Matteo's POV
The boardroom was silent in the way only powerful rooms ever were.
Glass walls. Muted city skyline. Men seated around the table waiting for my next words as if they were law. Contracts lay open in front of them, figures running into numbers that could collapse companies or resurrect them.
I had just finished speaking when my phone vibrated once against the table.
Once was enough.
I did not look at it immediately. I never did. Urgency was a luxury I did not indulge. Instead, I closed the folder in front of me, nodded at the executives, and dismissed them with a glance.
"Lorenzo," I said calmly. "Stay."
The others stood, chairs scraping softly against the marble floor, murmured their goodbyes, and filtered out. The door shut behind them with a quiet finality.
Only then did I pick up the phone.
The message was waiting.
An image filled the screen.
Emily.
Outside a building I knew too well.
And standing beside her like he belonged there was Caleb.
My fingers stilled.
For a long moment, I did nothing. I did not blink. I did not breathe deeper. I did not react the way men expected me to react when their enemies showed their faces.
Because this was not rage.
This was worse.
Lorenzo noticed immediately. He had known me long enough to read the smallest shifts in my posture.
"Sir?" he asked carefully.
I slid the phone across the table toward him.
"Tell me what you see."
He leaned forward, his expression tightening as his eyes scanned the image. I watched him closely. There was no confusion in his face. No hesitation.
He recognized Caleb instantly.
Lorenzo looked up. "Where did you get this?"
"That does not matter," I replied. My voice was level, controlled. "What matters is whether this location is accurate."
Lorenzo straightened. "You want it confirmed."
"Yes."
He nodded once, already reaching for his tablet. "I will need access to the external feeds."
"You have it."
Within seconds, his fingers were moving quickly, pulling up security overlays, timestamps, traffic cameras, private surveillance we owned and public ones we did not. The room filled with the soft tapping of keys.
I stood and moved toward the window, my back to him, the city stretching out beneath me. Milan looked peaceful from this height. It always did. Like it had never swallowed anyone whole.
"How long ago?" Lorenzo asked.
"Today," I answered.
He went still for a fraction of a second before continuing. That pause told me everything. This was not coincidence.
"Location confirmed," he said finally. "Same building. Same street. Time stamp matches."
I closed my eyes briefly.
So it was real.
Emily had been there.
With him.
Lorenzo hesitated. "Sir… should I initiate containment?"
"No."
The word came out sharper than I intended.
He looked at me then, surprised. "Caleb does not move without purpose. If he approached her…"
"I am aware of who Caleb is," I cut in quietly.
Lorenzo nodded, backing down. "Of course."
Silence settled again.
Inside it, thoughts moved like knives.
Emily had been in my house for weeks. She ate at my table. She slept under my roof. My daughter trusted her. Laughed with her. Felt safe with her.
Caleb knew that.
Which meant this was not random.
But neither was Emily reckless. She was observant. Careful. Calculated in her own way. A woman trying not to take up too much space.
If she were compromised, there would have been signs. Requests. Curiosity. Questions she had never asked.
I turned back to Sebastian. "Do not touch her."
His brow furrowed. "Sir?"
"No surveillance. No following. No intimidation. Nothing that would alert her."
Lorenzo studied me carefully. "You believe she may be unaware."
"I believe," I said slowly, "that if she were working with him, she would not be standing in plain sight outside one of his old routes."
Lorenzo exhaled quietly. "Then what do you want done."
"I want everything on Caleb's movements today. Who contacted him. Who photographed them. Who sent the message."
"And the sender?"
My jaw tightened. "Find them."
Lorenzo nodded. "Understood."
I reached for my coat.
"You are leaving early," he observed.
"Yes."
He hesitated again. "If she is innocent, confronting her harshly could push her away."
I met his gaze. "That is why I am not confronting her."
He understood then.
I was going home to watch.
✿⋆★⋆✿✿⋆★⋆✿✿⋆★⋆✿✿⋆★⋆✿✿⋆★⋆✿✿⋆★⋆✿✿⋆★⋆✿✿⋆★⋆✿✿⋆★⋆
The house was calm when I returned.
Not empty, not silent. Just… settled. A quiet that meant routines had been followed, the child taken care of, life moving forward without me.
I paused in the doorway of the living room, letting my gaze drift over the scene. Emily sat across from Sophia, who was perched on the sofa, legs swinging with the easy confidence of a child who felt safe. Plates pushed aside, forks resting neatly. A soft murmur of conversation, laughter contained but genuine.
