23. Chapter Twenty-Three Jade
Chapter Twenty-Three: Jade
P ain hammered inside my skull, a relentless drumbeat that dragged me from the depths of sleep. The darkness of the room offered no comfort, the faint glow of moonlight barely revealing the contours of the unfamiliar space around me. I reached out, my hand fumbling for the solid warmth of the man beside me.
“Dante,” I murmured, my voice raspy with the remnants of dreams and discomfort. “Can you hand me some Aleve? This headache’s killing me. It should be on the side of the bed.”
A soft groan answered me, the bed shifting as Dante turned his body toward mine. His movements were sluggish, weighed down by sleep, but he managed to find the bottle and placed it in my outstretched palm. His fingers brushed against mine, sending a current of concern through the touch.
“Do you need water?”
“No,” I replied. “I’m okay.”
“Is this happening a lot?” His words were thick with drowsiness, yet edged with something sharper.
“More often than I’d like.” I popped the cap off the bottle, the sound echoing too loudly in the stillness.
Dante propped himself up on one elbow, the sheets slipping to reveal the muscular expanse of his chest, the ink of the crucifix on his pecs catching in the moonlight streaming in from outside.
His gaze was heavy upon me, searching. “You should get that checked out,” he said, and I could hear the worry threading through the gravel of his voice.
“Yeah, once there’s time,” I replied, trying to brush off his concern with a half-hearted smile that felt more like a wince. The room seemed to close in on me, the air too thick to breathe, and yet the nearness of Dante provided an anchor in the storm of pain that refused to abate.
“Jade,” he started, but I shook my head slightly, not wanting to delve into the possibilities of what these headaches might mean—not now, not when I had his arms around me, grounding me in the present. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself the illusion of safety, the belief that nothing could touch me here, in the quiet embrace of night. But the ache in my head persisted, a cruel reminder that even in the darkness, you can’t outrun your fears.
“Come on. Let’s get back to sleep. I’m tired.”
He nodded, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead and wrapping his arms around me, holding me close. “Okay. Hopefully you’ll feel better soon.”
It took a little while, but I did end up falling asleep again.
But my sleep was short, and it didn’t feel restorative.
The first light of dawn was already bleeding into the night sky as I pulled up to BioHQ, the sprawling complex where science and ambition converged in a dance of innovation. My head was still pounding, each throb a cruel metronome counting down the seconds until I had to mask my pain and be the brilliant Dr. Jade Bentley once more.
I stepped through the sliding doors, greeted by the sterile familiarity of white halls and the distant hum of machinery. The scent of antiseptics was undercut by the unmistakable aroma of coffee—a lifeline for many of my sleep-deprived colleagues. I made a mental note to grab a cup but doubted it would do much for the ache that seemed to have taken permanent residence behind my eyes.
“Security audit again, Jade,” Dr. Stuart White called out, his voice slicing through my fragmented focus as he strode towards me, clipboard clutched like a shield.
“Morning to you too, Stuart,” I murmured, fighting back a wince as I forced my gaze to meet his. “Didn’t we just do this?”
His expression was unreadable, but the slight furrow of his brow told me this wasn’t a courtesy visit.
“Someone logged in last night,” he continued, his words clipped and efficient. “It’s in the IT logs, but the details are gone—erased. That’s what Edward told me.”
“Where is he?”
“Working,” Stuart replied.
I shook my head. “Erased?” I echoed, the word sitting heavy on my tongue. It hinted at something deliberate, calculated. I didn’t have time to chase shadows—not with my project deadlines looming and this relentless headache.
“Completely.” Stuart’s eyes were sharp, analytical, as if he could unravel this mystery with sheer willpower. “I’ll need your access logs, just to check.”
“Of course,” I replied automatically. “Everyone’s logs, right?”
“Yes,” he replied. “We’re just going alphabetically. From the As to the Ds first.”
“Got it,” I told him.
“Thanks. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate,” he said, offering a curt nod before moving away, his lab coat billowing slightly with the briskness of his departure.
