The Key

Chapter Five: The Key

The car arrived exactly at seven.

A black Bentley, polished to a mirror shine, idled outside the building like a shadow with headlights. Emma stood behind the sheer curtain, watching it. The driver didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.

She was expected.

She was always expected.

Emma turned away from the window, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood as she crossed the apartment. Her reflection in the hallway mirror stopped her.

The woman staring back was dressed in Ethan’s favorite color—deep emerald green. The satin slipped over her body like a whispered promise, cinched at the waist with a gold belt he’d once unfastened in a hurry. She wore the perfume he’d bought her from Milan. The earrings he’d kissed in a hotel in Singapore.

Everything about her said: belonging.

Everything inside her screamed: pretending.

She slipped a flash drive into the lining of her clutch. It was small. Silver. Ordinary.

But it held leverage.

Files Ethan thought deleted. Transaction histories. Offshore account routes. Fake vendors. A thread that, when pulled, could unravel his entire empire.

She didn’t look back as she left the apartment.

Downstairs, the driver opened the door without a word. She nodded, slid into the back seat, and let the leather interior swallow her. The city flickered by in a blur of neon and night, but Emma didn’t see any of it.

Her mind was on the plan.

On Rose.

On the backup folder stored in Rose’s laptop, scheduled to auto-send if Emma didn’t check in by midnight.

Just in case.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number

You’re wearing the green dress. Good girl.

Her pulse spiked. She hadn’t told him. Of course he knew.

Ethan always knew.

When the car stopped, the valet was already waiting. The restaurant was one of Ethan’s: upscale, dimly lit, designed to make people feel small and special all at once. She’d dined here a dozen times, always on his arm.

Tonight, she entered alone.

The hostess recognized her immediately and guided her to the private dining room.

He was already there.

Ethan stood by the window, glass of wine in hand, his silhouette framed by the cityscape behind him. Tall. Immaculate. Unbothered.

He turned as she entered—and smiled.

“Emma,” he said, voice low and warm. “You came.”

“I always do,” she said, and took her seat.

There was a pause, electric and heavy.

Ethan studied her for a moment, his eyes lingering just a moment too long on her mouth.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

She didn’t thank him.

He poured her wine.

They talked—surface things. Deals. Stocks. Gossip from the board. He asked questions that felt intimate but weren’t. She answered like a trained actress. He watched her like a man admiring his favorite painting, unaware the canvas was already on fire.

And then, when dessert was cleared, he leaned forward, forearms on the table.

His voice dropped. “Rose came to see you.”

Her throat tightened—but she kept her expression smooth. “She did.”

“And?”

“She told me everything.”

He smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Did she tell you she’s jealous? Of us?”

Emma tilted her head. “Of what exactly?”

“Of history. Of obsession. Of what you and I have.”

Her jaw clenched. “Is that what this is to you, Ethan? Obsession?”

He reached for her hand. His fingers grazed hers. “No. This is devotion. That’s rarer. Messier. More permanent.”

She pulled her hand back slowly. “Devotion doesn’t bruise.”