I shouldn't have stayed.
That thought came too late.
The messages were still fresh in my mind.
"You were always the backup."
It didn't feel like a theory anymore.
It felt like truth.
And the worst part?
I couldn't tell which of them knew it first.
I didn't move.
Didn't step away from the desk.
Didn't break eye contact.
Because if I did—
I might lose whatever control I had left.
Adrian Cole didn't speak immediately.
He was watching me again.
But this time, it felt different.
Not like he was studying me.
Like he was trying to understand something.
"You're not reacting the way I expected," he said.
My chest tightened slightly.
"What did you expect?" I asked.
A mistake.
Or maybe not.
Because something shifted in his expression again.
Subtle.
But real.
"Fear," he said.
The word landed quietly.
I let out a slow breath.
"I'm past that," I replied.
That wasn't entirely true.
But it wasn't a lie either.
Fear had been replaced by something else.
Something sharper.
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Measured.
Close enough that I could feel the shift in the space between us again.
"You shouldn't be," he said.
That caught me off guard.
"Why?" I asked.
His gaze didn't waver.
"Because people who stop feeling fear… usually start making dangerous decisions."
A pause.
"And they don't survive long enough to regret them."
That wasn't a warning.
That was experience.
"Is that what happened to her?" I asked.
The words came out before I could stop them.
Too direct.
Too personal.
For a second—
I thought I had gone too far.
But instead of shutting down—
He answered.
"She stopped listening," he said.
My chest tightened.
"To you?" I asked.
A faint shift in his eyes.
"To reality."
That wasn't clearer.
That was worse.
Silence stretched again.
But this time, it wasn't tense.
It was… heavy.
Like both of us were standing in something neither of us wanted to fully explain.
"Why didn't you stop her?" I asked.
That question mattered.
More than anything else.
Because if he knew—
If he saw it coming—
Then he had a choice.
He could have done something.
But he didn't.
For a moment—
He didn't answer.
Then—
A quiet exhale.
"You think I had that kind of control?" he asked.
I didn't respond.
Because I didn't believe that.
Everything about him said control.
Everything.
"Then what do you have?" I asked.
That made him pause.
Not long.
But enough.
Then—
He stepped even closer.
Too close.
Close enough that I could feel the tension between us shift into something else.
Something dangerous in a different way.
"Influence," he said quietly.
The word sent a chill through me.
Not control.
Something more subtle.
Something harder to fight.
"And you're using it on me?" I asked.
His gaze held mine.
"I don't need to."
That answer hit harder than expected.
Because it felt true.
And that made it worse.
My phone vibrated again.
I ignored it.
Not because it didn't matter.
But because this moment did.
"You knew about the contract," I said.
Not a question.
A statement.
He didn't deny it.
"That's not something you were supposed to see yet."
Yet.
That word stuck.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because timing matters," he said.
Everything about him was controlled.
Measured.
Calculated.
"And what happens when the timing is wrong?" I pressed.
His expression didn't change.
But his answer did something to the air between us.
"People make the wrong choices."
A pause.
"And those choices have consequences."
My chest tightened again.
"Like her?" I asked.
This time—
He didn't answer.
And that silence told me more than anything else.
I finally pulled my phone out.
Three missed messages.
I opened them.
"Don't trust him."
Another one:
"He needs you to stay."
And the last:
"Ask yourself why."
My fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
Why?
I looked back at him.
At the way he stood there.
At the way he watched me.
At the way he never rushed anything.
And for the first time—
I asked myself something I hadn't considered before.
Not what he was hiding.
But what he wanted.
"Why me?" I asked again.
This time—
Not about the contract.
Not about my sister.
About me.
Something shifted in his gaze.
Subtle.
But real.
"You're still here," he said.
That wasn't enough.
"That's not an answer," I replied.
For a moment—
It felt like he might actually give me one.
Something real.
Something honest.
But then—
He stepped back.
Distance.
Control restored.
"That's the only one you're getting."
Cold.
Final.
I didn't move.
Didn't respond.
Because now—
I understood something else.
This wasn't just a game.
It wasn't just control.
It wasn't just truth and lies.
It was something more dangerous.
Because the more time I spent here—
The harder it became to tell if I wanted answers…
Or if I wanted him to be the one giving them.