CHAPTER FIVE – CRACKS IN THE SILENCE
The morning after the call felt heavier than the night before.
I barely slept. Every sound — the hum of the refrigerator, the faint whistle of wind through the balcony — made me jump. Whoever that voice belonged to, it had sliced through the little peace I'd built.
When I walked into the dining area, Anderson was already there, sipping black coffee like a man who never lost sleep. His shirt was crisp, his tie perfectly straight. He didn't even glance at me when I sat down.
"Good morning," I murmured, forcing calm into my voice.
He hummed in reply, eyes still on his tablet.
The silence between us stretched until I couldn't take it anymore. "I was wondering… do you ever sleep?"
That made him look up. His eyes were unreadable, but a faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Sleep is overrated."
"Right," I said softly, staring down at my untouched plate. "Must be nice to have that kind of control."
He didn't answer, and I didn't push.
Control. That word followed him like a shadow. It was in the way he spoke, the way he walked, even the way he breathed — like he measured every move before making it.
After breakfast, Claire handed me a new schedule. "You're expected at Grey Holdings by ten. Mr. Grey will meet you there after his meeting."
I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere. That phone call wouldn't stop replaying.
He has secrets. Don't trust him too much.
Every time I tried to dismiss it, something about Anderson's quietness made me wonder if the caller was right.
At the office, whispers followed me again. People smiled too long, stared too hard. When I entered the conference room for the staff briefing, I heard someone mutter, "She doesn't even look like his type."
My chest tightened, but I ignored it. I'd gotten used to pretending not to hear.
After the meeting, I stepped out to get some air. The city stretched endlessly from the balcony, cars moving like silver ants far below. I was lost in thought when a voice behind me said, "You shouldn't stand out here alone."
I turned quickly. Anderson stood at the door, one hand in his pocket, watching me. His presence always seemed to fill a space without effort.
"I just needed air," I said.
"Air is fine. Attention is not." His eyes swept the area. "You're in my world now, Elizabeth. People are watching, listening. Learn to notice that."
Something about the way he said it made me shiver.
"Why do you talk like everyone's out to get you?"
He looked at me for a moment. "Because sometimes, they are."
Before I could ask what he meant, his phone rang. He stepped aside to answer it, voice low but sharp. I caught a few words — "shipment," "delay," "no leaks." Then he hung up and said simply, "We're leaving."
That night, the penthouse felt colder than usual. I curled up on the couch, trying to read, but the words blurred on the page. Anderson was in his study, door closed. I could hear faint typing and the occasional buzz of his phone.
When Claire came by to drop off documents, she hesitated before speaking. "Miss Brown… may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you… trust him?" she said quietly, glancing toward the closed study door.
The question startled me. "Why would you ask that?"
She hesitated, then gave a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just be careful, okay? Mr. Grey has his ways."
Before I could respond, she turned and left. Her words echoed in my head long after she was gone.
A few hours later, I heard Anderson's study door open. I quickly straightened up, pretending to read. He walked past me toward the kitchen, poured himself a drink, and then stopped by the couch.
"You should sleep," he said.
"I can't," I admitted.
He studied me for a moment, then sighed. "You'll have to learn. There's a lot ahead."
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
He looked at me, the faintest trace of exhaustion in his eyes. "Just… stay close to me. Don't wander into things you don't understand."
The warning was there again, hidden behind calm words. I nodded, though I didn't understand any of it.
He turned to leave, but before he could, I said, "Anderson."
He paused.
"If this deal ever feels like too much for me… would you let me go?"
He turned back slowly. "You think you can just walk away from a signed contract?"
His voice wasn't cruel, but it wasn't gentle either.
I swallowed hard. "I guess not."
"Then stop thinking like that," he said, and left.
When the elevator doors shut behind him, I exhaled shakily. Something about his tone made me realize—whatever I'd gotten into, it wasn't just business.
Later that night, I went to the kitchen for water. As I passed the study, I noticed the door was slightly open. Against my better judgment, I peeked inside.
The room was dimly lit, papers scattered on the desk. A photo frame lay face down beside a half-empty glass. Curiosity tugged at me. I stepped closer and picked it up.
It was a picture of a woman. Beautiful, dark-haired, smiling in a way I'd never seen Anderson smile.
On the back of the photo, faint handwriting read: To my love, A. Always yours—L.
I froze.
Footsteps.
The sound came from the hallway.
I quickly placed the frame back and slipped out, heart racing. I barely made it to my room when there was a knock on the door.
I opened it. Anderson stood there, his eyes sharp. "What were you doing in my study?"
I tried to steady my breathing. "I wasn't, I just walked by."
He stared at me for a long moment, long enough for me to feel my pulse in my throat. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
When he was gone, I locked my door and sat on the floor, hugging my knees. My hands were still shaking.
The next morning, he acted like nothing had happened. He handed me a file over breakfast. "We're traveling tomorrow. Pack light."
"Traveling? Where to?"
"New York. Business trip."
I wanted to ask more, but his tone made it clear I shouldn't. Still, something inside me wouldn't rest.
Who was the woman in the photo?
And why did he look like a man who'd lost something he couldn't replace?
That night, I called the unknown number again — the one that had warned me.
It rang once, twice… then someone picked up.
"Hello?" I whispered.
"Elizabeth Brown," the voice said quietly, "you shouldn't have called back."
"Who are you?" I asked.
Silence.
Then, slowly: "Someone who used to work for him. You need to get out before it's too late."
"What are you talking about?"
"You think this is just about money? You think he picked you by accident?"
My grip on the phone tightened. "What do you mean?"
The voice hesitated. "Look inside the blue folder he gave you on your first day. Page three. It's not what you think."
Then the line went dead again.
I sat there frozen, staring at the folder on the desk. Slowly, I opened it.
Page one — itinerary.
Page two — event list.
Page three — a printed document with a single line highlighted in red:
"Subject chosen for substitution project – Phase II."
My blood ran cold. I read it again, trying to make sense of it, but before I could, the door handle moved.
"Anderson?" I called, my voice trembling.
The door creaked open slowly.
But it wasn't him standing there.
It was Claire — her face pale, her voice barely a whisper.
"You need to hide," she said. "Right now."