---- Chapter 22 Chapter 22 Aimee Ramirez POV: Life under the watch of Anderson's security team was a gilded cage. They were silent, efficient phantoms, always present but rarely seen. | went about my days, projecting an aura of calm control, but underneath, the paranoia was a low-grade fever. Every unfamiliar face in a crowd, every car that followed ours for more than two blocks, was a potential threat. Anderson was my anchor. He refused to let me retreat into the cold, isolated fortress of my own mind. He forced me to talk, to eat, to sleep. He was a warm, living shield against the encroaching darkness. The second attack was more personal. More insidious. A package arrived at my office, bypassing all security protocols. It was a small, elegant gift box. Inside, nestled on a bed of white silk, was a single, perfect white orchid-my favorite flower, the one Anderson always sent me-its petals spattered with crimson drops of what looked unnervingly like blood. Beneath it was a photograph. It was of Anderson, leaving his apartment building that morning. A red crosshair had been crudely drawn over his heart. A white-hot rage, so intense it burned away my fear, consumed me. This wasn't about me anymore. They were ---- threatening him. They were trying to destroy the one good thing | had managed to build from the wreckage of my life. | stormed into the boardroom where Anderson was in a meeting, my hands shaking as | slammed the box down on the polished table. "This ends now," | said, my voice dangerously quiet. He took one look at the contents, and his face became a mask of cold fury. He calmly adjourned the meeting and turned to me, his focus absolute. "We knew they would escalate," he said, his voice a low, lethal hum. "This is a move of desperation. It means they're getting sloppy." He picked up his phone. "| have a man. An old friend. He specializes in finding people who don't want to be found." "| want to use my own resources," | insisted. "My company has the best data analysts in the world. We can find this person." "No, Aimee," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "You built an empire to protect your assets. | built my security to protect my life. There's a difference. Let me handle this. Trust me." Trust. The word still lodged in my throat. But looking at the grim resolve in his eyes, | found myself nodding. For the first time, | was letting someone else fight my battles. It was a terrifying and strangely liberating feeling. His "old friend" was a man named Elias, who looked less like a private investigator and more like a retired librarian, but ---- whose eyes held a chilling intelligence. He analyzed the package, the photo, the scant evidence we had. "The flower is a message," Elias said, his voice a dry rasp. "They know what he gives you. They've been watching you for a long time. The blood is bovine. Theatrical. They want to terrorize you, not just harm you." He looked at the photo. "The angle of this shot... it was taken from the apartment directly across from yours, Anderson. The one that's been vacant for the last six months." Anderson and | exchanged a look of dawning horror. The enemy wasn't circling the fortress. They were already inside.