Chapter Two: The Smell of Betrayal Still Lingers
Adrian Hayes sat frozen at his desk, staring at the digital clock on the glass wall, 6:12 PM. The second hand ticked forward with robotic precision, unaware of the chaos unraveling inside him.
The bourbon glass trembled in his hand. He didn't need a calendar to know the date. This was the exact day everything began to fall apart.
Ten years ago, at exactly 6:42 PM, Naomi had kissed him on the cheek and told him she loved him. By midnight, she was in Marcus's penthouse. Adrian hadn't known it then. But now, the image burned in his memory with clarity.
His fingers curled around the edge of the desk. The familiar feel of the mahogany surface should've been comforting, grounding. Instead, it felt foreign. Like he was touching a ghost of his former life.
He stared at his reflection in the black screen of his powered-off monitor. Younger. Sharper. His eyes had lost the prison scars. But beneath the surface, he wasn't the same man. Not anymore.
A knock broke his thoughts. Adrian turned. The door opened, and she stepped in.
Emily Vale.
She looked like time hadn't touched her—which made sense. It hadn't. Not yet.
Blonde hair pinned back in her usual no-nonsense bun. Dark-rimmed glasses. A grey pencil skirt and cream blouse. She looked efficient, capable, and indifferent, exactly the way he remembered her. But back then, he never noticed the tired slump in her shoulders, or how she avoided making eye contact for more than a second.
He knew why now. She was working for people she didn't trust. She just hadn't realized he didn't either.
"Sir, your 6:30 with Arthur Hayes is in twenty minutes," she said, stepping forward with a tablet. "And Naomi called earlier. She said she'll be meeting you at the Lucien Gala tonight." He let the names hang in the air.
Arthur. Naomi.
Betrayer. Liar.
Adrian leaned back slowly, examining her. "Emily. How long have you worked for me?"
She blinked. "Three years, sir."
"And in those three years, have I ever asked your opinion?"
Now she really blinked. Her fingers tightened slightly on the tablet.
"No, sir."
"Good. That changes today."
She looked confused.
"If I told you I was about to cancel dinner with Arthur Hayes, and replace it with a dossier request on his offshore holdings, would you blink twice?"
"Not if you're serious."
"I'm very serious."
A pause.
"Then I'll need five minutes and access to the private server."
He smiled faintly. Not forced. Genuine. She turned to go.
"Emily," he said. She paused, her back straight.
"Why did you resign in February, three months before the embezzlement scandal?"
Her spine stiffened. Slowly, she turned to face him.
"That information isn't public."
"Neither is the fact that Marcus wired $2.8 million through a Prague-based shell company the day I gave him access to the internal R&D account."
She stared at him. For a moment, he thought she might lie. Then she sighed.
"Because I knew something was wrong. You stopped listening to your gut. You let them too close. And I was too small a voice to make a difference."
Adrian nodded once. "Not anymore."
---
By 6:45 PM, Adrian had canceled the dinner.
By 7:00, he had access logs from the financial department.
By 8:00, he sat in his penthouse, the same one Naomi had once decorated with an interior designer who charged six figures to make a space look like it belonged in Architectural Digest. He hadn't changed a single thing since then. Not because he liked it. But because he didn't care.
But now, everything felt like a lie.
He walked to the liquor cabinet. Poured himself a new drink. This time, he didn't shake.
He pulled out an old USB drive he'd once used to draft acquisition strategies. He copied files onto it: shell corporations, email trails, private conversations Marcus never thought anyone would recover.
This time, Adrian would strike first.
Not loud. Not messy.
Smart. Silent. Surgical.
***
At 9:00 PM, his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
He answered.
"It's been a while, Adrian." He stilled.
That voice. Gravel-throated. Calm. Cold.
"I saw what you did with the R&D logs. Bold. I didn't think you'd move this quickly."
"Who is this?"
"Let's just say I'm someone who remembers who you used to be. Before you became everyone else's pawn." Adrian clenched the phone tighter.
"You died."
A laugh followed.
"That's what they wanted you to think. Don't worry. We'll talk soon." The line went dead.
Adrian stared at the phone, heart pounding.
Because if that voice was real, and that man was alive, then the game was bigger than he thought.
Much bigger.