The hospital called at seven in the morning.Ethan was already awake, standing in his kitchen with a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago. He hadn't slept well. The gala, Andrew's manipulations, Chloe's silence beside him in the bed, Claire's hand in Adrian's—all of it had circled through his head like cars on a track, never stopping, never reaching a destination.Chloe was still in bed. Or she had been twenty minutes ago. He heard the bedroom door open and her footsteps in the hallway.She appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing one of his shirts, her hair a mess, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She looked at him standing by the counter with the cold coffee and the dark circles under his eyes."You've been up all night," she said."Most of it.""Thinking about her."It wasn't a question.Ethan didn't answer.Chloe crossed her arms. The shirt pulled across her chest. She was beautiful in the morning light, even with the tiredness, even with the hurt she was trying to hide be

Seraphina called at nine in the evening.Ethan was sitting in his dark living room, the only light coming from the street outside. He hadn't moved since coming home from the Cross Industries meeting. His phone was on the arm of the couch, face down, silent. Chloe's note was still in his pocket, folded into a small square, the edges soft from being handled.He picked up on the second ring."Boss." Seraphina's voice was tight, the way it got when she had found something she didn't want to find. "I have something.""Tell me.""I traced the shell company. The one that was overbilling us through the vendor contracts. It took some digging—offshore registrations, layered holding companies, the kind of structure people use when they don't want to be found." She paused. "But I found a name."Ethan sat up. "Whose name?""The company was registered to a man named Daniel Cross."Ethan's heart stopped. "Cross?""Not your family. Different spelling. C-r-o-s-s. But here's the thing. That name is an

Ethan hadn't planned to go to Claire's house.He had woken up at five, gone for a run through the empty streets, come back drenched in sweat, and stood under the shower for twenty minutes trying to wash the frustration off his skin. It didn't work. Nothing worked anymore.The folder from Elena Markham was on his kitchen counter. He had read through it again at four in the morning, the pages soft from being handled, the corners curled. Bank statements. Medical records. A police report. Everything he needed to prove that Adrian was a fraud, a liar, a criminal.But proof meant nothing if no one would look at it.He needed Claire to see it. Not over the phone. Not through a lawyer. Not filtered through Victoria's lies or Adrian's manipulations. In person. Her own eyes on the page. Her own hand holding the paper.He told himself he wouldn't go. He told himself she had made her choice. He told himself that showing up at her house would only make things worse.He got in his car anyway.The d

The fog lifted slowly, day by day.By the end of the week, Claire could think clearly again. The headaches were gone. The dizziness had faded. She woke up on Friday morning and for the first time in weeks, she knew exactly where she was. Adrian's apartment. Their bed. His arm draped across her stomach.She lay there for a moment, watching the morning light filter through the curtains. A year ago, she had been drinking herself numb at a bar, trying to forget Ethan, trying to forget the wedding that had fallen apart, trying to forget the look on her mother's face when she walked down the aisle toward a man who didn't love her.That was the night she met Adrian.She had been crying into a glass of something strong when he sat down next to her. He didn't try to cheer her up. He didn't ask what was wrong. He just sat there, quiet, and after a while, he ordered her water and paid for her tab. She woke up in his bed the next morning, still in her clothes, a glass of water and two aspirin on

The police station was crowded for a Wednesday morning.Claire pushed through the glass doors with her phone in one hand and her keys in the other, her eyes scanning the room. The waiting area was full of tired people holding coffee cups and looking at nothing. A child cried somewhere in the corner. A woman with a black eye sat staring at the floor.And there, near the front desk, standing with his back to her, was Ethan.He was talking to an officer, a folder in his hand, his posture rigid. He had a stack of papers spread across the counter.Claire's blood turned hot.She crossed the room in twelve strides. Her heels clicked against the linoleum. People looked up. She didn't care."Ethan."He turned. His face was tired. His shirt was wrinkled. He looked like he hadn't slept. But when he saw her, his expression didn't change. No surprise. No guilt. Just the same flat look he had worn at her doorstep."You.""Claire.""Where is he?" Her voice was loud. Too loud. An officer glanced over