HARPER.

The barbell clanked into place with a hard, satisfying echo as I exhaled sharply, lying back against the bench. I felt my chest heave under the weight of the steel I had just lifted, causing my arms to tremble slightly. Twenty reps and counting, and I was full of adrenaline, and I just let the sweat drip from my face down to my temple without bothering to wipe it off.

"Ease on the steel," Joe, my gym buddy, called out to me from the treadmill. He had a gray towel hung around his neck while he took a long sip from his water flask, some of it spilling over his white T-shirt and into his dark shorts.

"You bet," I replied, letting my eyes go to the huge smart TV that sits on a quarter section of the wall. The most-talked-about engagement party of the month was being aired, for what seemed like the millionth time already. It was starting to feel very annoying since every news channel was outdoing itself in securing the best angles of the newly engaged celebrity couple.

"Not these folks again," I whispered, reaching for my water flask, eyeing the TV. Zane Calloway's engagement wasn't the typical influencer's sponsored routine. The proposal scene was different from the usual celebrity paparazzi we had seen in recent times; the hall had been lavishly decorated with every type of rose petal in the world scattered across the polished floor. If I hadn't seen the engagement party already, I would have argued we had so many rose species. The endless flow of Italian Champagne down to the string quartets playing all genres of classical sound made it the fairytale dream of every lady in Los Angeles and beyond its borders.

And at the center of it all was Zane Calloway, the most wanted billionaire bachelor, handsomely tall, holding out a massive diamond ring to his charming woman, Sienna Carter, who beamed with absolute radiance in her blush-pink silk dress. Everything about it was perfect. And the investigative journalist in me, despite how much I tried not to get my nose wet, knew that was too perfect without a reason.

I sat up slowly, rolling my neck, watching through the sheen of sweat in my eyes. It wasn't the no-fault proposal whatsoever that had me curious, but it was the precision with which it was delivered. The entire thing felt like it was a show for PR. The kind of PR that made headlines. The kind I had come to learn to sniff out before most people even saw smoke. It was why I was the most decorated investigative journalist in the country, and something about the Calloway was starting to draw me in. The last time that happened, I was able to solve an all-time hit case, three years ago.

Zane Calloway and his four brothers, who manage Atlas, one of the most powerful tech-investment firms in the world. It was a billion-dollar empire, and from the news, they had zero issues, and the five men behind it were tagged as obscenely successful and Visionaries. But as I watched Zane kiss Sienna's hand and pull her close on the TV, I knew in my gut that something was off about these people. These kinds of folks don't show off unless they're trying to hide something. Things people like me help the world dig out.

I finished the rest of my set without looking away from the TV, and as the applause died down and the last violin note floated off into silence, I grabbed my water bottle and headed for the mats to cool down. I dropped into a long stretch and let my gaze flick to the mirrored wall behind Joe.

It's been three years since I had been on the chase of big scandals, but they never cracked. Every time I got close to a breakthrough, the trail would turn cold and leave the lawsuits I had built buried, and my leads would suddenly disappear. I needed a bigger story to show the world again that I still had my magic, that I wasn't just a one-hit journalist, I was more than desperate for another big case, and I seemed to believe that I had just found it. Zane and Sienna's engagement felt like the door of my dead career cracking alive again.

"See you tomorrow, Joe," I called out to him, and he waved back at me, resuming his routine.

By the time I made it to my car, my hands were already itching to begin what they loved to do most. Digging for information. The moment I hopped into my seat, I pulled out my phone and started to swipe through files I had bookmarked months ago about Atlas corporate structures, Board meeting summaries, and some of their maiden corps in Malta and Singapore. I did this when a rival firm had once hacked into their database and left the company's records open for everyone to see, yet all of their operations were legal on paper, all designed to cover every trail.

Hoping that I got just one lead... just one, that would help me believe I wasn't just grabbing at empty straws. I released the chair so that I could get more space for my laptop. I grabbed it from the seat next to me and set the side box between the seats and started to read all the information I could get about the five brothers. Aside from the trending engagement parties, all seem to have zero presence online except for one of them. Damian Pierce, who had just opened a huge lounge in the heart of the city. Tagging all four brothers to his post to thank them. I used the name tags to check out their profiles, and out of the four, one stood out to me.

