Sophia's POV
Sophia Hart sat at the corner table of her favorite diner, a half-empty coffee cup in front of her and her laptop glowing with notes from the gala. The city hummed outside, neon lights reflecting off rain-slicked streets, but her focus was razor-sharp.
Her recorder sat next to her, replaying snippets of Ethan Blackwood's voice from their brief exchange. Smooth, calculated, and annoyingly magnetic. He was used to control, to people bending to his charm. Sophia wasn't one of those people.
"Ethan Blackwood," she murmured, typing his name into her notes. "Born in Brooklyn, worked his way up, founded Blackwood Industries at twenty-five. Corporate mogul, philanthropist, playboy. But what's your real story?"
Her cursor hovered over the phrase 'Look deeper. The truth lies beneath Blackwood.' The message from the gala had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. Anonymous tips weren't unusual in her line of work, but this one felt... different. It wasn't just a breadcrumb; it was a warning.
Her phone buzzed, dragging her from her thoughts.
"Hey, Liza," Sophia answered, already bracing herself.
"You're still working, aren't you?" her sister's exasperated voice came through.
Sophia leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "Define 'working.'"
"Digging up dirt on someone powerful enough to ruin your life if you step on the wrong toes?"
"Then yes, I'm working."
Liza sighed. "Soph, I know you're good at what you do, but Ethan Blackwood? He's not just rich; he's untouchable. Be careful."
Sophia's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Careful isn't exactly my brand."
"I mean it," Liza pressed. "Whatever you're looking for, just—promise me you'll think twice before jumping in headfirst."
Sophia's gaze flicked to her laptop screen, where Ethan's photo stared back at her. "I always think twice," she lied.
The next morning, Sophia stood outside the Blackwood Foundation headquarters, clutching a steaming cup of coffee. The sleek glass building towered above her, a monument to power and wealth.
Her source had promised to meet her here—a former Blackwood Industries employee with information about the company's darker dealings. Sophia had spent weeks chasing this lead, and she wasn't about to let it slip through her fingers.
"Ms. Hart?"
Sophia turned to see a man in his mid-forties, his suit rumpled and his expression wary. He looked over his shoulder twice before stepping closer.
"Mr. Lawson," she greeted. "Thanks for meeting me."
He didn't respond immediately, his eyes scanning the street. "I don't have much time," he said finally. "What do you want to know?"
Sophia pulled out her notebook. "I'm investigating Blackwood Industries. Specifically, their involvement in a case from ten years ago—a young woman named Rachel Turner went missing. Her last known connection was to one of Blackwood's subsidiaries."
Lawson paled at the name. "You're digging in the wrong place, Ms. Hart. If you're smart, you'll drop this."
"That's not how I work," Sophia said firmly. "What do you know about Rachel?"
He hesitated, then leaned in closer. "Rachel didn't just disappear. She was silenced. And if you keep asking questions, you might be next."
Sophia's stomach tightened, but she kept her voice steady. "Who silenced her?"
Lawson's gaze darted around again. "I've already said too much. Just—be careful, okay?" He turned to leave, but Sophia grabbed his arm.
"Wait. Who's behind this?"
Lawson shook his head. "You don't want to know."
He pulled away and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Sophia standing on the sidewalk, her mind racing.
By the time she returned to her apartment, Sophia's adrenaline had turned to frustration. Lawson's warning only deepened her resolve, but it also left her with more questions than answers.
She spread her notes across the table, her fingers drumming against the wood as she tried to piece everything together. Blackwood Industries, Rachel Turner, the anonymous tip... It all pointed back to Ethan.
But the man she'd met at the gala didn't fit the profile of a cold-blooded criminal. He was too polished, too controlled. If he was hiding something, he'd buried it deep.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Sophia frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone. Cautiously, she approached, peering through the peephole.
No one was there.
She opened the door a crack, her heart skipping when she saw the envelope on the floor. It was unmarked, no name or address.
Sophia picked it up and tore it open, her pulse quickening as she read the single sheet of paper inside:
"You're in over your head. Walk away before it's too late."
Her breath caught. The letters were cut from magazines, the kind of clichéd threat she'd seen in movies. But there was nothing clichéd about the icy dread creeping up her spine.
She stepped back, locking the door behind her. Whoever sent this knew where she lived. They wanted her scared.
And it was working.
But fear wasn't enough to stop her. If anything, it only fueled her determination. Someone wanted to keep her from the truth, and that meant she was on the right track.
Sophia sat back down at her laptop, her hands trembling as she typed. She pulled up every article, record, and lead she could find on Ethan Blackwood, searching for a crack in his perfect facade.
Her phone buzzed again, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She grabbed it, expecting another warning, but it was a message from her editor:
"New lead: Blackwood Industries warehouse, Pier 47. Midnight. Be careful."
Sophia stared at the screen, her pulse pounding. This was it—the break she'd been waiting for.
She grabbed her coat and recorder, ignoring the voice in her head that sounded suspicious
ly like Liza. Whatever waited for her at Pier 47, she was ready.
Or so she told herself.