Shadows and strategies
1301 Words
Harper
I didn’t sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that message again — Careful, darling. Not everyone survives his world.
The words crawled under my skin like smoke. I’d read them so many times I could still see the exact curve of each letter, the faint indentation of expensive pen ink pressed into the card.
By morning, my nerves were raw. Coffee couldn’t touch the exhaustion pressing against my skull. When I got to the office, I didn’t go straight to my desk. I went to Alexander’s floor.
His assistant barely had time to announce me before I walked into his office, clutching the envelope.
He was on the phone, pacing, his voice clipped and professional. “No, I don’t care what they’re printing. The narrative is under control. Keep it that way.” His gaze snapped to me mid-sentence, and his tone shifted instantly. “We’ll speak later.” He hung up. “Harper?”
I shut the door behind me and slid the envelope across his desk. “Someone left that at my apartment last night.”
He stared at it, brow furrowing. “At your door?”
“Yes.”
He opened it, his expression darkening as he read the note. Then his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “This handwriting—it’s hers.”
“Vivienne?”
He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly. “She used to send me notes like this after business dinners or events. It’s—” He stopped himself, inhaled deeply. “It’s her.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. “I knew she hated me, but this… this feels personal.”
“It is personal.” His voice was low now, all steel and control. “She wants to rattle you. To make you question whether you belong here.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Mission accomplished.”
He crossed the space between us in three long strides, stopping close enough that I could smell his cologne — cedar, smoke, and something sharp like winter. “You don’t get to let her win, Harper.”
My throat tightened. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this. The press, the stares, her games—”
He reached out, his hand brushing my elbow lightly. “Then we change the rules.”
⸻
By noon, Alexander had cancelled two meetings and called for a private session with the security team. I sat quietly while he laid out the situation with a calmness that was terrifying in its precision.
“She left it on her doorstep,” he said evenly. “No return address, no cameras catching the delivery. I want eyes on her building, her phone monitored for leaks, and her social media under constant watch.”
The head of security nodded, jotting notes. “Understood, sir.”
It wasn’t lost on me how quickly he’d shifted into command mode — this was the Alexander Cole the world saw, the billionaire with power in his tone and certainty in his words.
When the meeting ended, he turned back to me. “You’re not staying at your apartment tonight.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not secure.” His voice left no room for argument.
“I can take care of myself, Alexander.”
“I know you can,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”
I stared at him, unsure whether to be angry or grateful. “And where do you suggest I go?”
He hesitated — just long enough for me to realize he already knew the answer. “My place.”
I blinked. “That’s not—”
“It’s practical,” he interrupted. “There’s a security system, and it’s the one place she won’t risk showing her face.”
I crossed my arms. “You really think Vivienne’s going to break into my flat and attack me?”
“I think she’s unstable enough to push boundaries,” he said. “And you just became her favorite target.”
The silence between us was thick, heavy with things neither of us wanted to admit — fear, frustration, and that pull that kept getting stronger no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.
Finally, I sighed. “Fine. One night.”
“Good,” he said, but the edge of tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.
⸻
That evening, I packed a small bag and called Lila.
“She what?” Lila’s voice screeched through the speaker. “She left you a threat note? Harper, that’s insane!”
“I know,” I muttered, shoving my laptop into the bag. “Alexander’s handling it.”
“Handling it how?”
“By insisting I stay at his place for a few days.”
There was a pause. Then: “Oh.” A grin I could hear through the phone. “Ohhh.”
“It’s not like that,” I said, rolling my eyes even though she couldn’t see me.
“Sure, Harper. You’re just staying at your billionaire fake fiancé’s penthouse for safety reasons.”
I groaned. “Goodbye, Lila.”
“Call me if he cooks you dinner in a suit,” she teased before hanging up.
⸻
When I arrived, the penthouse was exactly as I remembered — sleek, cold, immaculate. But tonight, there was something different. Softer. The lights were dimmer, the scent of something rich and warm drifted from the kitchen.
“Are you… cooking?” I asked, stunned.
He glanced over his shoulder from the stove, sleeves rolled up, tie gone. “I can handle a skillet,” he said. “I don’t just eat takeout.”
The sight of him — relaxed, domestic even — did strange things to my pulse.
We ate quietly at the island, the city glittering beyond the windows. For a while, it felt almost normal. Until I set down my fork and whispered, “She really scared me, Alexander.”
He looked up, his expression softening. “I know.”
“I’ve dealt with difficult people before. Clients, rivals. But this… she’s playing a different game.”
He nodded slowly. “Vivienne doesn’t know how to lose. She built her image around being untouchable. When she left me, she didn’t expect I’d ever move on. Now she’s realizing she doesn’t have control anymore.”
I watched him for a moment. “You cared about her once.”
He met my gaze. “Once. But not anymore.”
Something in his tone made my breath catch — the certainty, the quiet intensity.
“Then why does she still get to you?” I asked.
He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I don’t like seeing people I care about being hurt.”
My chest tightened. “You care about me?”
He hesitated — the briefest flicker — before replying softly, “I wouldn’t be doing all this if I didn’t.”
For a moment, I couldn’t look away. The air between us hummed, charged and fragile. His gaze flicked to my lips before he stood abruptly, breaking the tension.
“You should get some rest,” he said quietly. “The guest room’s ready.”
⸻
Lying in the oversized bed later, I stared at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the city outside. My phone buzzed on the nightstand — a message from Lila.
Still alive? Or is this turning into a billionaire fairytale?
I smiled faintly but didn’t reply.
Because in the next room, I could hear Alexander’s footsteps pacing the floor — slow, restless, heavy.
And I couldn’t tell if it was the fear keeping me awake.
Or the feeling that something between us was starting to shift for real.
- Writer
