The rain came suddenly that night — soft at first, then heavy enough to blur the city lights. Amara sat by her apartment window, her reflection fractured in the glass, the unopened envelope lying on the coffee table between two untouched cups of tea.

Her fingers itched to open it, but she hesitated. Damien Cross. Even his name felt like danger disguised in silk. Everything about him — his calm confidence, his unreadable eyes — unsettled her.

But what unsettled her more was how righthe’d been.

Eleanor Blackwell had destroyed lives for less. And Ethan… he wasn’t innocent anymore.

She finally picked up the envelope, tearing the seal. Inside was...