Kaiden Starkwell's jet touches down on the runway at Santerra Airport with a soft glide.
The landing is almost perfect—like everything in his life.
We're going home.
New York was beautiful. Deafening, expensive, too alive. It left its mark on me—the smell of asphalt, the taste of wine, glances exchanged in museums, touches in elevator mirrors.
But something else won't leave my mind.
Kaiden's conversation with the broker, Evan Clayton.
I know that with my help, Christian managed to rob Hyperion Trust. Elegantly. Coldly. Almost without a sound.
And the worst part—I left traces.
Now I'm returning to the crime scene.
The thought makes my knees go weak.
"Isabella, are you feeling unwell?" Kaiden asks with concern, noticing my clenched fingers.
I smile. Slowly. Warmly.
"I'm fine, my dear Kaiden."
And then, softer, "I'm very grateful to you for this trip. I'm incredibly lucky in life—with you."
I see it work. His shoulders relax. Flattery is a currency he believes in.
Kaiden smiles and stops worrying.
For now.
**
The lobby.
The elevator.
Silent waiting.
Each floor is like a heartbeat.
The penthouse door opens.
I step inside—and see the security guard at once.
He stands too straight. Too calm.
Kaiden stiffens.
"What is this?" he asks sharply.
"We conducted a security sweep of the premises," the guard replies. "I was waiting for you to give a full report."
Kaiden looks surprised. Even unsettled.
The guard stands by the coffee table.
And he's looking… at me.
Does he suspect? Or is he searching for a reaction?
I step forward and sit on the sofa. Slowly. Gracefully. Kaiden sits beside me. His presence is my shield.
The guard remains opposite us. His gaze never leaves my face.
It makes me tense.
And then I see it.
On the table.
A surveillance device.
The one.
The one I installed on the fiber-optic cable.
My heart stops.
But I understand—he's waiting for my reaction.
One wrong glance, and it's over.
I pretend the little gadget doesn't interest me. I lean into Kaiden affectionately, as if seeking protection. His arm settles on my shoulder automatically.
"Go on. What have you got?" Kaiden demands.
The guard points at the device.
"This was found on your fiber-optic line. This device was monitoring you."
I pull slightly away from Kaiden—just enough to show curiosity. I study the device as if I've never seen it before. Then I slowly lift my eyes and look at Kaiden. Questioning. Almost frightened.
I know: if I start speaking, I lose.
So I stay silent.
I act with my expression.
With my eyes.
With trust.
Kaiden flares up.
"Who did this?" His voice rings. "Who's the spy?"
The guard looks at me.
Directly. For a long time.
He's certain: the enemy is me.
Kaiden notices the direction of his gaze.
"We don't yet have direct evidence or proof," the guard says, without taking his eyes off me.
Kaiden boils over.
"Find the evidence. And bring the culprit to me."
"We will find the thief," the guard says coldly, "and punish them severely."
He says it while looking straight into my eyes.
I feel sick.
But I demonstratively press closer to Kaiden, even tighter. I smile at the guard. Softly. Almost gratefully.
He leaves.
The door closes.
The silence presses in.
Kaiden looks at me. Shock in his eyes.
"That thing…" I gesture toward the device. "Is it a serious problem for you?"
"Possibly," he answers after a pause.
I move closer. Much closer.
"You know…" I whisper, "our trip to New York was so romantic."
"I remember how you looked at me at the Museum of Modern Art… by Les Demoiselles d'Avignon."
I press against him. I feel his breath. His body. His doubt.
I lean in, hungry for a kiss.
He'll forget everything.
I'll remain beyond suspicion.
At least…
I really want to believe that.
**
I walk into one of the most expensive restaurants in Santerra as if it isn't a restaurant at all, but an extension of my office. Soft lighting, muted voices, perfectly calibrated luxury—everything here is designed for people who are used to deciding fates over dessert.
The waiter leads me to a table in the back of the room.
He's already there.
"I'm glad to see you, Christian Grayson," Maxwell Driven almost explodes, rising to greet me. "Sit down."
I smile—just enough not to look too pleased.
"So my agent inside Kaiden Starkwell's circle brought you something worthwhile, Maxwell?"
"Absolutely," he nods, beaming. "Order whatever you like."
He gestures broadly at the menu, as if money isn't a question but background noise.
"That Angel Club idea of yours…" he continues, lowering his voice. "Bringing the city's wealthy there and pairing them with the right girls—brilliantly effective, Christian. That's what ambition looks like. And hunger for success."
He claps me on the shoulder. Almost friendly. Almost.
"We'll be closing the Hyperion Trust deal soon, and you'll get your share."
I feel genuine satisfaction. As much as I'm capable of it.
For a second, the past flashes before my eyes: a poor childhood, a youth where the word "luxury" sounded like mockery.
And now—I'm here. Among the powerful. Among those who take.
Isabella did well.
I was lucky with her.
And yet…
Victoria Montreux.
Strong potential. A sharp mind. And, most conveniently—she's in love with me.
Cynical?
Of course.
Effective, though.
"I've got a new operation in the works," I say casually, taking a sip of wine.
Maxwell tenses at once.
"What kind?"
"Solaris Dominion Group," I reply calmly. "Edward Cortland."
My friend Andre claims his father is doing everything he can to marry him off to Sophia Blackmore.
Prime Meridian Holdings.
Maxwell leans back in his chair.
"Well, well…" he drawls thoughtfully. "Interesting."
He smiles—slow, predatory.
"So a major deal is brewing. And we, as always, can slip in between them… and take our slice of the pie."
That's why I like him.
"This has potential, Christian," he goes on. "Dig into it. Find out what Edward Cortland is really after."
I nod.
"I've already planted an agent inside."
Victoria's face surfaces in my mind. Her eyes. Her doubts.
Her weakness.
"And we'll soon have the information we need for another profitable deal, my friend Maxwell."
He catches the word friend instantly. His smile widens. He pats my shoulder approvingly.
And inside me, a thought cuts through—hard, ruthless, almost sweet:
I will walk over heads.
And I will get what I want.
And if someone thinks I'll stop…
they simply haven't understood who they're playing with.