Sophia froze, her hand on the doorknob, the sharp knock reverberating through her new apartment. Her heart thudded as she peered through the peephole—nothing but the hallway's dim light and a shadow shifting beyond the frame. The unknown texter's warnings clawed at her mind, but curiosity—and a stubborn streak—pushed her to crack the door open. A delivery man stood there, holding a sleek black box tied with a silver ribbon.
"Ms. Reyes? From Mr. Voss," he said, tipping his cap before disappearing down the hall.
She exhaled, locking the door behind her, and carried the box to the kitchen counter. Inside was a dress—deep emerald, the same shade she'd worn at the gala—paired with a note in Alexander's sharp handwriting: "For tonight's event. Be ready by 7. -A." An event? No one had mentioned this. Her pulse quickened, a mix of excitement and dread. She had hours to prepare, but the shadow outside lingered in her thoughts.
By 6:30 PM, Sophia stood before the mirror, the dress hugging her frame, her hair swept into loose waves. The cut on her shoulder from the chandelier incident peeked above the fabric, a badge of her chaotic entry into this world. At exactly 7:00, a car horn blared below. She grabbed her clutch and descended, finding Alexander waiting by a black limo, his suit impeccable, his expression unreadable.
"You clean up well," he said, opening the door. His gaze lingered, igniting a spark she tried to ignore.
"Thanks," she replied, sliding in. "What's this event?"
"A charity auction at the Met. Voss Enterprises is a sponsor. You're my plus-one—to observe, network, and... keep an eye out." His tone darkened on the last part, hinting at the sabotage he'd mentioned.
The drive was silent, the city lights streaking past. At the Met, the grandeur hit her—chandeliers, champagne, and the elite in full splendor. Alexander guided her through, his hand brushing her lower back, sending a shiver up her spine. She caught Victoria's glare from across the room, the ex-lover draped in gold, whispering to a suited man Sophia didn't recognize.
"Stay close," Alexander murmured as they mingled. He introduced her to patrons, her artist's pitch flowing naturally. "My work blends urban grit with elegance—perfect for your galleries," she told a collector, who nodded with interest. But her focus split—Victoria's movements, the texter's warnings, and Alexander's proximity all tangled in her head.
During the auction, Sophia bid on a small sculpture under Alexander's nod, winning it for Voss's collection. As applause faded, a crash echoed—another chandelier, smaller but deliberate, shattered near the stage. Panic erupted, but Alexander pulled her aside, his grip firm.
"Planned," he growled, scanning the crowd. "Someone's testing me."
Security swarmed, and Sophia spotted Victoria slipping out a side door with the mystery man. "There!" she whispered, pointing. Alexander's jaw tightened, but before he could react, a reporter cornered them.
"Mr. Voss, another accident? Is your life in danger?" the woman pressed, camera flashing.
"No comment," Alexander snapped, steering Sophia away. In a secluded hallway, he faced her. "You saw her leave. Why?"
"She was with someone," Sophia said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "I don't trust her."
His eyes narrowed, a storm brewing. "Neither do I. But you're observant. Too observant." He stepped closer, his breath warm. "What else have you noticed?"
The air crackled, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he pulled back. "We're leaving. Now."
In the limo, the tension was palpable. "Who's after you?" she asked, breaking the silence.
"Rivals. Old enemies. My family's death wasn't natural—murder, covered up. I've been digging, and they're retaliating." His voice was raw, a crack in his armor.
Sophia's mind raced to the gallery painting—the woman with her eyes. "Your family... who were they?"
He stiffened. "That's not your concern. Yet." The limo stopped at her building, but before she exited, he handed her a tablet. "Review tomorrow's schedule. And Sophia—don't dig where you shouldn't."
She nodded, stepping out, the tablet heavy in her hands. Inside, she powered it on, finding not just schedules but encrypted files labeled "Voss Legacy." Temptation warred with caution. As she hesitated, her phone buzzed—another text: "He's hiding more than you know. Check the files." Her fingers hovered over the screen.
A noise outside—scraping, like footsteps—made her freeze. She crept to the window, peering down. A figure in a hood lingered near the entrance, then vanished into the night.
[Cliffhanger: The tablet pings with an incoming call from an unknown number.