บท 15: The Enemy Within
The city lights blurred past me as I sat in the backseat of a cab, my thoughts spinning faster than the wheels on the slick pavement. The threatening text weighed heavy on my mind, but it didn't deter me. If anything, it only strengthened my resolve.
Someone out there knew the truth about my child's death. Someone was watching me, trying to intimidate me into silence.
They'd picked the wrong woman to threaten.
By the time the cab pulled up to my building, my plan was already forming. I didn't just want to uncover the truth—I wanted to expose it. But to do that, I needed leverage.
---
The apartment was eerily quiet when I stepped inside, the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator. Claire had insisted on staying late at the office to catch up on some work, so I was alone with my thoughts.
I dropped my purse on the counter and poured myself a glass of wine, trying to calm my nerves. My phone buzzed with a notification, and I almost didn't want to look.
To my relief, it was a message from the private investigator:
"I've traced the number. It's a burner phone. No name, no address, but the location pings near the Sinclair estate. Coincidence?"
I stared at the message, my grip tightening around the glass. Maria.
Was it possible she'd sent the text? Or was she just another pawn in this twisted game?
Either way, I wasn't going to get answers sitting at home.
---
The Sinclair estate was a sprawling mansion on the outskirts of the city, hidden behind wrought iron gates and an impeccably manicured garden. I'd been here once before, during the early days of my marriage to Dante, when Maria had hosted a charity gala.
Even then, I'd felt out of place. Now, standing outside the gates under the cover of darkness, I felt like an intruder.
I'd parked my car a few blocks away and walked the rest of the way, hoping to avoid drawing attention.
I scaled the gate with more ease than I thought I'd have—thank you, yoga—and slipped into the garden, my heart pounding in my chest.
The mansion loomed ahead, its windows glowing softly in the night. I needed to find a way inside without being seen.
---
The study was exactly as I remembered it—dark wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and an oversized desk that seemed more for show than actual use.
I moved quickly, my gloved hands rifling through the papers on the desk. Bank statements, invitations to high-society events, a few scribbled notes—nothing that seemed relevant.
Then I found it. A locked drawer on the right side of the desk.
I tugged at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. Biting my lip, I searched the desk for a key, finally finding one hidden under a stack of documents.
The drawer opened with a soft click, revealing a folder marked "Confidential."
I flipped through the contents, my breath catching as I read the first few lines. It was a series of emails between Maria and someone only identified as "D." They spoke in vague terms, but one thing was clear—they were discussing me.
---
I barely had time to process what I'd found when a noise outside the study made me freeze.
Footsteps.
I shoved the folder into my bag and closed the drawer, moving quickly to hide behind the heavy curtains that framed the window.
The door creaked open, and I held my breath as someone entered the room.
Through a small gap in the curtains, I saw Maria. She was on her phone, speaking in a hushed tone.
"Yes, I know," she said. "But she's getting too close. If she keeps digging, we'll have a problem."
My heart raced. Who was she talking about?
"I don't care what it takes," she continued. "Just make sure she doesn't find out the truth."
There was a pause as she listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. Then, "Fine. Handle it your way. But if this backfires, it's on you."
She ended the call and left the room, her heels clicking against the floor.
I waited a few moments before slipping out from behind the curtains, my mind spinning with questions.
What truth was Maria so desperate to hide? And who was she working with?
---
By the time I made it back to my apartment, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving me exhausted and jittery.
I poured another glass of wine and spread the contents of the folder across the coffee table, studying each page carefully.
The emails were cryptic, but there were enough details to piece together a timeline. Maria had been in contact with "D" around the time of my pregnancy. They'd exchanged messages about "a potential complication" and "taking care of the problem."
It wasn't definitive proof, but it was enough to confirm my suspicions.
Maria had been involved.
I leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the weight of everything hit me. My child's death hadn't been an accident. Someone had orchestrated it, and Maria had played a role.
But she wasn't working alone.
"D."
Whoever they were, they held the key to the truth.
---
The next morning, I called the private investigator.
"I need you to dig into Maria Sinclair," I said. "I want to know everyone she's been in contact with over the past three years. Emails, phone records, anything you can find."
He didn't ask questions, just agreed to get started.
As I hung up, my phone buzzed with another notification. This time, it was a message from Dante:
"We need to talk. Meet me at the usual place."
I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. The usual place was a quiet café near the courthouse—a neutral ground where we'd met during our divorce proceedings.
I didn't want to see him, but something told me this wasn't a request I could ignore.
---
Dante was already waiting when I arrived, his expression unreadable. He stood as I approached, pulling out a chair for me like a perfect gentleman.
I ignored the gesture, sitting down and folding my arms across my chest. "What do you want, Dante?"
He didn't answer right away, his dark eyes studying me as though searching for something.
"You've been busy," he said finally.
I raised an eyebrow. "Spying on me now? That's a new low, even for you."
"I'm trying to protect you," he said, his tone serious.
I laughed bitterly. "Protect me? Like you protected me during our marriage? Like you protected our child?"
A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but he didn't deny it.
"There are things you don't understand, Elizabeth," he said. "Things I couldn't tell you before."
"Save it," I snapped. "I'm done with your lies."
He reached across the table, his hand brushing against mine. "I made mistakes, but I'm trying to make them right. Please, just listen to me."
For a moment, I was tempted. Despite everything, a part of me still wanted to believe he cared.
But then I remembered the emails, the threats, and the cold indifference he'd shown when I needed him most.
"You don't get to play the hero now," I said, pulling my hand away. "I don't need your protection, Dante. I can handle this on my own."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he slid an envelope across the table.
"Take this," he said. "It's everything I know about Maria. You'll find what you're looking for."
I stared at the envelope, my heart pounding. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I owe you," he said simply.
I didn't thank him. I just took the envelope and walked away, leaving him alone in the café.
---
Back at my apartment, I opened the envelope with trembling hands. Inside were photos, documents, and more emails—all tying Maria to a network of people with far too much power and influence.
At the center of it all was a name I hadn't seen before: Damian Caldwell.
Whoever he was, he wasn't just working with Maria—he was orchestrating everything.
And if I wanted answers, I'd have to confront him.
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