He helped me into the passenger seat

He helped me into the passenger seat.

The heat blasted against my legs.

There was a faint coffee stain on one of the cup holders.

That stupid little stain made the world feel normal for approximately two seconds.

Then we pulled onto the street.

I watched the city slide past.

Liquor stores.

Closed diners.

A Walgreens glowing like a spaceship.

An old man waiting beneath a bus shelter with two grocery bags.

Normal people.

Normal night.

I felt like I had crossed some invisible line and couldn’t find my way back.

“They knew my route,” I said.

Adrien’s hands tightened around the wheel.

“I know.”

“They knew what I do.”

“I know.”

“They used accounting language.”

“I know.”

I turned toward him.

“You keep saying that.”

His eyes stayed on the road.

“Because I know.”

“If somebody was watching me, they might know where I live.”

“You aren’t going home.”

That got my attention.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re staying at my estate.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not how employment works.”

“This isn’t employment.”

I stared at him.

He realized what he had said.

Neither of us corrected it.

I looked down at my good hand.

It was trembling.

That pissed me off.

So I clenched it.

“If I’m being used to get to you, I’m a liability.”

The car jerked onto the shoulder.

Adrien hit the brakes.

I hissed as the seat belt caught my ribs.

“What the hell?”

He threw the car into park.

Then turned toward me.

“Never say that again.”

“What?”

“Liability.”

I blinked.

“I’m your chief financial officer. I literally evaluate liabilities.”

“You are not one.”

“They beat me because of you.”

The words came out harder than I intended.

His expression changed.

For the first time that night, I saw pain behind the anger.

Good.

Maybe he needed to hear it.

“They broke my window because of your business.”

“I know.”

“They dragged me onto wet pavement because of your enemies.”

“I know.”

“I had somebody’s boot against my ribs because I work for you.”

His jaw flexed.

“I know.”

My throat tightened.

I refused to cry.

I had already given those men enough.

“If I resign—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“You don’t resign.”

“You don’t own me.”

His eyes locked on mine.

“No.”

A beat.

“I’m trying to make sure nobody else does either.”

That shut me up.

He pulled back onto the road.

Twenty minutes later, we passed through the gates of his North Shore estate.

Stone walls.

Security cameras.

Guards in rain jackets.

Enough motion sensors to detect a nervous squirrel.

Dr. Oris was waiting inside.

I knew him by reputation.

Private physician.

Discreet.

Expensive.

The kind of doctor who didn’t ask why people occasionally arrived at midnight.

Adrien carried me upstairs when walking became impossible.

I hated every second of needing help.

I also didn’t tell him to stop.

The guest room looked bigger than my entire townhouse.

Cream walls.

Dark wood.

A fireplace.

White sheets.

One ridiculous chair nobody had ever actually sat in.

Dr. Oris started examining my ribs.

Adrien walked toward the door.

“Sleep.”

“Adrien.”

He stopped.

“Thank you.”

He stared at me for a second.

Then nodded.

The door closed.

I lay there listening to the rain against the windows.

Five minutes later, I heard footsteps outside.

Then Adrien’s voice.

Low.

Cold.

“Find out who knew her route.”

A second voice answered.

“We already pulled traffic cameras.”

“Not enough.”

Pause.

“Check the company.”

My stomach dropped.

The company?

Then Adrien said the sentence that made sleep impossible.

“Because somebody gave them Audrey’s schedule.”

And suddenly the attack didn’t feel like mob business anymore.

It felt personal.

PART 2 — Someone inside our company sold me out

I woke at 8:17 a.m. wearing somebody else’s gray T-shirt.

My face looked like I’d argued with a moving truck and lost.

Dr. Oris wanted me in bed.

I wanted my laptop.

We compromised.

I ignored him.

Adrien walked in thirty minutes later looking like he hadn’t slept.

“Give me access to the server.”

“No.”

“Then get out.”

His eyebrows rose.

“That’s my guest room.”

“Then enjoy being locked out of it.”

For one second, he almost smiled.

Instead, he handed me an encrypted tablet.

I started checking access logs.

At 1:43 a.m. the previous night, someone had opened my executive calendar.

Nothing strange about that.

My schedule was shared with three people.

Me.

Adrien.

And Martin Hale, Cross Development’s chief operating officer.

Martin had been with the company seven years.

Harvard MBA.

Country club smile.

Hair that never moved.

He also hated that a plus-size accountant from Ohio had become more important to Adrien than he was.

I checked again.

Martin’s account had accessed my calendar eleven times in two weeks.

Adrien stood behind me.

“What?”

I pointed.

His face hardened.