89 - A Secret Meant to Destroy
The Blackwood Tower stood tall against the dusk skyline, its glass walls gleaming like sharpened blades. Inside, the executive floor was a world of hushed luxury—polished mahogany, plush leather, the faint hum of machines working tirelessly into the evening.
Catherine slipped through the private elevator, her heels clicking softly against the marble as she stepped into Ethan's office. Her heart drummed with something dangerous—not fear, but anticipation.
She had gotten the call minutes ago. Her "insider" whispered the words she had been waiting for: Ethan isn't in the building.
A flicker of surprise. A flash of opportunity. He—the man who ran empires without pause, who never let anyone distract him—was... absent. She inhaled, letting the knowledge settle like perfume around her, intoxicating and dangerous.
The perfect opening.
The office welcomed her with silence. The sharp scent of his cologne lingered faintly in the air, mixed with leather and steel. His world. His territory. For most, stepping inside would be intimidating enough.
But Catherine? She inhaled it like perfume.
Her gaze swept across the room, settling on the desk—sleek, immaculate, everything in its place. Except for the glowing laptop, waiting on the dark surface.
A smile curved her lips.
"Careless, Ethan," she whispered.
Sliding behind the desk, she lowered herself into his leather chair, savoring the sensation of power. The screen hummed with life, his desktop open.
Her eyes scanned quickly—until they landed on a folder, sitting at the top right corner. Bold. Untouched.
Her breath caught, a thrill racing through her. Her hand hovered only a second before she double-clicked.
Inside, dozens of files and documents sprawled across the screen. Her eyes darted until one name leapt out, burning in sharp black letters.
Her pulse spiked. She clicked.
The document opened, and line by line, her eyes devoured it. Each word carved deeper, each clause striking like lightning across her mind.
A contract. A marriage contract. Between Ethan Blackwood and Scarlett Landon.
Her nails dug into her palm as she scrolled faster, reading every detail—the terms, the conditions, the dates. Proof. Cold, undeniable proof that Scarlett wasn't Ethan's love, wasn't his choice, wasn't anything more than a signed agreement.
A laugh slipped from her lips, sharp and bitter, echoing against the glass walls. "So that's it," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "That's all she is."
Her hand flew to the drawer, pulling out a flash drive she had come prepared with. With swift, practiced precision, she slid it into the port and copied the file. The bar filled quickly, sealing her theft in quiet, merciless efficiency.
When the transfer completed, Catherine leaned back in Ethan's chair, crossing one elegant leg over the other. Her smirk deepened, satisfaction curving through her like venom.
Scarlett Landon thought she could win Ethan's heart. Thought she could matter.
Now Catherine held the weapon that could destroy her completely.
She ejected the drive, slipping it into her clutch with delicate fingers, as though cradling treasure.
Standing, she smoothed the fabric of her dress, her reflection in the office window a silhouette of triumph.
"Game over, Scarlett," she murmured to the city lights beyond.
And with that, she walked out of Ethan's office, the secret in her possession and her next move already burning in her mind.
Catherine sank into the sleek leather of her office chair, the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her. The flash drive pressed into her palm felt impossibly heavy, each gram carrying the weight of secrets that could topple worlds.
Her mind raced, weaving together a plan so precise, so merciless, that lives could unravel without a single misstep. Scarlett. Ethan. Andrian. Each a piece on her chessboard, each vulnerable, and each perfectly positioned to serve her design.
First, Andrian.
She knew him. Knew the way his eyes lingered on Scarlett when he thought no one was watching. Knew the quiet tilt of his heart toward her, loyal, protective... hopelessly in love.
If he discovered the truth—that Scarlett's marriage to Ethan was a contract, nothing more, a performance for the family—he would act. He would fight. And he would play right into Catherine's hands.
A slow, calculating smile curved her lips, cold and deliberate.
She reached for her phone, thumbs dancing over the screen with precision. Within moments, Andrian's name flashed. She called, letting the faint trill of the ringtone stretch just long enough to heighten anticipation.
When he answered, his voice was warm, curious.
"Catherine? What's up?"
"Meet me," she said, smooth, confident, leaving nothing to chance. "I have something you need to see... and it's about Scarlett."
There was a pause on the other end, brief but telling. She heard it—the subtle catch in his breath, the spark of interest and concern, all of it ready to be twisted to her advantage.
"I'll be there in ten minutes," he said finally.
"Not at the office," she added, voice low, controlled. "My apartment. Ten minutes."
Plenty of time.
Catherine did not choose Andrian by accident.
She chose him the way a hunter chooses a weapon.
Not the sharpest blade.
The most precise one.
Because Andrian wasn't impulsive. He wasn't reckless. He wasn't easily swayed by flattery or seduction the way lesser men were. He was disciplined. Measured. Loyal to a fault.
And that was exactly why he was perfect.
He loved Scarlett.
Not loudly.
Not desperately.
But with the kind of quiet devotion that made men dangerous when pushed.
Catherine had watched him for months.
