Sophia's breath caught as the tablet pinged again, the unknown number flashing on the screen. Her apartment felt suddenly too quiet, the city's distant hum a faint pulse beyond the walls. The hooded figure's shadow still lingered in her mind as she stared at the device, her thumb hovering over the accept button. Curiosity won out—she tapped it, muting her end, and a distorted voice crackled through.
"Sophia Reyes. You're in deeper than you think. Open the Voss Legacy files. Truth's your only way out." The call ended abruptly, leaving a chill in its wake. Her heart pounded as she navigated to the encrypted folder, her fingers trembling. A password prompt stared back. She tried "Alexander," then "Voss"—nothing. Frustration built until she recalled the painting in the gallery, the woman's eyes like hers. On a hunch, she typed "Elena"—the name etched on the frame's plaque. The folder unlocked.
Inside were documents, photos, and audio files. A grainy image showed a younger Alexander with a woman—his mother, perhaps?—and a boy, his brother. A report detailed their deaths: a staged car accident five years ago, tied to a corporate rival, Marcus Langston—Victoria's father. Sophia's stomach churned. The audio was a heated argument between Alexander and an older man, likely Marcus, threatening retaliation. The pieces clicked: Victoria's involvement, the chandelier incidents—they were personal.
Before she could dig further, a knock jolted her. She slammed the tablet shut, rushing to the door. Alexander stood there, his suit slightly rumpled, eyes stormy. "We need to talk," he said, brushing past her without waiting for an invite.
"How did you—" she started, but he cut her off.
"I track my devices. You accessed restricted files." His voice was low, dangerous. "What did you find?"
Sophia's mind raced. Lie or confess? "I... got a call. Someone warned me about you. I was curious."
His jaw tightened. "Who?"
"I don't know. Distorted voice. They told me to check the files." She held his gaze, defiance mixing with fear.
He paced, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it. They're closer than I thought." He stopped, facing her. "Those files are my past—my family's murder. Marcus Langston orchestrated it. Victoria's his pawn. I've been hunting proof, but it's put a target on me. On us."
"Us?" Her voice cracked.
"You're in this now," he said, stepping closer. "But I won't let them hurt you." His hand brushed her cheek, the touch electric. The air shifted, charged with unspoken desire. She leaned in, and their lips met—soft at first, then hungry. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him, the kiss deepening with a desperation that mirrored the chaos around them.
A crash from the kitchen broke them apart. A brick lay on the floor, a note tied to it: "Back off, Voss." Sophia's knees weakened, but Alexander's expression hardened. He grabbed his phone, barking orders to security. "Lock down the building. Now."
As guards swarmed, he turned to her. "Pack a bag. You're staying at my penthouse tonight. It's safer."
She nodded, adrenaline surging, and threw essentials into a duffel—clothes, sketchpad, the tablet. In his penthouse, a fortress of glass and steel atop Voss Tower, the tension lingered. He poured scotch, offering her a glass. "To calm the nerves," he said, his smile wry.
They sat on a leather sofa, the city glowing beyond. "Why me?" she asked, sipping the burn. "Why trust me with this?"
"Because you see me," he admitted, his voice raw. "Not the billionaire, not the target. Just... me." His hand covered hers, warmth seeping through.
She swallowed, her artist's eye tracing his features—the lines of grief, the strength. "I see a man who's fighting. But I need to know more. The painting in your gallery—the woman with my eyes."
His face darkened. "My mother. She... had a sister. Your resemblance is uncanny. I've wondered if there's a connection, but I haven't confirmed it."
Shock rooted her. A relative? Before she could press, his phone buzzed. He answered, listening intently. "Understood. Increase patrols." Hanging up, he met her gaze. "They found the brick thrower—hired muscle, no leads. But Victoria's been spotted nearby."
Sophia's mind raced. "She's escalating."
"Yes," he said, standing. "And we need to be ready. Tomorrow, you'll work from here. I'll teach you self-defense—can't have you defenseless."
In the early hours, as he showed her basic moves—block, strike, evade—their bodies brushed, reigniting the earlier heat. A spar turned playful, then intense, ending with her pinned beneath him, both breathless. "You're a quick study," he murmured, his lips inches from hers.
"Guess I have a good teacher," she whispered, their laughter breaking the tension.
But as he retreated to his room, her phone lit up with another text: "Family ties run deep. Beware the gallery." She glanced at the tablet, the files calling. What else was hidden?
[Cliffhanger: A shadow moves past the penthouse window, unnoticed.]