Chapter 7 The Intruder ‎

‎Lena's POV

‎

‎The city outside Knight & Co. glittered like broken diamonds, oblivious to the storm brewing inside the design studio.

‎

‎I had stayed late, the glow of the desk lamp painting my sketches gold against the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of fabric and ink. I was alone-or so I thought.

‎

‎The first indication that something was wrong was subtle. A faint click, almost inaudible over the hum of the ventilation. My fingers froze on the pencil.

‎

‎A shadow moved across the room.

‎

‎I held my breath.

‎

‎

‎For a moment, I considered ignoring it. Perhaps it was my imagination. Perhaps the cleaning crew had come early. But my instincts screamed otherwise-sharp, primal, insistent.

‎

‎I slipped from my chair, moving silently, letting my heels whisper against the polished floor. Every sense was heightened. Every shadow could be an enemy. Every reflection could hide a threat.

‎

‎And then I saw it: a figure crouched near the supplies, rifling through folders.

‎

‎"Who's there?" I called, voice low, steady, but carrying authority.

‎

‎The figure froze, then spun toward me. A mask covered their face, but the eyes-calculating, cold-met mine.

‎

‎And then they lunged.

‎

‎

‎

‎Instinct took over. I grabbed the nearest object-a heavy ruler-and swung. It struck the intruder's arm, forcing them to stumble back. Papers flew across the floor, sketches and contracts fluttering like wounded birds.

‎

‎"Stop!" I shouted, heart hammering, adrenaline sharp. "I will call security!"

‎

‎The figure hesitated, eyes flicking toward the door. Then, in a swift, fluid motion, they dashed toward the window, yanking it open.

‎

‎"Wait!" I ran, reaching for the sill, but they were gone-leaping into the alley below.

‎

‎I slammed the window shut, shaking. My sketches lay scattered across the floor, ruined in the struggle. But that wasn't what frightened me most.

‎

‎It wasn't just an intruder.

‎

‎They were after me.

‎

‎Or worse, my work.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎I sank to the floor, scanning the room. The sketches I had spent days perfecting were smeared, torn, scattered. But more than the designs, a sense of vulnerability settled in my chest-a reminder that I wasn't untouchable, no matter how carefully I planned, no matter how cold and calculated I appeared.

‎

‎I heard footsteps behind me.

‎

‎"Lena?" The voice was soft, familiar, sharp.

‎

‎I froze.

‎

‎Adrian.

‎

‎He appeared in the doorway, drenched from the rain that had started again outside, eyes wide as he took in the chaos. "What happened?"

‎

‎I struggled to find words. "Someone... broke in. I don't know who. Or why?"

‎

‎His gaze swept the room, noting the torn papers, scattered fabrics, and the faint imprint of a shadow near the window. His jaw tightened.

‎

‎"Were you hurt?"

‎

‎"No," I said, brushing myself off, though my hands were trembling. "I handled it."

‎

‎He didn't look convinced. "Handled it?" His tone was sharp, protective. "You could've been-"

‎

‎"Adrian," I interrupted, standing, voice cold, professional. "I'm fine. The designs..." I gestured to the mess on the floor, "They're salvageable. Don't worry about me."

‎

‎He stepped closer, and I felt it-the old pull, the dangerous draw I had fought to ignore. The closeness of his presence, the heat radiating off him, the silent weight of his authority-it was suffocating, intoxicating.

‎

‎"You're reckless," he said quietly.

‎

‎"And you're obsessive," I replied, voice steady but my chest tightening.

‎

‎For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other, the tension crackling, a storm of unspoken words and memories hovering between us.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎Then his eyes softened, just for a second. Vulnerable. Human. He gestured at the torn sketches. "We'll fix this. Together. But next time, don't face it alone."

‎

‎I bristled, hating the warmth in his voice. "I work alone."

‎

‎"Yes," he said, voice low, almost intimate. "But sometimes, even the best defenses aren't enough."

‎

‎I wanted to deny it. To push him away. To remind myself why I was here: revenge, control, power. Not love. Not this.

‎

‎And yet... I didn't.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎We spent the next hour organizing the chaos, picking up torn sketches, salvaging fabrics, and trying to restore some order to the studio. Each movement was laden with tension, every brush of his hand as he handed me a design sending sparks down my spine.

‎

‎I hated it. Hated that he still had this effect on me. That even after everything, one glance could make my chest tighten, my mind falter.

‎

‎When the final folder was stacked neatly on the desk, we stepped back, surveying the aftermath.

‎

‎He looked at me, gaze intense, searching. "You're too good to be alone," he said softly.

‎

‎"Too reckless," I corrected, forcing my tone firm.

‎

‎"Too brilliant," he countered, the words deliberate, heavy with meaning. "And you know it."

‎

‎I swallowed, heart hammering.

‎

‎Yes. I did know it.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎A sudden noise outside the studio made us both freeze-a sharp click, metallic, deliberate.

‎

‎I turned toward the sound, instinctively shielding the desk, sketches, everything that mattered. Adrian moved immediately, stepping in front of me, his presence protective, commanding.

‎

‎The window. The door. Every shadow in the hallway could hide danger.

‎

‎"This isn't over," he said quietly, eyes locked on mine. "Whoever did this... they'll come back. And next time, we won't have a chance to react."

‎

‎I nodded, forcing my jaw to remain tight. "Then we'll be ready."

‎

‎But inside, my mind raced. My plan, my careful control, my revenge strategy-all of it felt fragile.

‎

‎Because now, the danger wasn't just professional.

‎

‎It was personal.

‎

‎And I realized something terrifying.

‎

‎The closer I got to Adrian, the more vulnerable I became. Not just to the intruder. But to him.

‎

‎To the storm, we had never finished.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎That night, back in my apartment, I sat at the window, staring at the city below. The envelope from earlier lay on my desk, unopened. The photograph of Adrian and the note were still there, teasing, daring me to make the next move.

‎

‎I knew the truth: the intruder wasn't random. Someone was targeting me. My designs. My position at Knight & Co., and maybe... testing Adrian.

‎

‎I clenched my fists, determination hardening in my chest. I hadn't survived this long to be scared. I hadn't returned under a new identity to lose control now.

‎

‎The game was far from over.

‎

‎And neither Adrian nor I was safe.

‎

‎But one thing was certain:

‎

‎I wasn't backing down.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎[End of Chapter 7 - Cliffhanger:]

‎

‎A single text buzzed on my phone. Unknown number.

‎

‎> "You think you're safe. You're not. I know who you really are... and I'm coming for everything."

‎

‎

‎

‎I froze, heart hammering, staring at the screen.

‎

‎Outside, the rain began again.

‎Inside, the storm was just beginning.

‎

‎