Noah Bennett, who was the Vice President of Technical Operations, was a linchpin in the Atlas structure, Top-level, meaning he was just visible enough to be accountable but invisible enough to be thrown under the bus. I tapped his file, biting down on my lips as the profile loaded.

If there were a leak in their perfect fortress, it would be through him. I continued to check out most of what he had done until I clicked on an external link on one of his posts, and my laptop went off instantly.

"What the heck," I exclaimed, tapping on the power button impatiently until the screen popped up, it restarted to the boot menu instead of the booting prompts. That was odd.

"Okay?" I said, tapping on the prompts. It took about ten minutes before the screen eventually came up; everything on my desktop was blank, and my files had crashed. I was still confused about what had gone wrong with the laptop when an email dropped.

I clicked on it and saw it came from an anonymous sender. The content was just one line in block letters.

STOP DIGGING, YOU HAVE TO STOP.

I reread it twice and still made no sense of it. The email had no IP trail or metadata, which should have made me afraid. It didn't. Instead, the threats made me feel very alive.

That was the difference between now and three years ago, when I broke the pharmaceutical scandal and that won me awards which I had been riding high ever since, waiting for another spark. Yet, the sparks never came. Not until that morning, while reading that threat email.

That rush gave me the strength to get my car started and drive the ten-minute distance from the gym to my apartment. I pulled into my apartment garage, grabbed my gym bag, and climbed the stairs two at a time. Once inside, I dumped everything on the couch and powered up my desktop. While it booted, I switched on the smart music, letting the soft countryside song hum quietly while I went to grab my coffee mug that was now cold. As I took sips from it, the three names popping in my head were Atlas. The Calloway's proposal. Noah Bennett.

I sat back in the seat and started to work on the files saved on my desktop, knowing they had erased my laptop because of the link I clicked. It had been left there on purpose to discourage people who got too nosy, like me.

After working for a few hours, I arrived at the conclusion that Atlas wasn't just a tech firm. The whole set-up may be legal, but it had so much more going on between its walls, and I was ready to learn the real truth.

I closed my eyes and began to ponder the best way to get close. If I wanted in, it wasn't going to happen with a formal request or a hidden microphone, since these men were locked tighter than Fort Knox. But there was one thing that always got through walls like theirs. Their dirty desire was definitely their weakness, and if I couldn't knock on the front door as a journalist, I would slip in through the side as someone else entirely. My alter ego... Miss Lila.

Lila was the elegantly untraceable woman I used when I needed to go undercover. She was the kind of woman who didn't ask questions because she answered them. Lila did not have to work for money; she was attracted to it. She would be everything they wanted. And she would be mine to control.

I opened a new tab on the desktop and started building her profile online. When I was done, Lila Washington was born Lila Belle. She was an elite companion who was always traveling to meet her clients. She was educated in Paris and liked to party in the yacht circles of influential men. The kind of woman Zane Calloway's younger brother, Noah, might meet at an offshore party and assume was just another indulgence. But she would be watching and recording everything unraveling before her.

I paused only once, staring at the screen. "Oh Harper", I shook my head, knowing this was the most reckless thing I had ever done. And maybe the most brilliant if the end justifies the means.

The vibration of my phone pulled me out of my vein plans. When I checked the screen, it was a call from Joe.

"Hey, are you okay? You looked deep into your head earlier. New case?" he said. The clanking background sound of gym equipment made me realize he was still at the gym.

I smiled faintly as my fingers swiped over the keyboard as I typed my response. "Not exactly. Just chasing a lead.

He replied almost instantly.

"You'll catch it. You've got that fire-in-the-eyes look. Just don't forget to breathe. And eat."

I stared at the phone longer than I needed to. In a world where every person was a potential source or a threat, he was just a kind face. "Thanks, Joe. Really. I needed that."

We talked for a few more seconds before we ended the call and I set the phone down, letting my gaze drift back to the screen. Lila was ready and waiting.

I sent a short test message to one of my contacts, who provided the updates I needed about my case. Within minutes, the reply came confirming Noah Bennett's availability for an event Atlas men were hosting that weekend.

And just like that, I was no longer Harper West, the burnt-out reporter trying to claw her way back to relevance. I was Lila.

And I was going to take Atlas apart.

One brother at a time.

DAMIAN.

