Chapter 6 - The Night Someone Entered My Apartment
I stared at the photograph until the edges blurred.
Adrian took the phone from my hand.
His face changed instantly.
“Marco.”
Marco was beside him before the second syllable.
“Trace it.”
“Already on it.”
I could not stop looking at the image.
My bedroom.
My lamp.
The old paperback on the nightstand.
Me, asleep on my left side with one hand beneath my cheek and the beginning of my pregnancy barely visible under the blanket.
Someone had been inside my apartment.
Close enough to photograph me.
I whispered, “I changed the locks twice.”
Adrian crouched beside the bed.
“Elena.”
“I had motion sensors.”
“Elena, look at me.”
I did.
“You are safe here.”
“Don’t say that.”
He stopped.
“You don’t know that.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re right.”
That frightened me more.
Marco returned. “Burner number. Routed through four services. We won’t get a location quickly.”
“Send the image metadata to Luca.”
I frowned. “Who is Luca?”
“My cyber specialist.”
“You have a cyber specialist?”
Adrian gave me a look.
“Of course you have a cyber specialist.”
Another contraction tightened my stomach.
I breathed through it.
Dr. Patel checked the monitor again.
“Still irregular, but not labor.”
“Yet,” I said.
He did not answer.
Adrian handed my phone back but had Marco clone the image first.
“Did anything unusual happen around the time this photo was taken?” he asked.
I looked at the timestamp.
June 14.
Three months earlier.
I thought back.
“The bookstore alarm malfunctioned that week.”
“Your apartment was above the store?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone have keys?”
“My landlord. The owner of the bookstore. Me.”
“Names.”
I glared at him.
He corrected himself. “Please.”
Despite myself, I said, “Harold Finch owns the building. Naomi Price owns the bookstore.”
Marco typed both names.
Varen stood near the window looking increasingly haunted.
I noticed.
“What are you not telling us?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“That is a lie.”
Adrian looked at him.
Varen sighed.
“Bellini preferred long-term observation. She called it environmental tracking.”
I felt sick.
“She watched women?”
“Sometimes for years.”
“For what?”
“Stress response. Diet. fertility cycles. partner compatibility.”
Adrian swore under his breath.
I asked, “Did she watch me before I met Adrian?”
Varen looked at me.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Two years.”
I laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“So my life was a lab rat experiment.”
“No,” Adrian said.
I turned on him. “Stop trying to soften this.”
“I’m not.”
“You are part of the family that did it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“That does not erase it.”
“I know.”
Again, that answer stole some of my anger.
I hated him for learning.
Marco’s phone rang.
He listened for thirty seconds.
Then looked at me.
“Naomi Price does not exist.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“No birth record under that identity. No tax history before four years ago. Her bookstore company is owned through a trust.”
I stared.
“I worked beside her every day.”
“Did she know you were pregnant?”
I thought of Naomi bringing me ginger tea during morning sickness.
Covering shifts when I had appointments.
Helping me choose loose sweaters.
Telling me she would never post pictures.
“Yes.”
“Did she ever ask about doctors?”
“Casually.”
“Medication?”
“Yes.”
“Your ex-husband?”
“All the time.”
The betrayal landed slowly.
I whispered, “Find her.”
Marco nodded.
Twenty minutes later, he came back.
“The bookstore is closed.”
“Today?”
“Permanently. Sign on the door says family emergency.”
“She texted me yesterday.”
“Her phone is disconnected.”
My throat tightened.
Adrian touched my hand.
This time I did not pull away.
“Naomi may have been Bellini’s observer,” Varen said.
I looked at him. “May?”
“That was Bellini’s pattern. Place someone close enough to appear harmless.”
“Like a bookstore owner.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the city beyond the window.
Eight months of hiding suddenly felt ridiculous.
I had not disappeared.
I had been moved into a controlled environment.
The quiet apartment.
The flexible bookstore job.
The clinic recommendation Naomi had given me after I complained about my first obstetrician.
My stomach dropped.
“Wait.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Naomi recommended this clinic.”
Dr. Patel frowned. “The one where Adrian found you?”
“Yes.”
“How did you think he found you?” Marco asked.
I looked at Adrian.
He answered.
“I didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was there to meet someone.”
I stared.
“Who?”
“A physician who claimed to have information about a Moretti financial account being used for medical research.”
The room went silent.
“What physician?”
“Anonymous message. Told me to come alone.”
“You came with bodyguards.”
“I interpreted alone creatively.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
Then I realized.
“You were sent there.”
“Yes.”
“And I was sent there.”
“Yes.”
Varen whispered, “Bellini wanted you to meet.”
Adrian’s eyes hardened. “Why?”
No one knew.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This one contained no photo.
Just an address.
And beneath it:
IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY YOUR DAUGHTER EXISTS, COME WITHOUT POLICE.
I showed Adrian.
He looked at Marco.
Marco said, “Absolutely not.”
For once, Adrian agreed.
Then a second message arrived.
A short video.
Naomi sat tied to a chair in a dark room, blood at her temple.
She looked directly into the camera.
“Elena,” she whispered, “I’m sorry. I tried to get you out before they realized I switched sides.”
The video cut.
A final line appeared.
MIDNIGHT. ONE HOUR.
I stared at the screen.
“Switched sides?” Adrian said.
Varen whispered, “Then she wasn’t Bellini’s observer anymore.”
I looked at him.
“What was she?”
His answer was almost worse.
“Your protector.”
For the first time since I had left Adrian, I understood that disappearing had never been the same as being free. I had chosen streets where no one knew my name, bought groceries with cash, stopped wearing the perfume Adrian loved because I feared someone might recognize it, and convinced myself secrecy was safety. Yet Nora had known my cravings, Bellini had known my medical appointments, and someone had stood beside my bed while I slept. The realization made my skin crawl.
Adrian must have seen it on my face. “You do not have to be brave every second,” he said.
“I’m not trying to be brave.”
“What are you trying to be?”
“Useful.”
He nodded slowly. “That I understand.”
I looked at him. “No more secrets because you think I can’t handle them.”
“No more.”
“Even ugly ones.”
May you like
“Especially ugly ones.”
It was not forgiveness. But it was the first agreement between us that felt stronger than fear.