I could feel them before I spoke, the way Emily's presence shifted, her posture alert even in relaxation. Her hands clasped loosely in her lap, her head tilting slightly as she watched Sophia. A quiet tension clung to her, subtle and careful, like a shadow hiding just beneath the light.
"You're home," she said finally, lightness in her voice that tried too hard to mask something I already knew was there.
"Yes," I replied, letting my eyes linger just enough on her before sweeping to Sophia. "I see you had a good evening."
Sophia's eyes lit up. "Emily made pasta! And we practiced spelling!"
"Did you now?" I said, amusement threading my voice, but my attention never left Emily.
Her glance flicked up at me briefly, just for a heartbeat, before she returned her focus to Sophia. I caught it the split second of hesitation, the subtle tightening of her shoulders.
I stepped closer, close enough that she could feel my presence fully now.
"You left the house today," I said, calm, measured.
Her fingers tightened briefly in her lap. Just once.
"Yes," she replied, steadying herself.
"To where?"
She met my eyes. "I went out for a walk. I needed air."
Not a lie. Not the whole truth either.
I did not press. Instead, I straightened and stepped back.
"You did well with Sophia today," I said, my tone softening just enough to let her feel approval without permission.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though confusion flickered across her face.
"Thank you," she murmured.
I nodded once. "Get some rest. I will see you in the morning."
She hesitated. "Good night, sir."
I turned away before she could read anything else on my face. Because tonight was not about accusations.
Lorenzo would confirm everything. Tomorrow would decide what this meant.
The house was quiet after I left the living room. The faint hum of the kitchen appliances was the only sound, a stark contrast to the sharp rhythm of my thoughts. I moved through the hallways with precision, each step measured. My mind replayed the image I had seen: Emily, Sophia, the plates, the carefully orchestrated scene of domestic normalcy.
I reached my room, closing the door behind me with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. I let out a slow breath, loosening the tie around my neck and shrugging off the jacket of my charcoal suit. The fabric fell onto the chair beside the bed like it belonged there, as if my presence had always been anticipated.
I moved to the bathroom to wash my hands, then my face. Cold water ran over my skin, shocking my senses awake, yet not enough to shake the unease coiling in my chest. Emily. Caleb. The picture.
Who knew?
I towel-dried my face and studied my reflection in the mirror. Composure. Always composure. I straightened my back, squared my shoulders. Nobody saw what they didn't deserve to see.
Back in the bedroom, I sank onto the edge of the bed, loosening my cuffs as I reached for my phone. Business news. Market trends. International acquisitions. Anything to distract me from the image burned into my mind.
I scrolled, eyes scanning the screen without really taking in the words. Every headline blurred together. Every chart and figure felt meaningless next to the question gnawing at me. It came without warning. My phone vibrated against the sheets, a single buzz that made my heart rate spike.
An unknown number.
I froze, staring at the screen. Then I opened it.
"Watch who you employ to take care of our daughter. You don't know if she may be with the enemy."
The message was short. Calculated. Threatening without overt words.
I exhaled slowly, trying to keep control. There could only be one person who could have sent this message, Stacy. That name alone carried years of chaos, danger, and unresolved anger. She had resurfaced. She had always been meticulous. Persistent. Obsessive. Dangerous. How did she know about Emily's outing? was she the one that took the picture? Has she been following Emily around? Was Emily safe? Was I putting Emily's life in danger? So many questions swirled in my head and I had the answer to none.
I rubbed my face with both hands, then opened my laptop. Emails, reports, security logs. Lorenzo would confirm what I suspected: Emily had been somewhere she shouldn't have been. Yet the message from Stacy changed everything. Now, it wasn't just about curiosity or recklessness. It was about exposure. Threat. Risk.
I closed the laptop after an hour, the numbers and charts offered no comfort. Sleep felt distant, but I forced it anyway. I lay back, arms crossed behind my head, staring at the city lights filtering through the curtains. I could feel the weight of every decision pressing against me. Every choice I made, every moment I observed, was a thread in a larger web one that could unravel if I let it.
And then I checked my phone one more time. Nothing new. But the image of Emily and Caleb so harmless in its context had already settled into my mind like a warning.
Stacy's words echoed in my head: You don't know if she may be with the enemy.
The house was on fire. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. Every precaution, every carefully laid plan felt like it teetered on the edge. If I did not find a way to put out the sparks soon, everything I had built, Sophia's safety, this household, even my own control, would go up in smoke.