Lena gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. The video kept playing in an endless loop in her mind—Alexander Cain, covered in blood, his movements precise, merciless. The baseball bat in his hand struck like an executioner's blade.
Her stomach churned.
She barely remembered throwing on a coat, barely registered the cold night air biting at her skin as she stormed toward Ryan's apartment. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess.
Why did Alexander do this? Was this about her book? Or was there something more?
By the time she pounded on Ryan's door, her heart was racing. He opened it almost instantly, his expression shifting from annoyance to alarm the moment he saw her face.
"Lena—"
She shoved her phone in his face. The screen still showed the paused frame of Alexander, blood splattered across his cheek like war paint.
"Where the hell did you get this?" Her voice shook, but not with fear—with rage. "Who filmed this, Ryan? And don't you dare tell me you 'just found it.'"
Ryan exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. "Lena, lower your voice—"
"No," she snapped. "You drop this on me and expect me to be calm? Who sent this to you?"
Ryan hesitated, his gaze flickering. That single moment of hesitation made her chest tighten.
Her gut already knew the answer before he said it.
"…A friend."
Lena scoffed. "A friend? That's your excuse? A friend just so happened to have a video of Alexander Cain beating the life out of my publisher's CEO?" She took a step closer, her voice dangerously low. "That's not something people randomly film, Ryan. That's a message."
Ryan exhaled and looked away. "You don't understand, Lena."
"Then explain it to me," she demanded. "Because right now, all I see is a man who—" She stopped herself. A man who might have done this for me. The thought made her sick.
Ryan met her gaze then, something unspoken lingering in his eyes. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before finally answering.
"Alexander isn't just some rich businessman, Lena." His voice was grave now. "He's dangerous. He has connections. The kind of connections that don't forgive. That don't forget. And if he's involved with your publisher—" Ryan hesitated again, then shook his head. "Then this is way bigger than just you."
Lena's breath hitched.
Bigger than her? What did that even mean?
She swallowed hard, her mind spinning. "So what? You're telling me Alexander has a personal vendetta against my publisher?"
Ryan's jaw tightened. "I don't know. But I know this—Alexander Cain doesn't do anything without a reason. And if you think this is just some act of kindness…" He gave her a grim look. "Then you're being naive."
Lena's pulse pounded in her ears.
She should be afraid. She should stay out of it.
But deep down, she knew she wouldn't.
Because if there was one thing she hated more than anything—it was being kept in the dark.
And Alexander Cain?
He was hiding something.
And she was going to find out exactly what it was.
Lena didn't say another word.
She just turned, shoved her phone into her coat pocket, and walked out of Ryan's apartment. Her mind was blank, her body moving on autopilot as she stepped into the cold night air.
She didn't even remember how she got home.
By the time she collapsed onto her bed, exhaustion pressed down on her like a weight. She didn't think about Alexander. She didn't think about the blood-smeared video. She didn't think about how the world seemed to be pulling her deeper into something she didn't understand.
She just… let sleep take her.
---
Lena's dreams were a mess of red. Blood-slicked hands. The dull, wet sound of a baseball bat meeting flesh. Alexander's cold, detached eyes.
She woke with a start.
Her body jerked upright, heart hammering. The room was dark except for the faint sliver of early morning light filtering through the curtains. Her mouth was dry, her limbs heavy, as if sleep still clung to her like a suffocating fog.
Then she heard it.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
A sharp knock at the door.
Her breath hitched.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
The knock came again, louder, more urgent.
She shoved off the blanket, her fingers trembling as she reached for her phone. No messages. No missed calls.
Something was wrong.
Dragging herself out of bed, she hesitated for only a second before creeping toward the door. When she looked through the peephole, her stomach lurched.
Police.
Two officers stood outside, their expressions unreadable, their presence too official, too serious.
Lena inhaled sharply and opened the door.
"Lena Carter?" The taller officer, a man with graying hair, asked.
She nodded slowly. "Yes."
He pulled out a badge. "Detective Harris, NYPD. This is Detective Lane." He gestured to the female officer beside him. "We need you to come with us."
Lena's fingers tightened on the doorknob.
Her instincts screamed at her that this wasn't just routine questioning. Something was very, very wrong.
"Why?" she asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.
Detective Lane glanced at her notepad. "Richard Calloway, CEO of Ridgeway Publishing, was found dead this morning."
Dead.
The word slammed into her like a freight train.
She swayed slightly, gripping the doorframe to stay upright.
"No… No, that can't be right. He was—" She stopped, her mind flashing to the video. To the blood. To Alexander's cold precision as he swung that bat over and over and over again.
Her stomach churned violently.
"We have reason to believe you might have information," Detective Harris said, his tone firm but not aggressive.
Lena swallowed hard. "I had nothing to do with that."
The detectives exchanged a look.
"Then I'm sure you won't mind answering a few questions at the station," Harris said.
Lena's pulse roared in her ears.
This wasn't just bad. This was catastrophic.
Because if the police thought she was involved…
Then someone else—someone far more dangerous—might think the same.
And that terrified her more than anything.