Nora's POV
I made it home before the tears came.
My apartment was freezing because I'd turned off the heat to save money. Didn't matter now. In forty-eight hours, I wouldn't have an apartment at all.
Six thousand dollars. Where was I supposed to get six thousand dollars?
I dropped my purse on the floor and went straight for the wine bottle in my fridge. Cheap red wine that tasted like sadness, but it was all I could afford. I poured a huge glass and drank half of it in one gulp.
My phone buzzed. Jasmine.
"Did you see my gift yet?" her text said. "Open it NOW. Doctor's orders."
I'd forgotten about Jasmine's gift. She'd left it on my desk this morning with a bow. I grabbed it from my bag and tore open the wrapping paper.
Red lace lingerie. Gorgeous, expensive, completely impractical red lace lingerie.
A note fell out: "Remind yourself you're hot! You've been working like a robot for two years. Remember you're a woman, not just an assistant. Love you! —Jazz"
I laughed. It came out sounding half like a sob.
"You're insane," I texted back.
"Try it on!" she responded immediately. "Send me a pic. I want proof you're not just using it as a dust rag."
I looked at the wine bottle. Looked at the lingerie. Looked at the eviction notice on my phone.
What the hell. In two days I'd be homeless anyway. Might as well feel pretty for five minutes first.
I stripped off my work clothes and put on the lingerie. It fit perfectly—Jasmine knew my size. The red lace made my skin look good, and for the first time in months, I didn't look tired. I looked... nice. Maybe even hot, like Jasmine said.
I poured more wine and stared at myself in the mirror.
"You're Nora Chen," I told my reflection. "You survived losing your parents. You survived college working three jobs. You can survive this too."
My reflection didn't look convinced.
I grabbed my phone and posed in front of the mirror. Took a photo. It actually looked good—not trashy, just confident. Proof that I was still a person under all the stress and bills and impossible boss who made my heart race for all the wrong reasons.
I typed a message to Jasmine: "Happy? I'm wearing your crazy gift. This is what I'm NOT wearing to tomorrow's office party LOL"
Hit send.
Took another sip of wine.
Felt my phone buzz.
Looked down and saw Jasmine's response: "Um... why did you just send me a photo of your kitchen?"
My blood turned to ice.
I looked at my sent messages.
The lingerie photo hadn't gone to Jasmine.
It had gone to the last person I'd texted.
The person I'd confirmed the dinner reservation for tonight.
My boss.
Dominic Kane.
"No." The word came out as a whisper. "No, no, no, NO!"
I stared at my phone like it had betrayed me. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real. Any second I'd wake up and this would be a nightmare caused by cheap wine and stress.
My phone started ringing.
Dominic's name flashed on the screen.
I dropped the phone like it had caught fire.
It kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing.
"Answer it," Jasmine texted. "What's going on?"
I couldn't answer it. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Finally, the ringing stopped.
Three seconds later, a text from Dominic appeared: "Ms. Chen. We need to discuss your... misdirected message."
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Another text: "Call me back. Now."
My hands shook so hard I could barely hold the phone. I tried to type a response—tried to say it was an accident, meant for someone else, please delete it and forget it existed—but my fingers wouldn't work.
The phone rang again.
This time I answered, pure panic overriding logic.
"Mr. Kane, I am so sorry—" The words tumbled out. "It was an accident. I meant to send it to my friend. Please just delete it. Pretend you never saw it. I'll never—"
"Nora." His voice was different. Rough. Dangerous. Not the cold CEO voice I knew. "Stop."
I stopped.
"Was that photo really meant for a friend?" He paused. "Or was it meant for someone else? A boyfriend maybe?"
"A friend! Just my friend Jasmine. She sent me the—the outfit as a joke and wanted proof I tried it on. That's all. I swear."
"You don't have a boyfriend." It wasn't a question. He sounded absolutely certain.
"No, but—how do you know that?"
Silence. Then: "That photo wasn't meant for anyone but me, was it, bunny?"
Bunny? Did he just call me bunny?
"I don't—what—no!" I was stuttering. "It was an accident!"
"Was it?" His voice dropped lower, and I felt it in my stomach. "Because you looked very intentional in that photo. Very... confident."
Heat flooded my face. This wasn't happening. My boss did not just say that.
"I'm going to hang up now," I managed. "And we're going to forget this ever happened. Goodnight, Mr. Kane."
"Nora—"
I ended the call and threw my phone across the room.
It landed on my couch and immediately buzzed with another text.
I didn't want to look. Couldn't stop myself from looking.
Dominic: "Don't run from this. We both know something changed today."
Me: "Nothing changed. I made a mistake. Please delete the photo."
Dominic: "I can't delete it."
Me: "Why not?"
Dominic: "Because I've looked at it twelve times already, and I'm not done looking."
My heart stopped.
Another text: "Go to Winter's Wishes on Bleecker Street. 9 PM tonight. Bring your phone. Trust me."
Me: "What? Why?"
Dominic: "Because you need help, and I know someone who can help you. Just trust me this once."
How did he know I needed help? How did he know about the eviction?
Me: "How do you know I need help?"
No response.
I waited five minutes. Ten. Nothing.
Then my phone buzzed with a text from the unknown number again—the same one from earlier: "Change of plans. Come to Winter's Wishes at 8:45 PM instead. Come alone. Don't tell Dominic Kane you're going. This is important, Nora."
My hands started shaking again.
Two invitations to the same place. One from Dominic. One from a stranger.
Both of them knew things they shouldn't know.
I looked at the mysterious text again and noticed something I'd missed before.
At the bottom, in tiny letters, was a single sentence: "P.S. - Check your email. The photo you sent Dominic? It's already been forwarded to someone else. Someone who wants to destroy you."
I lunged for my laptop and opened my email.
There, in my sent folder, was a message I hadn't written.
Sent to Vivienne Cross, the woman from marketing who hated me.
Subject line: "Nora Chen's True Colors."
Attached: The lingerie photo.
And a message in my own email account that I definitely didn't write: "Thought you should see what your colleague does in her spare time. Happy holidays! —A Concerned Coworker"
Someone had hacked my email.
Someone had forwarded my photo to the one person at Kane Industries who would use it to destroy me.
And somehow, the mysterious person texting me knew about it before I did.
I grabbed my phone with shaking hands.
8:45 PM at Winter's Wishes.
I had three hours to figure out who was setting me up.
Three hours before my entire life fell apart.
And the only person who seemed to have answers was a stranger in an antique shop.
Or Dominic Kane, who'd just called me "bunny" and told me he'd looked at my photo twelve times.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror—still wearing the red lingerie, still holding my wine glass, still trying to figure out when my life turned into complete chaos.
My phone buzzed one more time.
Unknown number: "Tick tock, Nora. Choose wisely. Come alone, or bring Dominic. But know this—only one of those choices saves you. The other one damns you both."