Vincent Morrison cut through the crowded ballroom like death in a tuxedo—elegant, inevitable, and absolutely terrifying.
I had maybe twenty seconds before he reached me. Twenty seconds to decide whether to run, play dumb, or stand my ground.
"Emma?" Daniel's voice sounded distant, concerned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
More like I was about to become one.
"I'm fine," I managed, my eyes still locked on Vincent's approaching figure. "Just a little overwhelmed by all this wealth and power."
"It can be intimidating the first time." Daniel followed my gaze and smiled. "Oh good, Dad's coming over. He's been curious about you all evening."
Of course he had. The spider wanted to meet the fly.
Vincent arrived with the inevitability of a natural disaster, all expensive cologne and predatory grace. Up close, his eyes were the color of winter fog, and his smile could have carved glass.
"Daniel," he said, never taking his gaze off my face, "you've been hiding this lovely young woman from me all evening."
"Dad, meet Emma Chen. Emma, my father, Vincent Morrison."
"Ms. Chen." Vincent's handshake lingered just a moment too long, his fingers cold against my skin. "Chen. Such an elegant surname. Chinese heritage?"
"My father was Chinese-American." I kept my voice steady through sheer force of will.
"How fascinating. You know, I once had a dear friend named Chen. Richard Chen—perhaps you're related?" The question was casual, conversational. The look in his eyes was anything but.
"I don't think so. It's a common name."
"Indeed it is. Still, the resemblance is quite striking. Richard had the same delicate bone structure, the same intelligent eyes." Vincent's smile never wavered. "The same stubborn chin."
Every word was a razor blade wrapped in silk. He knew exactly who I was, and he was enjoying this.
"Daniel tells me you have an interest in finance," Vincent continued. "Such an unusual passion for someone in the service industry."
"I like to stay informed about the world."
"Admirable. Perhaps you'd enjoy a private tour of our offices sometime. I could show you how real wealth is created." His pause was deliberate, calculated. "And how it's protected."
The threat couldn't have been clearer if he'd written it in blood.
Before I could respond, every light in the building went out at once.
The ballroom plunged into complete darkness, filled with the sound of surprised gasps and nervous laughter. Emergency lighting kicked in moments later, bathing everything in an eerie red glow that made everyone look like extras in a horror movie.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a security guard announced over the crowd, "we're experiencing a temporary power outage. Please remain calm while our maintenance team addresses the situation."
"How inconvenient." Vincent's voice cut through the murmur of concerned voices. "Daniel, escort Ms. Chen somewhere more comfortable while I deal with this mess. We can't have our guests thinking Morrison & Associates can't keep the lights on."
Daniel's hand found mine in the crimson twilight, warm and reassuring. "Come on, we can wait this out in my office. More comfortable than standing around in the dark with three hundred anxious billionaires."
As we moved toward the elevators, I felt Vincent's eyes on us like icy fingers trailing down my spine. When I glanced back, he was watching our retreat with the expression of a cat who'd found a particularly interesting mouse.
The elevator was one of those glass-walled marvels designed to show off the city view during the ascent. In the darkness, it felt more like a transparent coffin. Daniel pressed the button for the twenty-eighth floor, but nothing happened.
"That's odd." He tried again. Still nothing. "The elevators must be in emergency lockdown mode."
As if the building had heard him, the elevator shuddered and began moving—then stopped with a grinding metal shriek that echoed through the shaft.
"Okay, that doesn't sound good." Daniel pulled out his phone. No signal. "Cell towers must be overloaded with everyone trying to call at once."
We were trapped. Suspended in a glass box between floors of Vincent Morrison's tower, with no way to call for help and no way out.
"How long do you think we'll be stuck?" I asked, fighting to keep the panic out of my voice.
"Could be twenty minutes, could be hours. Depends on what caused the outage and whether maintenance can access the elevator controls." Daniel loosened his bow tie and sank to the floor. "Might as well make ourselves comfortable."
I settled beside him, the expensive fabric of my borrowed dress pooling around me like dark water. The elevator was small enough that our shoulders touched, and I could smell his cologne—that clean, understated scent that was becoming dangerously familiar.
"I'm sorry about this," Daniel said, staring out at the powerless city through the glass walls. "This isn't exactly the sophisticated evening I promised you."
"It's not your fault the city decided to have a blackout during your party."
"Maybe not, but..." He was quiet for a long moment, and I could practically hear him wrestling with something. "Emma, can I tell you something? Something I've never said out loud to anyone?"
Every instinct screamed that this was dangerous territory. The more Daniel trusted me, the harder it would be to destroy him along with his father. But I needed information, and people always told their deepest truths in the dark.
"Of course."
"I don't think I can take over my father's business."
The words hung between us like a confession at church.
"Why not? Most people would kill for that kind of opportunity."
"That's exactly the problem." Daniel ran his hands through his hair, destroying whatever expensive styling product had kept it perfect all evening. "I'm starting to think people actually have killed for it."
My pulse quickened. "What do you mean?"
"For months now, I've been finding discrepancies in our files. Clients who suddenly vanish. Employees who ask uncomfortable questions and then mysteriously resign. Financial transfers that don't match the paperwork." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I think my father has been stealing from clients for years, Emma. And I think he's been eliminating anyone who gets too close to the truth."
The words I'd dreamed of hearing for three years, and they were coming from Daniel's own lips.
"That's..." I had to clear my throat to continue. "That's a serious accusation."
"I know. And I don't know what the hell to do about it." He turned to look at me, his brown eyes reflecting the dim emergency lighting. "If I'm right, then everything I have—my education, my apartment, this suit I'm wearing—it's all paid for with stolen money. With other people's destroyed lives."