Watched the way his gaze softened when Scarlett spoke. The way his shoulders angled toward her even in crowded rooms. The way he noticed when she was tired, when she was uncomfortable, when she was silently upset long before anyone else realized it.
He wouldn't betray her.
No.
But he would protect her.
And protection... could be redirected.
All Catherine had to do was convince him that Ethan was the threat.
That Scarlett needed saving.
That he was the only one who could do it.
And once he stepped onto that path—
He would walk straight into her trap.
--
Catherine's fingers danced across the desk again, opening the file on the flash drive. The marriage contract burned across her vision—the dates, the signatures, the legal language. Nothing suggested love. Nothing bound them emotionally. Only duty. Performance. Pretend.
Perfect. Exactly what she needed to plant doubt in Scarlett and push Andrian to action.
By the time Andrian arrived, Catherine was poised, every gesture calculated. She rose as he stepped inside, her expression an impeccable mask of innocence and control.
"Andrian," she said, her voice honeyed, smooth as silk. "You know I wouldn't involve you in something personal... but this—this concerns Scarlett."
His brow furrowed, cautious. "Scarlett? What's happened to her, Catherine?"
Catherine let the tension coil, holding his gaze. "Cool, Andrian. Don't rush. You need to see this for yourself."
She slid the flash drive across the polished surface of her desk. His hand hesitated above it, curiosity and disbelief warring across his features.
"You know she's... married to Ethan?" Catherine's voice dropped, conspiratorial, almost intimate. "Well... it's not what you think. Not love. Not romance. It's... a contract. A marriage contract they signed together. For appearances. For the family."
Andrian froze, knuckles tightening against the desk. Pulse racing. His eyes flickered with anger, confusion, and a protective edge that Catherine had anticipated perfectly.
"What... what do you mean?" he asked, voice taut.
Catherine leaned in, her smile sharp, coated with just enough concern to manipulate. "They're acting as a couple. That's all. Everything else? Pretend. Performance. And Scarlett... she doesn't love him."
His jaw clenched, fists curling at his sides. Memories flashed—the days he had watched Scarlett, moments that had always made him question the surface of their relationship. Now the contract confirmed it. Every doubt, every instinct, validated.
"And if she knew you knew..." Catherine's tone slid into silk and steel, suggestive and deliberate. "She might realize she has someone who truly cares—someone real. Someone like you."
Andrian's eyes flared with a mix of longing, fury, and determination. Catherine let the silence linger, letting him assemble the picture herself.
"Because I know Ethan," she continued, voice low, dripping with cunning. "He would do anything to build his empire. He could create a situation Scarlett couldn't refuse. But she... she willingly signed this contract too. Poor thing."
Her words were a knife, twisting through his protective instincts, igniting the desire to act.
"Tell me what you want," he said finally.
Direct.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
Catherine's pulse fluttered once—but her voice stayed smooth.
"I want Ethan back."
The honesty hung between them like glass.
"And you," she continued, "want Scarlett safe."
His gaze darkened. "Say what you're implying."
"If we separate them," she said calmly, "you get what you want. I get what I want."
His eyes hardened. "You're talking about people like they're business deals."
"No," she said softly. "I'm talking about rescuing someone from the wrong life."
He stared at her.
Silent.
Calculating.
"And how exactly," he asked slowly, "do you plan to separate them?"
Catherine leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. Poised. Certain.
"If you join me," she said, "I'll show you."
His voice dropped.
"I like her. Yes. But that doesn't mean I'll hurt her. If anything you do harms Scarlett—"
"I know," Catherine interrupted gently. "You won't spare me."
Their eyes locked.
A challenge.
A promise.
A warning.
For a long moment, neither looked away.
Then—
"And give me time," he said.
The words were quiet.
But decisive.
"I need to think."
Catherine inclined her head. "Of course."
"And meanwhile," he added, voice sharpening, "no one else finds out about this."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Another pause.
Then he turned and walked toward the door.
He stopped just before leaving.
Not looking back, he said, "If this is a lie, Catherine..."
"It isn't."
He opened the door.
Left.
The latch clicked shut.
Silence flooded the room.
Catherine didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Then slowly—
Her lips curled.
Predatory.
Satisfied.
Hooked, she thought.
She lifted the flash drive from the desk, rolling it between her fingers like a coin deciding someone's fate.
Poor Andrian.
Do you really think you're protecting her?
Her smile deepened, eyes glittering in the city glow.
When the time comes...
You'll be the one who destroys her.
--
The door had barely clicked shut behind him when the hallway air felt different.
He didn't walk immediately.
Andrian stood there, fingers still curled slightly at his sides, Catherine's words echoing in his ears like a slow, poisonous echo.
Not love.
Not real.
Not chosen.
His chest rose once.
Slow.
Heavy.
And suddenly—
Everything made sense.
---
He stepped into the elevator, but he didn't remember pressing the button.
Because his mind was no longer in the present.
It was unraveling backward.
