Chapter 6
I disliked that too.
I set the photograph on the counter.
“We need to call the police.”
Ryan’s gaze moved toward the envelope.
“For the missing notebook?”
“Someone entered my apartment.”
“There are no signs of forced entry.”
“That does not make it less disturbing.”
“No. It means whoever came in may have used a key.”
My thoughts went immediately to Daniel.
“He returned his.”
“Keys can be copied.”
I hugged my arms around myself.
The apartment no longer felt honest, as Ryan had called it.
It felt exposed.
He noticed.
“You should not stay here tonight.”
“I’m not going to a hotel you own.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest one.”
“You own half the hotels in the city.”
“Less than half.”
“This is not the time for precision.”
A faint smile touched his mouth and disappeared.
“You can stay with Sophia.”
“It’s her wedding night.”
“Your mother?”
“She lives two hours away.”
“Another friend?”
I thought of Mia, who shared a small apartment with two roommates. My coworkers lived across the city. None of the options felt simple.
Ryan took out his phone.
“I can arrange for the lock to be changed now.”
“I don’t want your people inside my apartment.”
“Fair.”
He put the phone away immediately.
No argument.
No reminder that he could make things easier.
That restraint mattered more than I wanted it to.
“I’ll call my landlord,” I said.
“At midnight?”
“He lives upstairs.”
I went into the hall and knocked on Mr. Alvarez’s door.
He answered in a robe, glasses crooked on his nose, concern replacing sleepiness when I explained that someone may have entered with a key.
Within minutes, he was carrying a metal toolbox down the stairs.
“I changed this lock after your fiancé moved out,” he said as he knelt beside my door.
My stomach tightened.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes. You asked me.”
“I asked whether it could be changed. Then I told you not to worry about it because Daniel returned the key.”
Mr. Alvarez frowned.
“You left an envelope under my door with cash.”
I looked at Ryan.
He was watching Mr. Alvarez, not me.
“When?” he asked.
“About ten weeks ago.”
“Did you see who delivered it?” I asked.
“No. It had Elena’s name.”
My name.
Someone had paid to change my lock without my knowledge.
“Who has copies?” Ryan asked.
“Me and Ms. Hart.”
“Anyone else?”
Mr. Alvarez shook his head.
“I gave her two.”
I had received only one.
My pulse quickened.
“Then someone took the second.”
Mr. Alvarez’s face fell.
“I’m sorry. I thought—”
“It isn’t your fault,” I said.
Ryan crouched beside him.
“Can you change it again?”
Mr. Alvarez nodded.
“This time she gets every key.”
“I’ll stand here while you make them,” Ryan said.
The two men worked in silence while I remained inside, staring at the photograph.
Claire’s face was turned slightly toward Daniel.
She was not smiling.
Neither was he.
Charles stood between them with one hand behind his back.
The scene looked less like a celebration and more like an uneasy agreement.
When the new lock clicked into place, Mr. Alvarez handed me three keys.
“All of them,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He glanced toward Ryan, clearly recognizing him now but too polite to mention it.
“Call upstairs if you need anything.”
After he left, Ryan remained in the hallway.
He did not step back into the apartment.
“You can go,” I said.
“I can.”
“But you don’t intend to.”
“Not until I know you’re safe.”
“The lock is changed.”
“Yes.”
“The notebook is already gone.”
“Yes.”
“And whoever left that photograph wanted me to see it.”
“Yes.”
I leaned against the doorframe.
“Do you ever answer with more than one word?”
“When useful.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
The tension eased just enough for exhaustion to enter.
I looked down at my dress.
The burgundy fabric belonged to a different version of the night. A woman who had worried about table nineteen and cruel comments.
That woman already seemed far away.
“I need to change.”
Ryan nodded.
“I’ll wait in the hall.”
“You don’t have to stand there.”
“I know.”
I closed the door.
For the first time since entering the apartment, I was alone.
I went into the bedroom and changed into jeans and a soft gray sweater. The engagement ring still sat in the dresser, wrapped in its grocery receipt.
I opened the drawer.
