Chapter 2 - The Man Behind The Warning
A phone screen lit up in a dark hotel lounge, displaying a message: "Don't trust Roman Costa."
When Alex Carter looked closer, she discovered a hidden account number attached to the warning. But the last four digits matched a document in Roman's folder. Alex realized someone wanted her afraid of the only person helping her.
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
Don't trust Roman Costa.
It should have scared me.
Maybe it was supposed to.
But after everything that happened upstairs, fear felt different.
Fear was no longer something that made me run.
Fear was something I studied.
I had spent my entire career examining ancient objects, forgotten histories, and documents that told stories people wanted buried.
The truth was always hidden somewhere.
A missing signature.
A changed date.
A small detail everyone ignored.
And now my own life had become the investigation.
I looked across the lounge.
Roman stood near the window, watching the rain slide down the glass.
He wasn't looking at me.
He wasn't trying to convince me.
That bothered me more than if he had.
Most people lied when they were cornered.
They rushed to explain.
They tried to control the story.
Roman Costa simply waited.
I picked up the folder he had left behind.
Inside were copies of financial transfers, appraisal records, and photographs of antique collections.
My name appeared several times.
My company.
My department.
My signature.
But something was wrong.
I knew my own work.
I knew my own handwriting.
The signatures looked almost identical.
Almost.
That was what bothered me.
A fake created by someone careless would have been obvious.
But this was different.
Someone had studied me.
Someone had watched how I signed.
Someone had taken the time to copy me perfectly.
"You noticed."
Roman's voice came from beside me.
I looked up.
He had moved closer without making a sound.
"Someone studied my signature."
He nodded.
"Yes."
"Who?"
Roman didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the ballroom.
Through the glass doors, I could see the celebration continuing.
People laughing.
People drinking.
People congratulating Preston.
The man who had planned to destroy me.
"The person who created those documents wasn't trying to make you look guilty."
I frowned.
"Then what were they trying to do?"
Roman looked back at me.
"They were trying to make sure everyone believed you were guilty."
A cold feeling moved through me.
There was a difference.
A huge difference.
A simple criminal could create fake evidence.
But someone powerful could create a story.
A story where I became the villain before I even knew there was a war.
"I need to call my lawyer."
Roman nodded.
"Do it."
I reached for my phone.
Then stopped.
My contacts.
My messages.
My email.
Everything suddenly felt dangerous.
If Preston had access to my work files, what else did he have?
My personal information.
My passwords.
My conversations.
My life.
"I can't trust my own devices."
Roman studied my expression.
"Good."
I looked at him.
"Good?"
"You're finally thinking like someone who wants to survive."
I should have been offended.
Instead, I understood.
Because three hours earlier, I was worried my boyfriend was working too hard.
Now I was sitting beside a man accused by half of Manhattan's elite of being untouchable.
My world had changed completely.
Roman took out a small envelope.
"Before you ask, no, I didn't hack anything."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Then what is this?"
"Something Preston doesn't know exists."
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Preston shaking hands with a man I recognized from the news.
A European art dealer.
A man connected to several investigations involving stolen artifacts.
My stomach tightened.
"When was this taken?"
"Six months ago."
I looked at Roman.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because Preston told me he was in London that week."
Roman's expression didn't change.
"He wasn't."
The room became silent.
Six months ago.
That was before Preston started talking about marriage.
Before he asked my ring size.
Before he told me he wanted a future with me.
He had already been hiding things.
Maybe he had never been building a future.
Maybe he had been building a trap.
I placed the photograph back into the envelope.
"Why are you showing me this?"
Roman leaned against the table.
"Because you need to understand something."
His voice became lower.
"Preston Hayes isn't acting alone."
I looked at him.
"Sabrina?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
"Then who?"
Roman looked toward the ballroom again.
"Someone who has more power than Sabrina Kensington."
My heartbeat increased.
"Who?"
Before he could answer, the ballroom doors opened.
A waiter stepped inside.
He looked directly at Roman.
"Mr. Costa."
Roman turned.
The waiter lowered his voice.
"Your car is ready."
Roman nodded.
Then the waiter looked at me.
Only for a second.
But I noticed.
Recognition.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
"Do you know me?"
The waiter immediately looked away.
"No, miss."
Something about his answer felt wrong.
Roman noticed it too.
"Leave."
The waiter walked away quickly.
I watched him disappear.
"Who was that?"
Roman didn't respond.
"Roman."
He finally looked at me.
"Someone who wasn't supposed to see you here."
My chest tightened.
"What does that mean?"
"It means your appearance tonight changed the plan."
"What plan?"
Roman didn't answer.
Instead, he reached for the folder.
But before he could close it, something slipped from between the pages.
A handwritten note.
I picked it up first.
There were only seven words.
My blood turned cold.
Because I recognized the handwriting.
It was mine.
The note said:
"Roman knows what happened to my father."
I stared at the paper.
I couldn't move.
"My father?"
Roman's expression changed for the first time that night.
Not anger.
Not surprise.
Fear.
"You wrote that?"
I shook my head.
"No."
He looked at the note again.
Then at me.
"When did your father disappear?"
I swallowed.
"My father didn't disappear."
A pause.
"He died."
Roman became completely still.
"When?"
"Eight years ago."
The silence that followed felt heavier than anything before.
Because Roman wasn't looking at me like he learned something new.
He was looking at me like he had just confirmed something he had spent years trying to deny.
"You need to leave this hotel."
I stood.
"Why?"
Roman took the note from my hand.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"Because whoever sent that message knows you're with me."
My phone vibrated.
Both of us looked down.
A new message appeared.
Unknown number.
One sentence.
"Ask Roman why he was the last person seen with your father."
I looked up.
Roman was already reaching for the door.
Then the lights in the lounge flickered.
Once.
May you like
Twice.
And the locked conference room across the hallway slowly opened by itself.
