Chapter 3 The Envelope

The envelope feels heavier now. I've been holding it for minutes, maybe more. My fingers hesitate at the flap, like whatever's inside might explode if I open it. But my curiosity, as always, wins.

I pull it open.

A photograph slides out first. Old. Yellow-tinted. A little crumpled. It's my father, standing beside a familiar man-taller, broader... colder.

Mr. Wu.

Zayden's father.

They're shaking hands.

But my heart nearly stops when I see the second item. A newspaper clipping. Folded, neat like a knife. I smooth it out on the dresser.

LIM GROUP COLLAPSES UNDER DEBT AND FRAUD ALLEGATIONS

The headline screams in silence. My breath catches.

I don't realise I'm on the floor until the corner of the dresser jabs into my hip. Lim Group. My father's legacy. Torn down and disgraced. I remember his voice, the way it trembled near the end, how he stopped mentioning "meetings" and started saying "favors." I remember how he came home with quiet eyes and fake smiles.

He used to say, "Elara, in business, trust is more expensive than gold."

I grip the edge of the dresser, forcing myself to breathe.

A whisper from the past slips into my head-faint, like a thread being pulled loose. A conversation I wasn't meant to hear. I must've been eighteen. Sitting on the stairs just outside his office.

"Mr. Wu, I'm begging you," my father's voice cracked, "this merger-my people won't survive if you push the interest higher. We've already sold half the properties to stay afloat."

There was silence.

Then Mr. Wu: "Business isn't built on sympathy, Wang. It's built on strength. If your house is too weak, maybe it deserves to fall."

I remember holding my breath, pressing my forehead to the banister.

And that memory, that damn memory, is now real. On paper.

I stumble to my feet and grab my phone. My hands are shaking as I scroll through contacts.

"Wen Qi," I say aloud to steady myself, and hit call.

She picks up after two rings.

"Elara? Everything okay?"

I don't have time for niceties. "I need information. On Zayden. And his father. Fast."

There's a pause. "Information?"

"Yes. Specifically anything connected to Lim Group. Something shady. Anything involving debt, partnerships, or... sabotage."

"Elara..." her tone shifts, soft but guarded, "why are you digging into this now?"

"Because my father didn't die just a broke man," I whisper. "He died betrayed."

Another pause. Longer.

"I'll see what I can find. But be careful, okay?"

I nod, forgetting she can't see me. "Thanks."

The moment the call ends, I drop the phone and turn back to the dresser. I fold the newspaper clipping again-this time clumsier-and shove it back into the envelope with the photo.

I don't even get the drawer fully shut when the door opens.

"Elara."

Zayden.

My breath hitches.

I spin, just in time to see his eyes flick toward my hands-still lingering near the drawer handle. I snatch them away, too late.

His expression hardens. Gone is the charming smirk, the indifferent stare. This version of Zayden is calculating, sharp, a man trained to spot the smallest shift in the air.

His voice slices through the tension. "What did you just hide?"

The room contracts.

I glance at the drawer. Then back at him.

"Nothing."

He walks in slowly, controlled, like a predator approaching a sound in the dark. "Lying doesn't suit you, Elara."

I don't move. I don't blink.

Because I know... if I open my mouth now, I might just scream.