For months, I had believed the ring represented my failure.
Not Daniel’s.
Mine.
His accusation had become part of my reflection.
Not ambitious enough.
Not impressive enough.
Not enough.
Now I knew that while I had been working double shifts and doubting myself, he had carried my notebook into rooms I had dreamed of entering.
The ring looked smaller than I remembered.
I picked it up.
Then I placed it inside a plain envelope.
Not because I had forgiven him.
Not because I was ready to face him.
Because the ring was no longer proof of the life I had lost.
It was only an object.
When I opened the apartment door, Ryan was seated on the top stair, elbows resting on his knees.
He stood immediately.
“You stayed.”
“I said I would.”
I held the envelope.
“I need to return something.”
“To Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“No. But soon.”
Ryan studied me.
“You look different.”
“I changed my clothes.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
I locked the door and slipped the new key into my pocket.
“I’m done letting him decide what my life meant.”
The words felt strange.
New.
But true.
Ryan’s expression softened.
“Good.”
We went downstairs.
The bakery was still open, its front windows fogged with warmth. Inside, trays of sweet bread glowed beneath yellow lights.
Ryan glanced toward it.
“You still haven’t eaten.”
“Neither have you.”
“That sounds like an invitation.”
“It is not.”
“Then I will purchase food independently while standing near you.”
I shook my head.
“Fine.”
The baker, Mrs. Navarro, knew me by name. She eyed Ryan with open curiosity but asked no questions.
We took two cinnamon rolls and coffee to a small table by the window.
Ryan loosened his cuffs.
Without the ballroom or the car around him, he looked less like a billionaire and more like a tired man eating pastry after midnight.
I watched him take one bite.
His eyebrows lifted.
“Good?”
“This may be the best thing I’ve eaten all week.”
“What did you eat yesterday?”
“A protein bar during a meeting.”
“That is not food.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
For a moment, the night became almost ordinary.
The coffee was hot.
Rain had begun to mix with the snow outside.
Mrs. Navarro hummed while cleaning the counter.
Then Ryan’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Charles.”
“Answer.”
He did.
“Blackwood.”
Charles spoke long enough that I watched the warmth drain from Ryan’s face.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Do not contact Daniel yet.”
He listened.
“I’ll call you back.”
Ryan ended the call.
“What happened?”
“Charles checked the Northstar building access logs.”
“And?”
“Claire entered the office yesterday.”
I stared at him.
“She still works there?”
“No.”
“Then how did she get in?”
“Her old credentials were reactivated.”
“By whom?”
“They don’t know yet.”
A chill moved through me.
“What did she access?”
“The archive room.”
“My manuscript?”
“Possibly.”
“Or Daniel’s records.”
“Yes.”
“Did she leave?”
Ryan looked down at his phone.
“No exit was recorded.”
I stopped breathing.
“She’s still inside?”
“Security searched the building tonight. They didn’t find her.”
“Then where did she go?”
“There’s a service garage. The cameras were down for maintenance.”
I leaned back.
“That sounds convenient.”
“It is.”
“Do you think she took my notebook?”
“I don’t know.”
“But she had it in the photograph.”
“Yes.”
“When was that picture taken?”
Ryan zoomed in on the image.
“The Northstar office sign was updated eight months ago. It has the new logo.”
“So recently.”
“Within the last eight months.”
“Maybe Daniel gave her the notebook.”
“Maybe.”
“Or Charles.”
Ryan’s eyes moved toward me.
“You think Charles is involved.”
“He knew my name. He had seen my picture. He admitted the company records were altered. And he was standing beside them in the photograph.”
“Those are facts.”
“You say that like you don’t agree.”
“I say it because suspicion is not proof.”
“And Claire?”
His face closed slightly.
“You’re protecting her.”
“No.”
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
The speed of the answer silenced me.
Ryan looked down at his coffee.
“I loved her,” he said again. “That does not mean I know who she is now.”
I studied him.
“Do you want to find her because of the manuscript?”
“Yes.”
“Only because of the manuscript?”
May you like
His fingers tightened around the paper cup.
“No.”
