That evening, Irish immediately rolled down towards his old apartment. He was alone in the apartment, the very place Givonna had been killed.
As he stared around the room, memories flooded back, each one more painful than the last.
The atmosphere was heavy with memories, every corner echoing fragments of a dark night neither could shake from their minds. Irish’s hand hovered over the door handle before he pushed it open, his expression taut with barely hidden fear.
As He moved through the dim rooms, Irish’s eyes landed on a faded outline in the carpet—a reminder of where Givonna had been found.
“Everything here feels like a haunting,” he murmured.
 And then, as if guided by instinct, he recalled a cryptic message he’d come across on an encrypted forum while trying to trace his blackmailer: “Look again at the night Givonna died. The truth is in plain sight.”
Irish’s eyes scanned the room carefully, probing every corner, every piece of furniture, anything that could hold meaning. Just when he was about to give up, he noticed a small mark by the window—a tiny arrow etched into the paint, nearly invisible to the untrained eye.
Following its direction, he bent down to find a crack in the floorboard. He held his breath as he carefully pried it open to reveal a hidden USB drive. The sight of it sent a chill down his spine. Who could have hidden it here, and why?
Back at his desk, Irish inserted the USB drive into his laptop and began the painstaking process of breaking through the encryption. It was no easy task, but his years of experience with security systems came through, and after hours of relentless work, he unlocked the files.
What he found shook him to his core.
The files contained a carefully laid-out timeline of Givonna’s life leading up to the night she died. Messages, photos, and documents revealed a startling truth: her death was not an accident, nor was it a crime of passion. It had been meticulously planned, with each detail pointing to a deliberate setup. It was filled with surveillance images and messages—evidence that someone had been meticulously documenting Givonna’s every move. 
But the final folder shocked him. It held intimate photos of him and Givonna from happier times, and detailed notes about their relationship. It was clear someone had been watching them long before the murder.
As He combed through the data, a name stood out, referenced multiple times: “The Oracle.”
Irish’s brow furrowed. “Who or what is the Oracle?"
With confusion and curosity attached to his face, he scrolled down to the final document, a single line that sent chills through his thoughts: “You’re not the first to fall, Irish, and you won’t be the last. The Oracle watches all.”
Irish scoffed, his jaw clenched. “The Oracle…it sounds like someone who thinks they’re untouchable. Whoever they are, they’ve played this game before.” . . . Phoenix walked away from Zaylee, her heels clicking down the quiet hallway, her expression set and unyielding. She could feel Zaylee’s eyes on her back, heavy with accusation and jealousy. But Phoenix was done with explanations. She had her own plans, and she wouldn’t be swayed by petty rivalries or Zaylee’s misplaced possessiveness over Irish.
As she waited for the elevator, Phoenix felt her phone vibrate. It was a text from Irish: “Meet me tomorrow morning. I have some ideas on tracking down the blackmailer.”
Relief washed over her. Phoenix knew Irish was reluctant to share his burden, but she was determined to help him uncover the truth behind whatever it was—and whoever was pulling the strings from the shadows.
The next morning, Phoenix arrived early at U&K Fashion, her focus unshaken despite the tension with Zaylee. She felt a strange energy in the air, as if the building itself held its breath, waiting for something to unravel.
As she entered her office, she found her assistant nervously waiting with a stack of files. “Ms. Phoenix, I wanted to tell you something. I saw someone in the office late last night...they were in the records room.”
Phoenix’s brow furrowed. “Did you see who it was?”
The assistant shook her head. “No, they were gone before I could see their face. But they left the records room unlocked.”
A chill ran through her. Who would be digging through the records at this hour? She wondered if it could be related to Irish’s blackmailer or someone trying to sabotage her from within.
“Thank you. If you see anything unusual, let me know right away,” Phoenix replied, already formulating a plan to check the records for any tampering. She suspected Fern or Berla, desperate to stay in power, but she also couldn’t ignore Zaylee’s strange behavior the night before.
Irish's message last night so invaded her thought but then there is no way she could the office now. The new development made it impossible for her to meet him up as promised so she immediately texted back to meet in the afternoon while she try to settle out the current situation.  . . .
In the afternoon, Phoenix finally met up with Irish at a small café on the outskirts of town. His face was drawn, shadows under his eyes hinting at sleepless nights and growing anxiety.
Phoenix leaned forward. “I want to help. Whoever’s doing this, they’re using your past against you, but we can outsmart them.”
Irish hesitated, then handed her the phone message he’d received. It seemed he was finally ready to share his struggles and past.
“Look at this. These are from the night, my ex girlfriend, Giovanni was murdered in my old apartment.” It's the latest cryptic threat: “The truth is closer than you think, Irish. Stop pretending innocence.”
Phoenix’s grip on the paper tightened. And didn't know how to handle the revelation but tried her best not to be acussive towards him.  " You didn't do this right?~they are just taunting you."
“I think they’ve been in my apartment. There was something off the last time I checked the place, like someone was watching me,” he admitted, the anger in his voice barely contained.
She placed a hand over his. “Irish, let’s start retracing your steps on the night Givonna died. Maybe we’ll find something the blackmailer overlooked.”
He nodded, visibly relieved. “Thank you, Phoenix. I know this isn’t your battle, but—”
She interrupted, “It is now. I won’t stand by while someone uses your past to control you.” Irish felt reassured and smile. 
In a bit, he pulled the footages he had discovered and showed it to her. Phoneix watched on, perplexed. She looked up, her eyes meeting his. “Someone orchestrated this from the shadows, Irish. They wanted you to suffer, but more than that—they want control over you.”   He instinctively nodded in agreement. “Then we’ll have to play smarter. This Oracle has a weakness—we just have to find it.”
On discussing their next move, Phoneix's phone rang. It was from the office. There was an urgent meeting with their new investor she needed to attend to. In a rush,she bid Irish a farewell and promised to meet up later.