"And if you're right, what would you do?"
"Turn him in, I suppose. Try to find a way to make amends to the people he's hurt." His laugh was hollow, bitter. "Assuming I could survive long enough to do it."
"You think he'd hurt you?"
"I think Vincent Morrison would eliminate anyone who threatened his empire. Including his son, if necessary."
The casual way he said it, like he was discussing the weather, made my blood run cold. Daniel wasn't just suspicious of his father—he was afraid of him.
"Maybe," I said carefully, "the people he's hurt deserve justice. Maybe someone needs to stop him before he destroys more lives."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm seeing monsters where there are just business mistakes and coincidences." Daniel shifted closer, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. "Christ, Emma, I feel like I'm losing my mind. Like I can't trust anything I thought I knew."
This was my moment. The perfect opening to push him toward the truth, to guide him to the evidence I needed. Instead, I found myself reaching for his hand.
"You're not losing your mind," I said softly. "If something feels wrong, it probably is. Trust your instincts."
"Even if acting on those instincts could destroy everything?"
"Especially then."
Daniel stared at me for a long moment, and I watched something shift in his expression—confusion, recognition, something deeper.
"Who are you really, Emma Chen?"
The question hit like a physical blow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you're not just some coffee shop girl who reads the business section for fun. The way you think about justice, about consequences—it's personal for you. Like you've been on the wrong end of someone else's choices."
My throat felt like sandpaper. "I don't know what—"
"And there's something else." His voice was getting softer, more intimate. "Ever since that first day at the coffee shop, I've felt like I know you. Not just your coffee order or your smile—I mean really know you. Like you're someone I cared about once but somehow forgot."
This was veering into territory that could destroy everything. But before I could deflect or lie or change the subject, Daniel was reaching up to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones.
"Emma," he whispered, and there was something in his voice—wonder, recognition, desire—that made my carefully constructed walls start to crumble.
Then he was kissing me.
It wasn't supposed to feel real. This was supposed to be manipulation, strategy, a means to an end. But Daniel's lips were soft and warm, and his hands were gentle in my hair, and for one terrifying moment I forgot that everything between us was built on lies.
For one moment, I kissed him back like Emma Chen the person instead of Emma Chen the weapon.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Daniel rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have presumed—"
"Don't." I surprised myself with how much I meant it. "Don't apologize."
He opened his eyes and looked at me with such tenderness that it actually hurt. "Emma, I need you to know that I—"
The elevator lurched back to life with a mechanical groan, and the regular lights blazed on like a stage curtain rising. We sprang apart, suddenly aware of how we must have looked—disheveled, flushed, guilty of something we couldn't name.
"Right," Daniel said, straightening his bow tie with hands that shook slightly. "We should... the power's back."
"Yes. We should go back to the party."
But neither of us moved as the elevator continued its climb to the twenty-eighth floor.
When the doors opened, Daniel led me down a hallway lined with oil paintings and awards that probably cost more than most people's houses. His office was at the far end—a corner suite with windows that normally offered spectacular views of the city. Tonight they just showed darkness slowly giving way to light as power returned block by block.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Daniel asked, moving to a small bar cart. "Water, wine, something stronger after our unexpected adventure?"
"Water would be perfect."
As he busied himself with glasses and ice, I noticed his phone lying on the desk, screen still glowing with notifications. Without thinking, I moved closer to glance at it—and my world stopped spinning.
The email preview showed a subject line that turned my blood to ice water: "Chen Family - Final Phase - Immediate Action Required"
I had maybe ten seconds before Daniel turned around. Ten seconds to get photographic evidence of whatever Vincent Morrison was planning.
My hands shook as I grabbed the phone and started taking pictures with mine, scrolling through message after message as quickly as I dared. Financial transfers. Lists of names and addresses. And buried in one email chain, a document labeled "Permanent Solutions - Archive" with a list of names.
Richard Chen was at the top, marked "Completed - 2021."
My father. My father's name on Vincent Morrison's kill list, marked like a task that had been finished.
"Emma?"
I spun around to find Daniel holding two glasses of water, his expression shifting from confusion to something sharper.
"Sorry," I said, setting his phone back on the desk with hands I fought to keep steady. "It kept buzzing. I thought it might be emergency services or something."
"Right. Of course." But Daniel was studying my face now, his eyes narrow with suspicion. "Are you feeling alright? You look pale."
"Just tired. It's been an eventful evening."
"Yes. It has." He handed me the water, but his gaze never left my face. "Emma, can I ask you something?"
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed with an incoming text. I glanced at it absently, expecting another message from Sarah asking how the party was going.
Instead, the message was from that same unknown number: "Enjoyed the show in the elevator, sweetheart. But some performances have an audience. Check your email. -V"
With numb fingers, I opened my email app. There, sent just moments ago, was a message with no sender name and an attachment that made my knees go weak.
It was a photograph of me and Daniel kissing in the elevator, taken from outside through the glass walls. The image was crystal clear, showing every detail of our embrace, every expression on our faces.
Someone had been out there in the darkness. Someone had been watching us, photographing our most private moment.
And now Vincent Morrison wanted me to know it.
The message below the photo was brief and to the point: "Beautiful work, little Chen. Your father would be so proud of how well you've learned to use what you've got. But remember—every game has rules, and breaking them has consequences. See you soon. -VM"
I stared at the screen until the words blurred together, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
Vincent Morrison had been watching. Vincent Morrison had photographs of me with his son. Vincent Morrison knew exactly what I was trying to do, and he was enjoying every minute of it.
The hunter had become the hunted.
And the predator was already circling.
**End of Chapter 5**