I watched him go, the sense of disquiet growing. But there was no time to dwell on security breaches or vague threats lurking within lines of code. I had work to do, breakthroughs to chase, and a headache that showed no mercy. Pushing through the pain, I set off toward the lab, ready to lose myself in a world of data and discovery, where every answer led to more questions and the truth was often hidden in plain sight.
The sterile hum of the lab welcomed me, a familiar sanctuary against the chaos of the unknown. I slid into my routine, the motions grounding me until Ellie’s voice sliced through the focus I had fought so hard to maintain. I hadn’t even noticed or greeted her when she had come in.
“Jade, are you alright?” she asked, her brows knitting together in concern.
I paused, test tube in hand, and forced a smile. “Yeah, just a rough night,” I replied, trying to shake off the throb in my skull that seemed intent on crippling my thoughts.
“Oh, a date?”
“Yes,” I said. “El, he took me to this restaurant downtown in this high-rise and he’d rented the whole place out.”
Ellie’s eyebrows shot upwards, a mix of surprise and amusement in her warm brown eyes. “Well, someone’s gone all out,” she said, her tone teasing yet gentle.
I nodded, my lips curling into a small smile at the memory. “It was...incredible,” I admitted, before quickly adding, “But it was also overwhelming. I didn’t get much sleep.”
“Incredibly overwhelming as in good or bad?” Ellie asked the question carefully, her gaze now filled with concern rather than amusement.
“He made me come so many times,” I said in a whisper.
Her eyes widened in understanding, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And that’s why you’re on edge,” she said, her tone shifting to one of gentle teasing. “No rest for the wicked, huh?”
I let out a soft chuckle, despite the ever-present ache in my head; leave it to Ellie to make light of such situations. I had always admired her ability to balance seriousness with levity.
“Well, that, the headache, and Edward Rodriguez. Dr. White said something about someone accessing the data in the middle of the night?”
Ellie set her pipettor down with a soft click and leaned against the bench, her eyes searching mine. “I heard about that.”
“Any idea who might want access to our data?” I asked, tracing the edge of the lab bench with my fingertips.
Ellie shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “Well, it could be an internal mistake, or perhaps a competitor trying to sneak a peek at our breakthroughs,” she offered.
The thought sent shivers down my spine. My work was more than just research; it was a piece of me. The thought of our discoveries being exploited...
“Or it could be something more sinister,” Ellie added, breaking into my thoughts as she studied my face.
“Oh, yeah. Someone broke here and heisted some data,” I said with a smirk. “That sounds totally plausible.”
One corner of Ellie’s mouth kicked up in a wry smile. “Well, you never know. We’re doing some groundbreaking stuff here,” she countered gently, her gaze never leaving mine. I could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, but her words stoked the unease that had been nagging at me all day.
I rubbed my temple, the headache suddenly getting worse.
“You okay, babe?” Ellie asked.
“Just a headache.”
“Again?” Ellie’s concern visibly deepened, her playful demeanor evaporating instantly. She reached out, placing a soft hand on my shoulder. “You had one like, last week. Thought it was a period thing.”
“Yeah, actually…I think I’m late,” I said. “I don’t know. I just haven’t been paid attention to it.”
Ellie’s eyebrows shot up, a mixture of surprise and concern washing over her features. She quickly removed her gloves and disposed of them into the biohazard bin before turning back to me. “Let’s take a minute, okay? Come, sit down.”
I didn’t argue. Folding myself into the chair she pointed to, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. The headache still hammered in time with my heart, and anxiety gnawed at my nerves. Ellie rolled another chair over and sat next to me, her warm hand finding mine.
“The stress could be messing with your cycle,” she suggested gently. “There’s no chance you’re pregnant, right?”
“Right,” I said. “No chance.”
The words rolled off my tongue like a well-rehearsed line, but there was an odd hollowness to them—a dissonance between what I said and what I felt.
“You’re sure?” Ellie pressed gently, her warm brown eyes studying me with an intensity only she could manage.
“Yeah, El. Absolutely.”
But as soon as I said it, it sounded like a lie.