I didn't lower my phone.
Not yet.
Not when the last message was still burning in my mind.
"Now she's paying for it."
The words didn't feel like a warning.
They felt like confirmation.
My fingers tightened slightly around the device as I forced myself to breathe normally. Panic wouldn't help me. Not here. Not in front of him.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze.
Adrian Cole was still watching me.
Not impatient.
Not concerned.
Waiting.
Like this moment mattered more than anything I had seen on that screen.
"You're quiet," he said.
My grip on the phone loosened slightly.
"I'm thinking," I replied.
His expression didn't change.
"About what you saw?" he asked.
Not if.
What.
That single word settled heavily.
He already knew.
Or at least—
He knew enough.
I lowered the phone slowly, slipping it into my pocket. Not because I was done with it… but because I needed to control what he could see.
"You tell me," I said carefully.
A risk.
But silence wasn't safe anymore.
Neither was pretending I didn't understand.
His gaze sharpened slightly.
Not aggressive.
Not threatening.
Focused.
"That depends," he said.
On what?
He took a step closer.
"On what you think you saw."
My chest tightened.
Another test.
Everything here was layered.
Every answer led to another question.
"I saw a document connected to my father's death," I said.
The words came out steady.
Controlled.
But inside, everything shifted.
Because saying it out loud made it real.
For a moment—
Nothing.
No reaction.
No denial.
Then—
A faint exhale.
"Careful," he said quietly.
My stomach tightened.
That wasn't shock.
That wasn't confusion.
That was caution.
"Why?" I asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he moved past me, his presence brushing the space between us in a way that made it impossible to ignore.
"You're connecting things without understanding them," he said.
I turned quickly.
"Then help me understand."
That was the closest I had come to pushing him directly.
To demanding something.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Measured.
Then he looked at me again.
And this time—
Something was different.
Not softer.
Not kinder.
More… deliberate.
"What do you think happened to your father?" he asked.
The question hit harder than expected.
Not because I didn't have an answer.
But because of how he asked it.
Like the truth wasn't simple.
Like whatever I believed…
Wasn't enough.
"I think it wasn't an accident," I said.
His gaze didn't waver.
"Good," he replied.
My breath caught slightly.
That wasn't comfort.
That wasn't reassurance.
That was confirmation.
"And I think my sister found something she wasn't supposed to," I continued.
Still nothing from him.
No interruption.
No denial.
Just attention.
"So either she's in danger…" I added slowly,
"…or she's part of whatever this is."
That was the first time I said it out loud.
The possibility I didn't want to accept.
A pause.
Then—
A faint shift in his expression.
Not surprise.
Interest.
"You're asking better questions now," he said.
That wasn't praise.
That was evaluation.
"Then answer one," I said.
Direct.
No hesitation this time.
"What happened to her?"
The silence that followed was different.
Not empty.
Weighted.
Deliberate.
For a second, I thought he might actually answer.
But then—
He looked away.
Just slightly.
And that was enough.
"She made a choice," he said.
My chest tightened.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Cold.
Final.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself.
"That document—"
"—is not something you should be looking for," he cut in.
My words stopped instantly.
Not because of his tone.
But because of how controlled it was.
No anger.
No warning.
Just certainty.
"Why?" I asked again.
He held my gaze.
"Because the moment you understand it…" he said quietly,
"…you won't be able to walk away from it."
A chill ran through me.
Too late.
I was already here.
Already involved.
Already too close.
My phone vibrated again.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Both of us noticed.
I hesitated for a second.
Then pulled it out.
Another message.
"Stop asking him."
My pulse spiked.
Another one followed immediately.
"He won't tell you the truth."
I didn't look up.
Not yet.
Because something clicked.
If this person knew what I was doing…
If they knew what I was asking…
Then they were watching too.
Which meant—
This wasn't just his game.
It was bigger.
Slower this time, I lifted my gaze back to Adrian Cole.
And for the first time—
I didn't just feel watched.
I felt caught between two sides I didn't understand.
And neither of them felt safe.