Lila stood by the window of her hotel suite, wrapped in a silk robe, staring down at the traffic crawling through the city like ants. The room was expensive, but hollow. Like a stage set waiting for a performance that never quite began.She had played her hand.And it hadn’t landed the way she wanted.Van hadn’t come crawling. He hadn’t begged. He hadn’t even flinched.Instead, he’d looked at her with cold, unflinching disgust. And worse— he hadn’t told Ivy. Not immediately, at least. Which meant Ivy had the power now. Not her.Still, Lila had time.She had the letter.The one Greaves had given her under the table, slid across the polished mahogany like some sacred relic. A single page written in Van’s father’s hand. Not an admission, not quite— but a whisper of something long buried. A name. A reference. A transaction that shouldn’t exist.She kept it hidden in the lining of her purse.She’d read it so many times she could recite the words backwards.She wasn’t even sure why she hadn