Scene by scene.
Moment by moment.
Memory began replaying itself like a film he'd never understood until now.
---
Music. Laughter. Crystal glasses clinking under chandeliers.
Scarlett had stood beside Ethan that night in a black dress that caught every light in the room. She'd looked untouchable. Elegant. Composed. A perfect wife.
Until Ethan's phone rang.
And he left.
No explanation.
No glance back.
No hand on her shoulder.
Nothing.
Just turned—
—and walked away.
Straight to Catherine.
Andrian had watched from across the hall as Ethan leaned close to Catherine, their conversation private, their distance nonexistent. Too close. Too familiar.
He remembered looking back at Scarlett.
She was still smiling.
Still greeting guests.
Still nodding politely.
But her fingers—
Her fingers had tightened almost invisibly around her champagne glass.
The stem trembled.
Just once.
Anyone else would have missed it.
He hadn't. And at the end he left with Catherine and leave Scarlett alone in the there.
At the time, he thought—
Now he knew—
---
The elevator doors slid open.
He stepped out, but the memory didn't release him.
It shifted.
Dragged him somewhere else.
---
Sunlight filtering through restaurant windows. The soft murmur of business conversations. Scarlett sitting across from Ethan at the table like she belonged there.
Like she should have belonged there.
The waiter had arrived.
"Sir, should I bring a menu for your colleague as well?"
Colleague.
Not wife.
Ethan hadn't corrected him.
Hadn't even looked up.
"Yes."
Just that.
One word.
Flat.
Professional.
Indifferent.
Scarlett smiled politely and thanked the waiter.
As if nothing had happened.
Andrian had been there that day.
He remembered how her smile didn't reach her eyes.
He remembered how she stirred her drink long after the ice had melted.
He remembered thinking—
Now he knew.
Because there was nothing to claim.
---
His steps slowed along the pavement outside.
Night air brushed his face, cool, grounding.
But the memories kept coming.
---
They had been standing near her car after a late meeting.
Streetlights casting gold along her hair.
He had asked it before he could stop himself.
"Do you love him?"
He hadn't meant to ask.
It had slipped out.
She had frozen.
Not dramatically.
Just...
Still.
Her hand resting on the car door handle.
Her eyes shifted away from him.
Silence.
Long enough to become an answer.
She never said yes.
She never said no.
She just smiled faintly and said—
"It's late. You should go home."
He remembered the hollow feeling that had settled in his chest as she drove away.
At the time, he thought—
Now he understood—
---
A car passed. Headlights streaked across the street.
Andrian didn't notice.
Because another memory struck harder than the rest.
---
Ethan and Catherine.
It had been quick.
Almost nothing.
The kind of embrace people could excuse.
But Andrian had seen Scarlett's face in that exact second.
Not her posture.
Not her expression for the world.
Her face.
The real one.
It had shattered.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
But he saw it.
Her eyes had gone still.
Her lips parted just slightly.
Like something inside her had cracked without permission.
Then—
One blink.
And it was gone.
Smile back in place.
Mask restored.
He'd felt something twist violently in his chest when he saw it.
He didn't understand why it bothered him so much.
Why it haunted him.
Why did he want to step between them?
Now—
Now he knew.
She hadn't been jealous.
She'd been hurt.
Not as a wife.
But as a woman trapped in a role she never wanted.
---
His hands slowly clenched.
Contract.
Every memory reshaped itself around that word like iron around a magnet.
Her restraint.
Her distance.
Her carefulness with Ethan.
Her ease with him.
Because yes—
There was a difference.
With Ethan, she was precise.
Measured.
Guarded.
Every word chosen.
Every movement was controlled.
With Andrian?
She breathed.
She laughed without thinking.
She leaned slightly closer when she spoke.
Her eyes softened.
Not performance.
Not duty.
Real.
His chest tightened.
God.
Had she been suffocating this whole time?
Had she been carrying that alone while the world admired her "perfect marriage"?
His jaw set.
Catherine's voice slid back into his thoughts.
The word echoed.
Save.
---
He stopped walking.
Streetlight glow cut across his face, half shadow, half gold.
If the contract was real...
If she truly wasn't loved...
If she had signed it because she had no choice...
Then staying silent—
Wouldn't that mean abandoning her?
His breathing deepened.
Slow.
Controlled.
But something inside him was shifting.
Not impulsively.
Not recklessly.
Deliberately.
Because Andrian wasn't a man who rushed into decisions.
He was a man who committed once he chose.
And right now—
For the first time—
He was considering choosing a side.
---
Behind his calm expression, one final realization formed.
Quiet.
Dangerous.
I might be the only one who can pull her out of this.
His fingers tightened slowly into fists.
And somewhere far above the city skyline—
A storm was beginning to turn toward Ethan Blackwood.
Andrian lifted his gaze, eyes dark with resolve.
He hadn't agreed to Catherine's plan yet.
But he also hadn't refused.
And the most dangerous decisions in the world—
Were the ones made in silence.
–