Charlotte's POV
The phone slipped from my shaking hands and hit the floor with a crack.
My eyes stayed glued to the message on the screen: "Stop looking at Section 7. Delete your notes. Forget what you saw."
Someone was watching me. Right now. They knew exactly what I was doing.
The door finished opening, and I jumped up from my chair so fast it rolled backward and crashed into the file cabinet.
A security guard stood in the hallway. Officer Peters. I recognized him from the main door. He looked confused, not threatening. "Miss Harris? You okay? I heard something crash."
My heart was still racing, but I forced myself to breathe. "Y-yes. Sorry. I just dropped my phone. Startled me."
He glanced around my tiny office, taking in the messy desk, the blinking Christmas tree, and the stacks of papers everywhere. "You're here pretty late. It's almost one-thirty." "Just finishing up some work." I bent down and picked up my phone, turning it over. The screen was cracked, but I could still see that terrible message glowing through the broken glass. "Well, don't stay too much longer. Even hard workers need sleep." Officer Peters smiled kindly and walked away, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
I locked the door behind him with shaky fingers.
That text message wasn't from Peters. He'd been doing normal rounds. But someone else, someone who could see what I was doing on my computer, had sent me a message.
I stared at my computer screen. The Section 7 reports were still open, showing all the trends I'd noticed. The dates. The numbers. The unusual moves that happened exactly one month apart.
Delete your notes.
My finger hovered over the keyboard. I should do what the message said. Delete everything. Pretend I never saw anything. Go home and work on tomorrow's ball with Marcus.
But something stubborn inside me refused.
I'd spent two years doing this job. Two years of being invisible, being overlooked, being treated like I didn't matter. Finally, I'd found something real. Something important. And someone asked me to pretend it didn't exist?
No.
I wouldn't delete my notes. But I wouldn't keep them on this computer either.
I grabbed a USB drive from my desk drawer and copied all the Section 7 files. Every single report. Every note I'd made. Everything. Then I shoved the USB drive deep into my bag.
On my computer, I deleted the detailed notes I'd just made. I left only the basic flag I'd made earlier: "Section 7 - possible pattern. Recommend review."
Vague enough to seem innocent. Specific enough to do my job.
If someone checked my computer, they'd see I'd followed normal processes. Nothing suspicious. Just a junior analyst doing everyday work.
My phone buzzed again, and I nearly screamed.
But this time, it was Marcus. "Are you still at the office? It's late. You should go home and rest for tomorrow."
Relief flooded through me. Marcus. My Marcus. He always checked on me, made sure I was safe.
I texted back quickly: "Leaving now. Can't wait for tomorrow night."
His answer came immediately: "Me neither. Sleep well, beautiful."
I smiled, feeling the fear from earlier fade a little. Tomorrow night, I'll see Marcus at the ball. Maybe I'd mention the weird Section 7 thing to him. He'd know what to do. He was a general; he understood military stuff way better than I did.
I grabbed my bag, shut down my computer, and turned off my little Christmas tree. The office fell into darkness except for the dim hallway light coming through the window.
As I walked to my car in the empty parking lot, the cold December air bit at my face. Snow was starting to fall, tiny flakes that sparkled under the lamps.
I kept thinking about those stories. Why would someone tell me to stop looking? If it was really nothing important, why would anyone care?
Unless it was important. Really important.
My car was old and took three tries to start in the cold. As the engine finally rumbled to life, I noticed something.
A black car was parked across the lot. Engine running. Headlights off.
Just sitting there.
Watching.
I put my car in gear and drove away quickly, checking my rearview mirror every few seconds. The black car didn't follow me, but my hands stayed tight on the steering wheel the whole drive home.
Marcus's POV
Marcus Steele stared at his phone, reading Colonel Frost's message for the third time. "The omega analyst found the trend. She marked it in the system. She's becoming a problem."
He cursed under his breath and poured himself a drink. The expensive whiskey burned going down, but it didn't calm his nerves.
Charlotte. Sweet, innocent, too-smart-for-her-own-good Charlotte.
He'd spent six months carefully handling her. Keeping her occupied. Making her feel special so she'd focus on him instead of her work. It had been working wonderfully.
Until tonight.
His phone rang. Colonel Frost. "Tell me she didn't see too much," Frost's cold voice demanded. "I don't know yet. I'll find out tomorrow." "Tomorrow? We don't have time for tomorrow. If she's figured out the code system, "She hasn't," Marcus interrupted. "Charlotte's smart, but she doesn't understand what she's looking at. She just sees patterns. She doesn't know what they mean." "Are you sure? Because if she keeps digging, "I'm sure. I know her. She trusts me completely. I'll handle it."
There was a long pause. Marcus could hear Frost breathing on the other end of the line. "The ball is tomorrow night," Frost finally said. "That's when we move forward with the plan. Charlotte will be there. It's the perfect chance."
Marcus's stomach twisted. "What plan?" "The one we talked about. She's a loose end now. We can't risk her finding out more. After you announce your engagement to Isabelle Kane, Charlotte will be embarrassed and desperate. She'll try to leave the ball. That's when our people will stop her. Make it look like an accident on her drive home." "You want to kill her?" Marcus's voice came out sharper than he intended. "I want to remove a threat. Don't tell me you've grown actual feelings for the girl. She was always just a tool. A way to watch the intelligence department."
Marcus thought about Charlotte's smile. The way she looked at him was like he was something special. The way she believed every lie he told her. "No feelings," he said flatly. "She's just useful. But killing her seems extreme." "Extreme is letting her reveal a twenty-year operation because you wanted to play boyfriend. This is your mess, Marcus. We're cleaning it up. Be ready tomorrow night. Play your part. Announce your news. Let Charlotte react. Then walk away and let us handle the rest."
The line went dead.
Marcus sat in his expensive apartment, looking at nothing. Tomorrow night at the ball, he'd destroy Charlotte emotionally. And then Frost's people would destroy her physically.
All because she was too good at her job.
His phone buzzed with a new message. From Charlotte: "Leaving now. Can't wait for tomorrow night."
He typed back: "Me neither. Sleep well, beautiful."
The lies came so easily now.
Charlotte's POV
I lay in bed, unable to sleep even though I was tired.
That USB drive was in my bag across the room. The Section 7 files. The patterns I'd found.
Tomorrow was going to be the best night of my life. The ball. Marcus. Finally being seen as someone important.
But something felt wrong. That warning text. The black car is in the parking lot. The way Colonel Frost's name kept appearing in those papers.
My wolf was restless, pacing inside me. She felt danger even if I didn't fully understand it yet.
I pulled out my broken phone and looked at that message again: "Stop looking at Section 7. Delete your notes. Forget what you saw."
Why? What was in Section 7 that someone didn't want me to find?
I should call someone. Report this. But report what? That I got a scary text? Did I see trends in data?
They'd think I was nervous. Crazy. Making trouble where none existed.
Marcus would know what to do. Tomorrow night, I'd tell him everything. He'd protect me. He cared about me.
Didn't he?
My phone buzzed one more time. Another unknown number.
My hands shook as I opened the message. "You were warned. Now you'll face the results. Enjoy the ball, Charlotte. It's the last party you'll ever join."