The city was quieter than usual when Natasha left Blackwood Tower. It was close to midnight, the streets wrapped in a blanket of cold air. Her heels clicked against the pavement, each step echoing in the stillness.
She'd stayed late, combing through Alden Foods' files again. The deeper she dug, the more tangled the numbers became—and the more she suspected that whoever was behind the inflated invoices wasn't working alone.
Her apartment building stood at the end of a narrow street, its exterior dimly lit. Natasha climbed the short flight of stairs to the second floor, fishing for her keys. The hallway smelled faintly of dust and old wood.
The lock clicked open. She pushed the door, stepped inside—then froze.
Her living room light was on.
Natasha was sure she'd switched it off before leaving that morning. Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag as she glanced around. Nothing looked out of place at first glance, but the air felt… wrong. Stale. Watched.
She set her bag down silently, reached for her phone, and dialed the first number that came to mind.
Edward answered on the second ring. "You're calling late," he said, voice low.
"Someone's been in my apartment," she whispered.
There was a pause—too short for surprise, too long for casual concern. "Don't touch anything. I'm on my way."
The line went dead.
Natasha's pulse raced. She stepped toward the kitchen, scanning for signs of disturbance. A single mug sat on the counter—the one she'd washed and put away yesterday.
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside. She spun around, her breath caught.
Three sharp knocks.
She approached cautiously. "Who is it?"
"Edward."
She opened the door just enough to see him. He wasn't in his usual tailored suit—tonight, it was a dark coat over a black shirt, his hair slightly tousled, eyes sharp.
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "Stay by the door," he said, moving past her into the living room.
Natasha ignored the order and followed. "Do you think they took anything?"
Edward's gaze swept over the shelves, the desk, the small details only someone observant would notice. "No. This wasn't theft." He moved to the coffee table, where a single white envelope sat.
Natasha's stomach knotted. She hadn't seen it before.
Edward picked it up, opened it, and pulled out a photograph.
It was of her—taken from across the street, through her living room window.
Natasha's breath hitched. "When—?"
"Recently," Edward said. He slid the photo back into the envelope, his jaw tight. "This is a message."
Her voice was shaky. "From who?"
"Someone who wants you scared," he said. "It's working."
Natasha's hands clenched. "I'm not—"
Edward's eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, the air between them tightened. "Fear isn't weakness, Natasha. It's information. You just have to know how to use it."
She looked away, unwilling to let him see the crack in her composure. "Why me? This is your fight, not mine."
"Because you're in my world now," he said simply.
Silence stretched. She realized how close he was—just a breath away. His presence was a strange mix of danger and protection, and she hated how it made her heart race.
A soft knock broke the tension.
Edward's expression hardened instantly. He motioned for her to stay quiet, moving to the door. His posture shifted subtly—predator alert.
When the door opened, Daniel Hayes stood there, his tie loosened, a faint smirk on his lips.
"I saw the light," Daniel said, leaning against the doorframe. "Thought I'd check in."
Edward's voice was cool. "You don't just 'check in' at midnight."
Daniel's eyes slid past Edward to Natasha. "Everything okay?"
Natasha hesitated. "I… someone was here."
Daniel stepped inside, ignoring Edward's glare. "Then you should stay somewhere else tonight. I can arrange—"
"She's staying with me," Edward cut in.
Natasha blinked. "What?"
Edward didn't look at her. "Pack a bag."
Daniel's smirk deepened. "Careful, Blackwood. People might think you're getting… personal."
"Leave," Edward said flatly.
For a moment, Natasha thought Daniel might refuse. But he gave a lazy salute and stepped back into the hall. "See you at work, Natasha."
When the door closed, Edward turned to her. "Bag. Now."
Natasha's instincts told her to argue—but the photo on the coffee table said otherwise.
As she packed, she couldn't shake one thought: she had just stepped deeper into Edward's world, and there was no turning back.