It had been two days since the engagement party, and I couldn’t erase the image of that folder from my mind. Project Scarlett. The words were like a scar I couldn’t heal. I wanted to confront Logan, but every time I saw him, his charming smile and soft voice made me hesitate. Was I just overthinking things?
I shook my head, trying to focus on the present. I was at a quaint café downtown, my laptop open as I scrolled through emails. I needed to distract myself.
But even in the hum of quiet conversations and clinking cups, my thoughts kept returning to that photo.
“Scarlett?”
I turned sharply. A man I didn’t recognize stood before me. He had sharp features, dark hair, and a serious expression that made me uneasy.
“Yes?” I asked cautiously.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, glancing around nervously. “It’s about your family.”
My heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m Caleb Hayes. And trust me, you need to listen.”
I hesitated. He looked out of place in the cozy café, like he belonged in a movie where danger lurked around every corner. Against my better judgment, I nodded toward the chair across from me.
He sat, leaning in as if we were sharing secrets. “Do you know who you really are, Scarlett?”
I blinked, confused. “What kind of question is that?”
“You’re being watched,” he said, lowering his voice. “By Logan. By your father. They’ve been hiding things from you your entire life.”
My stomach churned. “What are you talking about?”
Caleb pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. On the screen was a blurry photo of Logan speaking to my father outside the Monroe estate.
“This was taken last night,” he said. “Logan and your father have been working together for years. Their business isn’t as clean as they make it seem.”
“You’re lying,” I whispered, shaking my head.
“Am I?” Caleb leaned back, studying me. “Do you even know what Project Scarlett means?”
The air felt heavy. How did he know about that? My pulse quickened, but I tried to remain calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then let me spell it out for you.” Caleb’s gaze bore into mine. “You’re part of something bigger. Something dangerous. And now that you’ve seen Logan’s files, you’ve put yourself in the crosshairs.”
I didn’t know whether to believe him or laugh at the absurdity. “This is insane,” I muttered, grabbing my bag.
As I stood to leave, Caleb grabbed my wrist. “Scarlett, they’re watching you. You need to be careful.”
I yanked my arm away, fear prickling down my spine. Without another word, I rushed out of the café and into the busy street.
Back at the Monroe estate, I paced my room, my mind racing. Caleb’s words played on repeat: You’re being watched. You’re not safe.
I grabbed my phone and opened the notes app. I typed everything I could remember from Logan’s files: the financial transactions, the strange codes, the photo. There had to be a connection.
A knock on my door startled me. “Scarlett?”
It was Logan.
I quickly shut my phone and forced a smile as I opened the door. “Hey.”
His blue eyes studied me, but I couldn’t tell if it was concern or suspicion. “You’ve been quiet. Is everything okay?”
I nodded, though my chest felt tight. “Just tired. Wedding planning, you know?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
“Of course.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
Later that night, I sat in my father’s study. He and Logan were both out, and I knew this was my chance.
I rummaged through his desk, pulling out drawers and sifting through papers. Everything looked normal—contracts, receipts, business cards.
Then I found it.
A small key taped beneath the desk.
I looked around the room until my eyes landed on a cabinet in the corner. My hands trembled as I unlocked it.
Inside were files. Hundreds of them.
As I flipped through, my blood ran cold. These weren’t just business documents—they were records of offshore accounts, lists of names I didn’t recognize, and photos of people I’d never met.
And then I saw it again: Project Scarlett.
The file contained more photos of me as a child, along with medical records, timelines, and… adoption papers?
The room spun.
My phone buzzed, breaking my trance. It was an unknown number.
“Scarlett Monroe,” a deep voice said when I answered.
“Who is this?”
“You’ve seen too much. If you want to stay alive, leave it alone.”
The line went dead.
My hands shook as I clutched the phone. I turned back to the file, desperate for answers.
That’s when I saw it—a photo of Caleb Hayes, dated three months ago, with the words: Do not approach. Dangerous.
Before I could process it, the study door creaked open, and Logan stood there, his face shadowed in the dim light. “Scarlett,” he said coldly, “what are you doing?”
