Unexpected

I feel the exhaustion creeping in. But it's not just physical—it's the mental strain of trying to maintain control in a situation that feels increasingly unpredictable. I need to clear my head, to reset before I make a mistake that could cost me everything.

I drop my bag on the chair by the door and head straight for the bathroom, turning on the cold water and splashing it on my face. The shock of it grounds me, cutting through the fog that's settled over my thoughts. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, watching as droplets of water slide down my face. The woman looking back at me is composed, but there's something in her eyes—something that wasn't there before. Doubt. Uncertainty.

I dry my face with a towel and lean against the sink, taking a deep breath. I need to pull it together. Damien might be getting closer, but I'm not out of the game yet. I've faced tougher challenges than this, and I've always come out on top. But as much as I try to convince myself, I can't shake the feeling that something is different this time.

Just as I'm about to step back into the room, my phone buzzes on the counter. I pick it up, half-expecting another message from the organization, but it's a text from an unknown number. My pulse quickens as I open it.

Unknown: We need to talk. Tonight. 8 p.m. Room 410. Come alone.

My heart skips a beat as I stare at the screen. This wasn't part of the plan. I don't know who this is, or what they want, but the tone of the message is clear—this isn't a request. It's a demand.

For a moment, I consider ignoring it. This could be a trap, another layer of the game I'm playing with Damien. But something tells me that I can't afford to ignore this. Whoever sent this message knows something—something they want to share, something they believe I need to hear.

I glance at the clock—3 p.m. I have five hours until the meeting. Five hours to prepare for whatever awaits me in Room 410.

I drop the phone on the bed and start pacing, my mind racing with possibilities. It could be someone from the organization, someone who's been watching me, who knows I'm getting too close to Damien. Or it could be someone from Cross Industries, someone who's noticed the tension between us and wants to exploit it. The possibilities are endless, and none of them are comforting.

I can't ignore this, but I can't walk into it blind either. I need to be ready for anything.

I spend the next few hours combing through my notes, reviewing everything I've learned about Cross Industries, about Damien, about the organization that sent me here. But no matter how much I dig, I can't find anything that gives me a clue about who sent that message, or what they want from me.

As the clock ticks closer to 8 p.m., I feel the tension in my chest tighten. This is it. Whatever happens tonight, it could change everything.

I change into something more practical—black jeans, a simple top, a jacket with enough pockets to hide a few tools if I need them. I can't afford to take chances, not when I don't know what I'm walking into.

At 7:45 p.m., I leave my room, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. The hotel is quiet, most of the guests probably out for dinner or in their rooms for the night. As I reach the fourth floor, I hesitate for just a moment before continuing down the hallway.

Room 410 is at the end of the hall, the door closed, no sounds coming from inside. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before I knock.

There's a pause, and then the door opens just a crack. A man's voice, low and cautious, comes from the other side. "Ms. Winters?"

"Yes," I reply, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart.

The door opens wider, revealing a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a suit that's a little too expensive for someone trying to keep a low profile. His eyes scan the hallway before he steps back, motioning for me to come in.

I step inside, the door closing behind me with a soft click. The room is dimly lit, just a lamp on the bedside table casting a warm glow. The man gestures for me to sit in the chair near the window, and I oblige, keeping my expression neutral, my senses on high alert.

"Who are you?" I ask, keeping my voice calm, controlled.

The man sits on the edge of the bed, his posture tense. "My name doesn't matter. What matters is what I know."

"And what is it that you know?" I ask, leaning forward slightly.

He hesitates, his gaze flickering to the window as if he's afraid someone might be watching. "I know who you really are, Ms. Winters. I know why you're here."

My heart skips a beat, but I keep my expression neutral. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

He meets my gaze, his expression serious. "You can drop the act. I know you're not who you say you are. And I'm not the only one who's noticed."

I swallow, the tension in my chest tightening. "What do you want?"

He leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I want to help you. But you need to be careful. Damien Cross isn't what he seems. He's dangerous, and if you're not careful, he'll destroy you."

A chill runs down my spine at his words. "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head, standing up and pacing the room. "There's so much more at play here than you realize. Cross Industries, the organization that sent you—it's all connected. And Damien is at the center of it. He knows more than he's letting on, and if you get too close, he'll use it against you."

I stand up, my heart pounding in my chest. "Why should I trust you?"

He stops pacing, turning to face me. "You don't have to trust me. But if you want to survive this, you'll listen to what I have to say."

For a moment, we stand in silence, the weight of his words hanging between us. I don't know if I can trust him, but I can't ignore what he's saying either. If Damien is more dangerous than I thought, then I need to be prepared.

"What do you want from me?" I ask finally.

He steps closer, his expression serious. "I want you to dig deeper. Find out what Damien is really after, what he's hiding. And when you do, come back to me. We'll bring him down together."

His words send a shiver down my spine, and I can't help but wonder if this is the misstep I've been trying to avoid. But something tells me that this is a path I have to follow, no matter where it leads.

I nod slowly, my mind racing with possibilities. "I'll think about it."

"Good," he says, moving toward the door. "But be careful, Ms. Winters. Damien Cross isn't just a businessman. He's a hunter, and you're his prey."

With that, he opens the door and disappears into the hallway, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room, my thoughts spinning in a thousand different directions.

I sit back down in the chair, staring out at the city lights beyond the window. The desire I felt for Damien earlier is still there, but now it's mixed with something else—fear. The stakes have just been raised, and I'm no longer sure who I can trust, or if I can trust anyone at all.

But one thing is clear: the game I'm playing has just taken a dangerous turn, and if I'm not careful, I could lose everything.