

The man tilted his head. His face was partially obscured by the angle. Late thirties, maybe early forties. Expensive clothes, but no flash. No arrogance. Just stillness.

"It's not about you," he said. "Not entirely."

She took a step closer. "Then what is it about?"

"It's about him."

Callum.

Of course.

"What do you want?"

"I want him to see what happens when you keep secrets," the man replied. "He built a lie around you. And now I'm going to burn it down."

Lena's pulse roared in her ears. "You're making a mistake."

"I've made many. But this isn't one of them."

She stepped back, hand still in her pocket.

The man leaned forward, just enough for the light to catch his face.

Her breath caught.

She'd seen him before.

Once.

At a premiere.

In a photo Callum had deleted from her phone.

Owen Maddox.

Callum's estranged older brother. The one everyone thought had disappeared after scandal and silence swallowed him whole. Accused of fraud. Abuse. Manipulation.

And now here he was.

Not a ghost.

Not a rumor.

A predator with a plan.

"You're sick," she said softly.

He smiled.

"I'm patient."

Lena backed out of the room slowly.

"I should scream."

"You won't," he said. "You're not stupid. You'll go back upstairs, wait for Callum, and tell him nothing. Or I send the rest of the footage."

She hesitated.

"What footage?"

His smile widened.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Back in the suite, Lena locked every bolt twice and pulled every curtain shut. She turned on the TV again, just for sound, then sank to the floor by the window, knees pulled to her chest.

She didn't cry. There was no time for that. She needed to think.

Owen Maddox.

He was supposed to be gone. Callum had told her everything-or so she thought. That Owen had taken advantage of young talent, forged Callum's signature, destroyed their family's legacy. That Callum had buried the truth to protect their mother. That he'd paid to make his brother disappear.

And yet here he was.

Alive. Watching.

Stalking.

And too close.

The camera in Lisbon. The messages. The footage. It was all him.

She glanced at her phone. One missed call from Callum.

He was probably on his way back. And she had no idea how to explain what had just happened.

One thing was certain now.

They were out of time.

The past wasn't behind them.

It was standing in the hallway.

Smiling.

And watching through the glow of every camera they thought they had turned off.