Alexander voss woke up to the sound of his phone vibrating aggressively on the nightstand. It was 5:47 a.m. — a time no one sane would be calling unless something had gone very, very wrong.
He reached for the phone, still half asleep.
Unknown Number.
He froze.
Only two groups ever called him from numbers like that:
His gangs..
and people who wanted him dead.
He answered carefully. "Who is this?"
A pause.
Then a voice he recognized instantly — his head of security, Mason.
"Sir… we have a problem.",the voice said
Alexander sat up fully. "What happened?"
"It's Lydia west."he replied
His chest tightened. "What about her?"
"She never made it home last night.",he said
Silence fell so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing against the walls.
"Are you sure?" Alexander asked softly.
"Her car is still in the company lot. Keys on the ground beside it. Her cousin called in at 3 a.m. asking if she stayed overtime. We checked the cameras, but—"
"But what?" Alexander snapped.
"The footage from around eight to ten p.m. is gone."
Alexander's blood went cold.
Gone.
Not corrupted.
Not glitched.
Deleted.
And only one group would do that.
"west was mistaken for Cynthia," Mason added, voice low. "They took the wrong assistant."
Alexander's throat tightened painfully.
Cynthia.
Everything always came back to Cynthia.
He swung his legs off the bed, already grabbing his clothes. "How long have they had her?"
"We estimate about nine hours."
Nine hours.
Nine hours with the same people who had once been his allies. The same group that didn't forgive debt, disloyalty.The same men who had buried secrets with blood.
Alexander closed his eyes briefly.
"This is my fault," he muttered.
Mason didn't deny it. "What do you want us to do?"
"Everything," Alexander said sharply. "I want every camera in a three-mile radius checked. Every gas station, every streetlight, every parking lot signal. I want car plate logs from the city. And notify Detective Rowe."
"But—Rowe asked you to stay out of this—"
"She can yell at me later," he snapped. "Right now, we move."
He hung up and stood still for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to steady the storm building inside his chest.
He had promised himself he wouldn't let this happen again.
Not after Cynthia.
Not after the threats.
Not after the break-ins.
Not after he walked away from the organization and took their secrets with him.
But they weren't coming after him.
They were coming after anyone close to him.
He grabbed his coat and rushed out of the apartment.
As he got into his car, his mind replayed every moment with Lydia during the past week.
She was quiet.
Bright.
Organized.
And she had an annoying habit of smiling when she was nervous.
She reminded him a little of Cynthia in that way — always trying, always hopeful.
And he had pushed both of them away for their own safety.
Now one was taken.
And the other would be next.
He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
"I warned you," he whispered bitterly into the empty car. "I told you to stay out of this."
But Lydia had found the flash drive.
She had already stepped into the fire.
By 6:30 a.m., Alexander stormed into the building. His entire security team was already there, gathered around a conference table filled with maps, screenshots, and printed timestamps.
Mason stepped forward. "We traced the last camera she appeared on. It's from the parking lot at 8:46 p.m."
The screen showed Lydia — small, tired, clutching her bag as she typed on her phone. Then the footage flickered, jumped, and the next frame showed nothing but the empty lot.
"They wiped it clean," Mason muttered. "Every trace."
Alexander stared at the screen without blinking.
"What about her phone?" he asked.
Mason hesitated. "Sir… they crushed it. Found the pieces in a nearby trash can."
Alexander's chest tightened painfully.
He looked at the grainy screenshot again — Lydia standing alone, unaware of what was behind her.
"This is on me," he said quietly.
"You warned her," Mason replied. "You tried."
Alexander wasn't emotional.
He wasn't soft.
He wasn't breakable.
But Lydia wasn't supposed to be part of this.
"Sir," Mason said, lowering his voice, "they think she's Cynthia."
Alexander nodded slow and heavy. "I know."
"And if they find out she isn't—"
"They might hurt her," Alexander finished, voice darkening. "Because they'll want the real one."
A cold silence settled.
Mason finally asked, "Should we inform Cynthia?"
Alexander clenched his jaw. "Not yet. Not until we know more."
"But—"
"She's already scared," he snapped. "I'm not dragging her back into this unless I have no choice."
Mason nodded reluctantly.
Alexander turned away from the table and stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights were fading as morning rose, but everything still looked too dark.
He pressed a hand against the glass, fingers trembling.
"They're escalating," he said quietly. "Before, they went after me. Now they're going after anyone who gets close.", Alexander said.
Alexander turned, expression transforming into something sharp, cold, and dangerous.
"Then I'll remind them," he said, "why they were afraid of me in the first place."
Before leaving the room, Mason added one last piece of information.
"We checked the north gate camera. A van matching the description drove out at 8:52 p.m."
Alexander paused. "North gate?"
"Yes."
"That gate doesn't open without a code."
Mason nodded grimly. "Which means someone helped them."
Alexander exhaled slowly.
A traitor.
Inside his building.
Inside his company.
He grabbed his coat, voice low and lethal.
"Find them."
He stormed out of the room, eyes burning with something fierce and unrestrained.
They took Lydia.
They wanted Cynthia.
And now they had declared war.
Alexander voss would not lose a second assistant.
Not again.
Not ever.