Amara's POV:
I left work at three in the afternoon.
I didn't tell anyone, didn't even explain,I just grabbed my bag and walked out while Ethan was on a call and couldn't stop me.
The subway felt too crowded and too loud, everyone pressed together breathing the same recycled air. I got off two stops early and decided to walk the rest of the way home, needed the space, needed to think, needed to not be surrounded by people.
The streets were busy with lunch crowds spilling out of restaurants, delivery guys weaving through traffic, tourists stopped in the middle of the sidewalk taking photos.
Normal. Everything looked normal.
But I couldn't shake the feeling.
I kept checking over my shoulder, scanning faces, looking for someone who looked back too long or seemed too interested.
No one stood out, which made it worse.
I crossed at the light and walked faster. My apartment was four blocks away.
The light ahead turned red and I stopped at the crosswalk with a handful of other people: a woman with a stroller, an old man with a cane, a teenager with headphones in.
The walk signal flashed.
I stepped off the curb.
That's when I heard it.
An engine revving, too loud, too close.
I turned my head.
A black sedan coming fast from the right, not slowing down, aimed directly at the crosswalk.
Directly at me.
Time slowed.
I saw the car, saw the tinted windows, saw the way it wasn't stopping or swerving, just accelerating.
My brain screamed at me to move but my legs wouldn't listen.
Then something slammed into me from the side.
Not the car.
Someone.
Arms around my waist yanking me backwards, pulling me off the street just as the sedan blew through the crosswalk inches from where I'd been standing.
Tires screeched, someone screamed, the stroller woman yelled something I couldn't make out.
I hit the sidewalk hard, whoever grabbed me taking most of the impact but I still felt my shoulder slam into concrete.
The car didn't stop, just kept going, turned the corner and disappeared.
I couldn't breathe or think, my ears were ringing and my hands were shaking and I was on the ground with someone's arms still around me.
"Get up."
The voice was low, cold, familiar.
I turned my head.
Roman Vale was already pushing himself up, one hand gripping my arm and pulling me with him.
I stared at him.
He didn't look concerned or worried, just annoyed, like I'd inconvenienced him by almost dying.
"What..." My voice came out wrong, shaky. "What are you doing here?"
"Move." He didn't answer, just kept his hand on my arm and started pulling me down the sidewalk, away from the small crowd forming, away from the woman with the stroller asking if I was okay.
I followed because my brain hadn't caught up yet, because I was still processing the fact that I'd almost been run over, because Roman Vale had appeared out of nowhere and now he was dragging me down the street .
His car was parked half a block away: black SUV, tinted windows, engine running.
He opened the back door and practically shoved me inside, then climbed in after me and slammed it shut.
"Drive."
The driver didn't ask where, just pulled into traffic.
I sat there trying to catch my breath and make sense of what just happened.
"What were you doing there?" I asked finally.
He didn't look at me. "Following you."
"Why?"
"Because you're careless."
"Careless?"
"Walking alone in the middle of the day after someone's been threatening you, yes, careless."
"How do you know someone's been threatening me?"
He didn't answer.
"Roman." My voice got sharper. "How did you know where I was? How did you know to be there at that exact moment?"
"I've been watching you."
The honesty caught me off guard.
"Why?"
"Because I need to know what you're doing."
"What I'm doing?"
"Whatever investigation you're running into my company, whatever questions you're asking, I want to know what you know."
I stared at him. "So you've been following me."
"Yes."
"Having me watched."
"Yes."
"And you just happened to be there when someone tried to kill me."
His jaw tightened but his expression didn't change. "Apparently."
"That wasn't an accident."
"No."
"They tried to run me over in the middle of the day, in front of witnesses."
"Which means whoever's after you doesn't care about being seen anymore." He finally looked at me, his eyes cold. "They're escalating, and you need to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Whatever you're digging into, drop it."
"Why do you care?"
"I don't, but if you get yourself killed while investigating my company it becomes my problem."
The coldness in his voice made something twist in my chest.
"You said bad people are after me, how do you know?"
"Because I've been paying attention."
"To what?"
"To you, to who's watching you, to patterns."
"What patterns?"
He didn't answer.
The car turned a corner and I didn't recognize the street.
"Where are we going?"
"Your apartment."
"Why?"
"Because that's where you wanted to go." His voice was flat, matter of fact. "And I'm done babysitting you for today."
Something hot flared in my chest. "I didn't ask you to save me."
"No, but I did it anyway. You're welcome."
"I don't need your help."
