She gripped her phone, her only lifeline, and listened. The silence was heavy, broken only by the hum of the city outside. Was it Xander, checking on her again? Or someone else, someone who knew she'd met Julian and seen the papers about the land deal? Her mind raced, picturing her sister Sofia, alone and vulnerable. Elena had married Xander to protect her, to undo Marcus's mistakes, but now every move she made seemed to pull Sofia closer to harm.
Another sound as soft shuffle, like footsteps on marble. Elena's breath caught. She stood, slow and quiet, her bare feet cold on the floor. The room was dark, curtains drawn tight after that creepy text about the view. She grabbed a heavy lamp from the nightstand, its base solid in her hands, and crept to the door. Her old life had taught her to smile through trouble, but her mom's death and her dad's lies had taught her to fight. Whoever was out there, she wasn't going down easy.
She unlocked the door, wincing at the faint click, and eased it open. The hallway was a stretch of shadows, the penthouse's sleek design turning eerie in the dark. Lights from the city leaked through the living room windows, casting long shapes on the walls. She stepped out, lamp raised, her pulse loud in her ears. The air felt wrong, like someone had just been here.
"Xander?" she whispered, hoping it was him. No answer. She moved forward, past his closed door, toward the living room. The bar gleamed in the corner, bottles catching the light, reminding her of her dad's old parties, where she'd sneak sips of wine as a kid. But this wasn't a party. This was a game, and she didn't know the players.
A shadow moved near the elevator, quick and human-shaped. Elena froze, her grip tightening on the lamp. "Who's there?" she called, her voice sharper than she felt. The shadow vanished, and then she heard a low beep, like the elevator starting up. Whoever it was, they were leaving. Or trying to.
She ran to the elevator, her bare feet slapping the floor. The doors were closing, but she caught a glimpse of a figure in dark clothes, face hidden. The doors shut before she could reach them, the panel glowing as the elevator descended. Her stomach dropped. Someone had been inside, and they'd gotten away.
She spun around, checking the room. Nothing looked out of place, no broken glass, no papers scattered. But her skin crawled, like the penthouse itself was watching. She hurried back to her room, locking the door, and grabbed the envelope from under the pillow. The photo and paper were still there, proof of a land deal tying her dad to the Whitmores. She stuffed them into a drawer, her hands shaking. Whoever was behind the texts knew she had these. They'd been here, maybe looking for them.
Her phone buzzed, and she jumped, nearly dropping it. Another text from the unknown number: Next time, we won't just watch. Her breath hitched. She dialed Sofia again, desperate for her voice, but it went straight to voicemail. "Sofia, please," she whispered, leaving another message. "Call me. I need you to be okay."
She sank onto the bed, her mind a mess. The penthouse, with its shiny surfaces and city views, felt like a lie, just like her dad's promises years ago. She'd believed him then, believed he'd fix their debts, save their home. Instead, he'd lost everything, including her mom. Now, his secrets were pulling her into something worse. The land deal, the marriage, the threats—it was all connected, and she was stuck in the middle.
Xander's face flashed in her mind, his tired eyes, his half-apology last night. I'm not your enemy, Elena. Part of her wanted to bang on his door, show him the texts, demand answers. But Julian's warning held her back. Don't trust Xander. Julian's touch lingered too, the way he'd looked at her by the fountain, like she was more than a pawn. Her heart twisted, caught between a husband she didn't understand and a man she shouldn't want. She pushed the thought away. Feelings could wait. Sofia couldn't.
She needed a plan. First, she'd check on Sofia at her dad's place, make sure she was safe. Then she'd confront Marcus again, no dodging this time. And Julian—she had to find him, get more answers about the papers. But she couldn't do it from here, not with someone sneaking in, watching her every move.
A knock at her door made her jump. "Elena?" It was Xander, his voice low but urgent. "Open the door."
Her pulse spiked. Was he part of this? She grabbed the lamp again, just in case, and cracked the door open. He stood there, fully dressed now, his dark hair messy, like he'd been up. "What's wrong?" he asked, eyes scanning her face. "I heard you moving around."
She hesitated, the lamp heavy in her hand. His concern looked real, but she'd seen her dad fake it too many times. "I thought I heard something," she said, keeping it vague. "Like… someone in the penthouse."
His face tightened, and he stepped past her, checking the room. "Stay here," he said, moving to the hallway. She followed, ignoring him, her bare feet quiet. He checked the living room, the bar, the elevator panel, his movements quick and sure, like he'd done this before. "Nobody's here," he said finally, turning to her. "But I'll call security, have them check the cameras."
She nodded, her throat tight. His protectiveness threw her off, made her want to trust him. But the texts, the papers, Julian's words all screamed no. "Thanks," she said, her voice flat. "I'm going back to bed."
He watched her, like he wanted to say more. "If something's wrong, Elena, tell me. We're in this together."
Her heart ached. She wanted to believe him, to lean into his strength, but her dad's lies had taught her better. "Goodnight, Xander," she said, closing the door.
Alone again, she sat on the bed, her mind racing. The penthouse was no safer than her old life, when creditors called at midnight and her mom cried in the dark. She'd survived that, built a new life with her art, her sister. She could survive this too. But as she stared at her phone, another text came through, this one a photo. It was Sofia, sleeping in her bed, taken from above, like someone had stood over her.
Elena's blood turned to ice. Someone wasn't just watching. They were too close. And they were done with warnings.