The rain hadn’t stopped. By the time Stephen reached the apartment, his shirt clung to him, water dripping from his hair onto the wooden floor. The place smelled of lilac perfume and cold silence, the kind that comes after laughter has died.Alina was standing by the mirror, slipping off her earrings. Her dress shimmered under the dim light, sequins like tiny shards of armor. “You walked out,” she said without turning. “In the middle of my birthday.”Stephen shut the door softly. “I didn’t realize I was still part of the show.”“Oh, don’t start with the dramatics.” She tossed her earrings onto the dresser. “You embarrassed me.”He stared at her reflection. “I embarrassed you?”“Yes. You just, storm out like some victim. Everyone was trying to have fun.”“Fun?” He stepped closer. “You called me broke in front of your family.”“I was joking, Stephen!”“You don’t joke,” he said quietly. “You stab.”She spun around then, eyes flashing. “You’re always so sensitive! You can’t take a joke,

Rain again. Always rain. It hadn’t stopped since the night his life began to crack, as if the city itself refused to wash him clean.When the police came through the warehouse door, Stephen didn’t fight. The shouting, the flash of badges, the click of metal cuffs, it all felt distant, like a movie playing somewhere else.“Stephen Brooke, you’re under arrest for fraud, wire manipulation, and embezzlement.”The officer’s voice was clipped, rehearsed. “You have the right to remain silent”He didn’t hear the rest. The words rolled over him like thunder. He caught a glimpse of Patrick and Damian outside, watching from across the lot.Patrick’s hands were in his pockets, his grin small and satisfied. Damian just tilted his head, expression unreadable. No one came closer. No one spoke for him.They led him through the rain. Cameras flashed, how, he didn’t know, but suddenly there were reporters, microphones, headlines.“Local Mechanic Turned Entrepreneur Arrested in Fraud Scandal.” He saw th

The first rule of suspicion was silence. Patrick Moore had never learned it. He slammed his laptop shut, cursing under his breath.Every search, every record on Elias Stone led to the same wall: Vantage Holdings. No history before five years ago. No photos older than that. No family, no past. A ghost who signed checks.He grabbed his phone. “Damian, he’s clean,” Patrick said. “Too clean. Like someone built him out of thin air.”“Then dig deeper,” Damian replied. His voice was calm, bored even. “Everyone leaves a trail. Find the dirt before it finds us.”Patrick ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t think”“I don’t think,” Damian interrupted. “I know. That man’s money smells like revenge. Find out who’s holding the match.”The call ended. Patrick stared at the black screen. Rain tapped the windows, same rhythm that had haunted his family for months.Two days later. Patrick sat in a café downtown, across from a nervous young woman in a blazer. “You’re the records officer?” he asked.“

Morning headlines burned across every screen in the city.VANTAGE LOGISTICS FACES INTERNAL AUDIT OVER IDENTITY FRAUD ALLEGATIONSStephen, Elias Stone, stood in front of the monitor, coffee untouched. Cassandra read the article aloud, voice tight.“Anonymous sources claim the company’s founder falsified identity documents. Authorities may open a federal investigation.”He turned from the screen. “He moved faster than I expected.”“Damian?”“Who else?” Stephen exhaled slowly. “He’s not trying to destroy the company. He’s trying to unmask me.”Damian Cross watched the same broadcast from his office, the reflection of his own smile flickering in the glass. “Tell the press the whistle-blower’s credible,” he told his assistant. “Feed them the rumor about the mechanic from five years ago.”“That could backfire,” the assistant warned.Damian’s grin widened. “Backfire only happens if the target ducks.”At the Vantage Headquarters Cassandra burst into Stephen’s office with a folder.“Legal says

The café was almost empty, just a few late customers and the low hum of rain against the windows.Stephen stepped inside, coat damp, collar turned up. The bell above the door gave a hollow chime.Alina was there, waiting in a corner booth. Five years hadn’t erased the sharp lines of her face, but the light in her eyes had dimmed. She looked up and froze. “Stephen…”He stopped a few feet away. “Alina.”“You” She stood, half-reaching, half-unsure. “I thought, Everyone said you were dead.”“Everyone prefers the version of me that stayed gone.”She sat again slowly, eyes flicking toward the window. “Who told you to come?”He slid into the opposite seat. “You did. Or at least, your ‘anonymous friend’ did.”Confusion crossed her face. “I didn’t send anything.”“I know.” He laid the printed message on the table. The ink blurred slightly from the rain.If you want her safe, come alone. Her hands trembled. “Safe from what?”“That’s what I’m here to find out.”The air hung heavy with unspoken h