"Clearly you do since you almost got run over."
"Because someone's trying to scare me."
"They're not trying to scare you, they're trying to kill you. There's a difference." He looked at me again, his expression hard. "And if you keep digging into things that don't concern you, they're going to succeed."
"Things that don't concern me?" My voice got louder. "My father worked for your company sixteen years ago. Marcus Reyes. External auditor. And then he died."
Roman's expression didn't change. "I know who your father was."
That caught me off guard. "You know?"
"I've been watching you for days, Amara. You think I didn't pull your background? Your father worked for Vale fifteen years ago on a contract basis, he completed his work and left, then he died of a heart attack two years later. It's in the records."
"He didn't die of a heart attack."
"The death certificate says otherwise."
"The death certificate is wrong." My hands were shaking. "My father was thirty-four years old and healthy. People don't just drop dead like that."
"They do when they have undiagnosed heart conditions."
"He didn't have a heart condition."
"You were twelve, what would you know about your father's medical history?"
"I know he was fine one day and dead three days later. I know the timing was suspicious. I know something was wrong." I leaned forward. "And I know someone at your company is responsible."
Roman went very still.
Not obviously, most people wouldn't have noticed, but I was watching for it: the way his jaw tightened, the way his hand tensed on the armrest, the way his eyes went flat and unreadable.
"That's a serious accusation," he said finally.
"It's the truth."
"You have proof?"
"Not yet."
"Then it's speculation." His voice was cold, clinical. "Your father died sixteen years ago of natural causes. You're looking for conspiracy where there isn't one."
"I'm looking for justice."
"You're looking for a way to blame someone for something that was just bad luck." He leaned back. "People die, Amara. It's tragic. It's unfair. But it's not always someone's fault."
"You don't know that."
"And you don't know it was murder." His eyes met mine, cold and final. "So drop it before you end up the same way."
The words hung in the air between us.
"Is that a threat?" I asked quietly.
"It's a warning. Whoever's after you now isn't playing games. They tried to run you over in broad daylight. That means they're serious. That means they'll keep trying until you're dead." He leaned forward slightly. "Drop it, Amara. Stop asking questions, stop digging, stop making yourself a target."
"What if I don't?"
"Then next time I won't be there to pull you out of the way."
The car stopped.
I looked out the window and we were outside my building.
Roman reached past me and opened the door.
"Get out."
I didn't move. "That's it? You save my life and then tell me to drop it?"
"Yes."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll end up like your father." His voice was flat, emotionless. "Dead at twenty four with no answers and no justice."
I got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk as he pulled the door shut and the SUV drove away
My hands were still shaking.
Someone had just tried to kill me.
Roman Vale had saved me.
And he'd looked genuinely shocked when I said I thought Vale killed my father, which meant either he didn't know or he was a very good liar.
I turned and walked into my building, climbed the stairs to my apartment, unlocked the door.
Stepped inside.
Everything looked normal: kitchen clean, living room untouched, nothing out of place.
I dropped my bag on the couch and stood there for a moment just breathing.
Then I walked toward the kitchen to get water.
That's when I saw it.
On my kitchen counter.
A single black rose.
I stopped breathing.
The rose sat in the middle of the counter, perfect and dark against the white marble, no vase, no water, just the flower with petals so black they looked like they'd been dipped in ink.
And underneath it, a note.
White paper, black ink, neat handwriting.
*Last warning.*
My legs almost gave out.
They'd been here while I was gone, walked through my apartment, touched my things, left this.
Last warning, which meant the car wasn't random, wasn't just a scare.
It was a promise.
Stop or die.
I backed away from the counter slowly with my phone in my hand and heart pounding so hard I could hear it.
I should leave, should go to Sarah's hospital, should go anywhere but here.
But I didn't.
I stood there staring at the black rose, at the two words written in perfect handwriting, and felt something shift inside me.
Fear, yes, but also anger.
They thought they could scare me into stopping, thought a rose and a note and a near-death experience would make me back down.
They didn't know me at all.
I walked to my bedroom, changed into sweats, came back to the kitchen.
The rose was still there.
I picked up the note and read it again.
*Last warning.*
Then I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.
I wasn't going anywhere.
If they wanted me gone they'd have to do better than flowers and threats.
I climbed into bed that night with my phone next to me, ringer on full volume, door locked, window latched.
The black rose sat on my kitchen counter in the dark.
And I lay there wide awake listening to every sound, every creak, every whisper of movement in the building.
Waiting.