---
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, but the tension in my chest didn't ease. The moment I stepped into the polished, open-plan chaos of *Beacon*, the usual buzz of phones ringing and fingers clacking on keyboards was already in full swing. Familiar. Distracting. Safe.
I needed safe.
I walked toward my desk, clutching the strap of my bag a little tighter than necessary. Every step echoed louder than usual in my mind. The night before still clung to me like fog.
"Addie!"
I turned at the sound of my name to see *Asher Blake* approaching—tall, lean, with coffee in one hand and a crooked smile that could charm anyone but me. Not because I wasn't affected—on the contrary, Asher had been the only good part of this job. He was sharp-witted, sarcastic, and infuriatingly observant.
"I was just about to text you," he said. "You look like you haven't slept."
"I haven't," I muttered, letting my bag slide off my shoulder. "Can we talk?"
His smile faded. "That bad?" I nodded. We ducked into the small break room, where the smell of burnt coffee lingered permanently. Asher shut the door behind us.
"Alright. Spill."
"I was almost robbed last night," I said quietly.
He blinked. "What?"
"Some guy came at me in an alley near my apartment. Knife in hand. He wanted my bag, I think. But before anything could happen, someone else showed up."
"Someone else?"
I hesitated. "A man. Tall. Face covered. All black clothes. He... scared the guy off."
Asher's jaw tensed. "Did you call the cops?"
"No . He left before I could do anything. Just vanished."
"That's still dangerous, Adeline. What if it was staged?"
I swallowed.
"What?"
"I don't know. "
He stepped closer, his voice softer now. "You okay?"
I nodded slowly. "Just... shaken."
He reached out and gently squeezed my arm. "You're not alone, alright? Whatever this is—we'll figure it out."
I gave him a small smile, grateful.
We walked back to the newsroom together. I was just settling at my desk, sipping the awful break room coffee when the air shifted. A kind of hush swept through the office. Then I saw the source.
*Chanel Russo.*
The infamous model-turned-actress-turned-catastrophe walked into the newsroom as if it were her personal runway. She wore blood-red heels, a pristine white suit, and a face full of perfect contempt. I recognized her instantly—how could I not? I'd written the article that had gone viral: *"Triple Divorce Queen: Chanel Russo's Reign of Romantic Chaos."*
She didn't come alone. Her assistant and two men who looked like bodyguards trailed her, but her eyes were fixed on one person.
Me.
"Ms. Wills ", she said with a smile that could slice skin.
I stood slowly, setting my coffee down.
"Ms. Russo."
Her sunglasses came off, revealing her glacial green eyes. "I didn't expect such a tiny thing to cause so much trouble."
I kept my tone neutral. "We reported verified facts. Your divorce records are public, and the details of—"
"She's unhinged," he said.
"Tell me something I don't know."
My heart was still pounding.
*Watch your back, Adeline.*
It was starting to feel like I was being circled. Observed. Hunted.
And I didn't know by whom.
But one thing was certain—I wasn't just writing the story anymore.
I was in one.
--"I know what I did," she cut in. "I don't need you narrating my life to the world like you're some omniscient god."
"Then perhaps don't live like you're starring in a telenovela."i said fiercely.
Gasps. Someone definitely dropped their phone. Asher groaned from his desk. I kept my gaze locked on hers.
Chanel stepped closer, her red nails tapping on my desk like a countdown.
"You think you're clever? Smart little girls with sharp tongues rarely last long in this world."
"I've lasted this long."
Her smile thinned. "You've humiliated me. Three failed marriages in one lifetime is bad enough. You turned it into a punchline."
"You did that yourself," I said calmly.
She leaned in close, her voice venomous and low. "Do you know what it's like to lose everything? To have your mistakes broadcasted to the world like a joke?"
"No," I replied. "But I do know you're not the victim here."
She straightened, brushing imaginary lint off her blazer. "I'm not here to argue. I came to say one thing."
The newsroom was silent now. Every ear was tuned in.
"Watch your back, Ms. Wills," she said sweetly. "This city has a funny way of biting back."
She turned and walked away, hips swaying, assistants scurrying after her like shadows.
The silence held for a moment longer before Asher appeared beside me.
---
I should've known that the warning wasn't just petty theatrics. When a woman with money, influence, and a vendetta says "watch your back," it's never metaphorical.
It started subtly. An email from my editor, questioning why an old article I wrote was being flagged for "defamation." An anonymous complaint, they said. Then came the retraction demands—someone clearly powerful was behind it. I spent the morning frantically drafting a statement, trying to defend myself while my hands shook too much to type properly.
"Are you okay?" Asher's voice snapped me out of my spiral. He hovered near my desk, concern etched into his features. "You look pale."
I lied. "Just tired."
I couldn't tell him about the call I got last night—the one with nothing but slow, steady breathing on the other end. I couldn't tell him that someone followed me after work, all the way to my apartment, stopping only when I ducked into a grocery store and waited. I couldn't prove it, but I knew someone was watching.
The robbers… that threat… it hadn't ended there.
I found my coffee cup shattered on my desk the next day. No one saw it break. It just… was. Like it had been deliberately placed there to look like an accident.
But the real fracture came when my editor called me into her office.
"Adeline," she said with a clipped tone, "we need to reconsider how you're covering certain personalities. You've ruffled feathers."
I blinked. "You mean Seraphina Vale?"
Her gaze hardened. "You're too smart to play dumb. We don't want to lose sponsors because one of our journalists thinks she's invincible."
So that was it. They were caving. And I was the one being thrown under the bus.
"She's threatening me," I whispered. "You know that, right?"
"Unless she leaves a trail," my boss shrugged, "it's your word against hers."
I walked out of the office with my hands cold and my chest burning. The lights in the hallway flickered—maybe a coincidence, maybe not. Every sound felt amplified now. Every laugh from a colleague felt like it might be at my expense.
Even Asher was growing distant. He didn't say it, but I knew he didn't believe me entirely.
When I returned to my desk, another envelope sat waiting.
No name. No return address.
I opened it with trembling fingers, and inside was a single black feather.
Just one.
No note.
No explanation.