Sleep did little to quiet Ava’s mind. The anonymous text replayed again and again until the words burned behind her eyelids. Don’t trust him. Whoever sent it knew something, and that knowledge coiled inside her like a warning she couldn’t ignore.

By morning, the message still haunted her. She stared at her phone for several minutes before deciding not to delete it. Some instinct told her it mattered. She saved the number under a single letter—X.

When she arrived at Blackwell Industries, the usual rhythm of the office tried to swallow her thoughts. Polished shoes, sharp voices, the steady hum of machines—it was business as usual. But beneath the surface, unease followed her like a shadow.

Damon was already in his office when she brought in the morning reports. He didn’t glance up. “You’re late.”

“It’s eight on the dot, sir.”

“Then my clock runs faster,” he said without emotion. “Next time, run faster too.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwell.”

She placed the folder on his desk and turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. “Wait.”

He finally looked up, eyes dark and searching. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“Overwork?”

“Maybe.” She hesitated, then added, “Or maybe I’m just… thinking too much.”

“Thinking leads to mistakes,” he said. “Focus on action.”

Ava almost smiled. “Is that your personal philosophy?”

He didn’t answer, but a faint smirk tugged at his mouth before vanishing. “Close the door on your way out.”

She obeyed, though part of her wanted to ask him a hundred questions.

---

By noon, she met Isaac near the elevator. He held a coffee cup in each hand and looked far too composed.

“You shouldn’t look so pale,” he said. “Boss will think you’re sick.”

“Maybe I am,” she muttered. “Mentally.”

Isaac chuckled. “Welcome to Blackwell Industries.”

She accepted the cup he offered. “Isaac, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt Mr. Blackwell?”

The amusement vanished from his face. “That’s a dangerous question.”

“I’m serious. Someone texted me last night. Said I shouldn’t trust him.”

Isaac frowned. “Did they identify themselves?”

“No.”

He glanced around the hallway before leaning closer. “People envy Damon. Competitors, former partners, even ex-employees. If someone wanted to scare you, it’s probably just office politics.”

“So I shouldn’t take it seriously?”

He hesitated. “Take everything seriously—but don’t panic. And whatever you do, don’t tell Damon. He hates paranoia.”

“Noted.”

---

The day dragged on in an uneasy haze. Damon remained distant but observant, his gaze flicking toward her now and then as if he sensed something shifting.

Around six, as most employees left, he called her back into his office.

“Sit.”

Ava did. “Is something wrong?”

“You tell me,” he said. “You’ve been distracted all day.”

She forced a calm tone. “Just tired.”

He studied her, then leaned forward slightly. “You’re hiding something.”

Her pulse jumped. “I’m not.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t insult me, Ava. I can read people for a living.”

She exhaled. “It’s nothing that concerns work.”

“Everything that concerns you concerns me while you’re under my employment,” he replied coldly. “Now, talk.”

Ava’s throat tightened. “Someone texted me last night. They said I shouldn’t trust you.”

The room fell silent. Damon’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature seemed to drop.

“Show me.”

She handed him the phone. He read the message once, twice, then set it on the desk. “Did you reply?”

“Yes. They didn’t answer.”

He leaned back, thinking. “You should’ve told me immediately.”

“I didn’t want to bother you—”

“You don’t decide what bothers me,” he cut in sharply. “If someone’s targeting my staff, it’s my problem.”

“So you think it’s about the company?”

“Everything is about the company,” he said. “Every threat, every whisper. People like me attract vultures.”

Ava frowned. “Do you think it’s true?”

“That you shouldn’t trust me?” He gave a humorless smile. “Probably. Most people shouldn’t.”

The honesty startled her. “Why say that?”

“Because truth offends fewer people than lies,” he replied. “Delete the message. And from now on, forward anything suspicious to Isaac.”

“Yes, sir.”

When she stood to leave, he added quietly, “And Ava—be careful. Whoever sent that didn’t do it for your safety. They did it to shake you.”

His tone carried something unfamiliar—concern.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“I hope so,” he murmured, returning to his laptop.

---

Outside the office, the corridors were dim and empty. Ava clutched her phone, torn between relief and confusion. Damon hadn’t seemed surprised—almost as if he’d expected the message.

That thought refused to leave her mind.

At home, the night felt heavier than usual. She sat by the window, scrolling through news about Damon Blackwell. Articles painted him as brilliant, feared, untouchable. Yet buried in an old headline from three years ago, one line caught her eye:

“Business partner found dead weeks after fallout with Blackwell.”

Her stomach dropped. The article was brief—no details, no follow-up—but the timing matched the rumor she’d once overheard at work.

Her phone buzzed again. Same number.

“You told him, didn’t you?”

Her breath hitched. She typed quickly, Who are you?

Another reply came almost instantly.

“I warned you once. Next time, he won’t protect you.”

She stared at the words, chills racing through her veins. Before she could respond, the number disappeared from her contacts as if it had never existed.

Ava’s fingers shook. She opened her messages again—empty. Deleted.

She dropped the phone onto the couch and pressed her palms against her temples. Nothing made sense anymore.

For the first time, fear crawled beneath her determination. She wasn’t just an assistant working for a difficult boss. She was a woman caught between truth and danger—and Damon Blackwell stood at the center of both.

---

The next morning, when she walked into the office, Damon was already waiting near her desk.

“Miss Green,” he said quietly, “come to my office.”

His tone was calm, but his eyes told a different story—hard, sharp, unreadable.

Ava followed, heart thudding. Once inside, he shut the door.

“Someone breached our internal server last night,” he said. “Files were accessed—confidential ones.”

Her eyes widened. “You think it’s connected to the message?”

“I don’t think,” he said darkly. “I know.”

Her mouth went dry. “What does that mean for me?”

“It means,” he said, stepping closer, “you’re not going home tonight. You’re staying until I find out who’s behind this.”

Ava met his gaze. There was no anger this time—only intensity, laced with something else. Protection.

And somewhere deep inside, she realized the warning wasn’t just about trust. It was about survival.