Angela's heart thundered in her chest, the echo of her breath hanging in the cold night air as she stared at the figure emerging from the shadows. Every instinct in her screamed to run, but her legs were frozen, as if glued to the damp earth beneath her.

　　The figure moved slowly, purposefully, stepping into the moonlight that dappled the stone pathway ahead. Angela squinted, trying to make out the face hidden beneath the hood. It wasn't Edmund. She knew that instantly. The frame was all wrong—taller, broader.

　　For a terrifying second, she thought it was Mark.

　　But as the figure approached, she could see it was someone she hadn't seen before. A man, late twenties maybe, with piercing eyes that seemed to bore right through her. There was something unsettlingly familiar about his features, though Angela couldn't place it.

　　He stood there, silent, watching her. His presence exuded confidence, as if he had every right to be here, lurking in the garden in the dead of night. A slow, unsettling smile crept onto his lips, sending a jolt of fear through her body.

　　"Angela," he said, his voice low and smooth, with an edge that hinted at something darker. "You're not where you're supposed to be."

　　Angela's pulse quickened, her body instinctively taking a step back. How did he know her name? Her mind scrambled to make sense of the situation, but nothing about this felt right. She tried to muster some courage, her voice shaky as she spoke.

　　"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

　　The man's smile widened, but he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he closed the gap between them, his footsteps eerily silent on the gravel. He was too close now, the smell of cologne and something else, something metallic, filling her senses. She took another step back, her hands trembling.

　　"Wrong question, Angela," he whispered, his eyes locking onto hers with unnerving intensity. "The question you should be asking is how much do you really know about Edmund?"

　　Her breath hitched, and the cold night air suddenly felt suffocating. What did this man know about Edmund? Was he here because of their secret? The illicit, dangerous web she had spun herself into?

　　"Stay away from me," she snapped, but the words came out weaker than she intended.

　　The man's gaze never wavered, his smile fading into something more sinister. "Edmund isn't who you think he is. You've been playing a game, and you don't even know the rules."

　　Angela's mind raced, the weight of his words sinking in. He was lying. He had to be. Edmund was dangerous, yes, but she knew him—at least she thought she did. Her instincts told her this man was here to confuse her, to make her doubt everything. But doubt was already creeping in, little by little.

　　"Edmund's told me everything I need to know," she said, trying to regain control of the situation, her voice steadier now.

　　The man laughed softly, the sound grating against her nerves. "Has he now? I doubt that."

　　Without warning, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He held it out to her, waiting for her to take it, his eyes daring her to look. Angela hesitated, every fiber of her being telling her not to, but curiosity won. She snatched the paper from his hand, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it.

　　Her eyes scanned the words hastily scribbled on the page, her stomach sinking with each line.

　　It was a letter, more precisely a message addressed to someone named 'S'. It talked about secrets, about money, about deals being made behind closed doors. And then, at the very bottom, her blood ran cold as she read a name ‘Angela'.

　　She looked up, her throat tightening. "What is this? Who wrote this?"

　　The man's expression darkened, his voice a low hiss. "A warning, Angela. Edmund's been keeping things from you. You're in deeper shit than you realize."

　　Before she could respond, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving her standing alone, the crumpled letter clutched tightly in her hand. The cold night air stung her skin, but it was nothing compared to the icy fear gripping her chest.

　　Angela's mind was in a haze as she raced back to the house, her feet carrying her as fast as they could. Her heart pounded, not from the exertion, but from the sickening uncertainty that had lodged itself deep within her. Who was that man? How did he know her name? And what did Edmund have to do with it all?

　　She burst through the door of the estate, not even caring if anyone heard her. Her thoughts were tangled in a whirlwind of confusion and dread. Her eyes darted around, expecting Edmund to be somewhere, but the house was eerily quiet. She had to talk to him, she had to get answers.

　　But when she reached his office, the door was locked. She knocked, her fist pounding on the wooden surface with more force than necessary. No response. She knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing. Frustration boiled inside her, a mix of fear and anger clawing at her chest.

　　She turned away, pacing down the hallway, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. That man's words echoed in her mind: You've been playing a game, and you don't even know the rules.

　　The letter in her pocket felt like a burning weight, and she pulled it out again, her eyes scanning it for any clue she might have missed. The handwriting was messy, almost hurried, and the language was cryptic. But it was the mention of her name that gnawed at her the most. Edmund had always been careful, meticulous even. If there were secrets, she doubted they were anything she couldn't handle.

　　But now? Now she wasn't so sure.

　　Suddenly, the office door creaked open behind her. Angela spun around, her heart lurching as Edmund stepped out, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever.

　　"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning.

　　Angela swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. The letter crumpled in her hand as she stepped forward. "I need to talk to you," she said, her voice trembling with the weight of everything that had just happened. "Now."

　　Edmund raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to the paper in her hand. For a moment, something unreadable crossed his face, something dark.

　　"About what exactly?" His voice was dangerously soft.

　　Angela hesitated. She wanted to confront him, to throw the letter in his face and demand answers, but something in his demeanor stopped her. The man's warning echoed in her ears again, louder this time. Edmund isn't who you think he is.

　　Her mind raced, and she made a split-second decision to keep the letter hidden for now. She needed to be smart, to play this game carefully.

　　"I got a strange message," she said, her voice steadier now. "Last night. And tonight someone was in the garden."

　　Edmund's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "Who?"

　　"I don't know," Angela admitted, her voice faltering for a moment. "But they knew my name. They knew about you."

　　For a long moment, Edmund said nothing. His eyes were locked on hers, and she could see the gears turning in his mind, calculating, assessing. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, distant.

　　"I told you I'd take care of everything," he said, his words clipped. "You need to trust me, Angela."

　　Angela's chest tightened. Trust. That was the word that kept coming back, the word that seemed to have lost all meaning. She wanted to trust him. She had trusted him completely. But now, with everything that had happened, doubt had taken root.

　　Before she could respond, Edmund stepped closer, his hand brushing against her cheek in a gesture that once would have made her melt. But now, it only added to her confusion.

　　"You're safe," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "As long as you're with me, nothing will happen to you."

　　Angela closed her eyes, trying to push away the fear, the doubt. But it was no use. The letter, the mysterious man, the secrets, they were all piling up, and she couldn't ignore them anymore.

　　"I just... I don't know what to think anymore," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

　　Edmund's hand dropped from her face, his expression darkening. "Then maybe you need to stop thinking," he said, his tone a dangerous mix of command and warning.

　　The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in, the air heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

　　Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of Edmund's phone vibrating on the desk. He glanced at it, his jaw tightening as he read the screen. For a brief moment, Angela saw something flicker across his face, something almost like fear.

　　"What is it?" she asked, her voice barely steady.

　　But Edmund didn't answer. Instead, he turned away, his posture stiff, his hand gripping the phone tightly.

　　"I have to go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

　　Angela watched him, her heart sinking as he walked out of the room without another word.

　　The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone in the cold, suffocating silence.