They say every man has a price, mine was silence, and Eden, my exclusive lounge, was the currency. Everyone who walked in left their real name at the door to let their alter ego live, and that's how I liked it.

Tonight, Club Eden pulsed with the finest people toasting its success. I leaned against the private bar on the upper floor, watching Zane Calloway and his woman, Sienna, who was glowing radiantly. His arms rested lazily around her, showing the world he owned her and everything she breathed. She didn't mind; she played her role perfectly. They made a stunning couple, and if I weren't in the inner circle and were privy to the affairs of Atlas, I would have been fooled too.

I raised a glass of whiskey to my lips, letting my real focus fall on Kamar Sadiq, an Arabian logistics kingpin. He sat in the VIP suite with his entourage, pretending to sip champagne while we quietly negotiated a new supply route. I was this close to sealing it.

And then the door slammed open intentionally, loudly, meant to be heard, making my head turn on instinct. There she was.

Ava Sinclair.

She strode in like she owned the place, more like she was ready to burn it down. Her dark auburn hair was pulled into a sleek twist, giving her green eyes a lighter glow as her hips swayed with each step she took inside. Every man in the room looked completely charmed, yet none of them dared approach. She didn't belong with them there that night, and she damn well knew it. That was her point about making such a loud entrance.

I set the glass down and straightened it, already moving before the staff could intercept her. I covered the stairs hurriedly, getting to the last one just as she got closer.

She spotted me instantly and made her way through the crowd. Every step she took brought memories of the summers we shared that still haunted me more than I would ever admit. But those days were over. She was no longer our little sister; she was a woman now, and I couldn't extend my desire for her publicly. She was Zane's half-sister. Making Ava off-limits and untouchable for us all.

"Damian, we need to talk," she said.

I reached her halfway, towering over her, "You're not supposed to be here, Ava."

"I don't care." She tipped her chin defiantly. "You've been dodging me."

I lowered my voice, "Because this isn't the time. Or the place."

She crossed her arms. "Then make time."

God, she was fierce and beautiful. She was the only woman who had ever looked at me like she wasn't afraid. I exhaled, running a hand through my hair.

"Not here. Not now. We've got real business happening." I glanced toward the mezzanine where Kamar sat waiting, one brow already cocked.

Her eyes narrowed, a flash of fire in their depths. "Zane doesn't own me, and neither do you. I need five minutes. Now."

The audacity of her tone sparked admiration in me. I glanced at the supplier, who was watching us with unmistakable interest. It was bad timing, but knowing Ava was not going away until she had her way, I knew it was a lost cause arguing with her. I gestured toward a secluded corner in an alcove, away from the prying eyes. "Five minutes," I said, "And you have to make it quick."

She didn't wait for me to lead before brushing past me with the scent of her delicate fragrance that made my loins hum with excitement. I followed her, eating up the distance with my long strides, wondering why she had to see me in such a gathering. What the hell was she doing here? She was supposed to be in her high-rise office, fighting corporate battles, not wading into our world. Zane had been clear about keeping Ava out of it. Yet here she was, dragging me into a mess I couldn't afford.

The alcove was dimly lit, with wall-to-wall curtains that shielded us from the main floor. Once inside, Ava turned on me, arms crossed, giving her a posture that screams control. "You're making a mistake," she blurted. "This deal you're cooking up tonight is going to blow up in your face."

How did she know? I tilted my head, studying her. "Care to elaborate, or are you just here to throw around vague warnings?"

"Don't play dumb, Damian." Her voice was cold, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern, maybe. "I have sources. This supplier you're cozying up to? He's a liability. He's been skimming from his own people, and they're not the forgiving type. You tie Atlas to him, and you're painting a target on Zane and you all's back."

My gut twisted as I pondered her words. Ava wasn't wrong, but the fact that she knew this much meant someone close was talking. I stepped closer, towering over her, using my height to reclaim control. "You're out of your depth, Ava. This isn't your world."

She lifted her chin in defiance. "It's my brother's world, which makes it mine. You think I don't see what you all do? I'm not blind, Damian."

"You need to leave," I said. "This isn't your fight."

She stepped closer, erasing the space I had tried to keep. Her fragrance enveloped me, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten. "You don't have to dismiss me, Damian. I'm not one of your lackeys."

Ava didn't even look. "Zane wouldn't talk to me. You're the only one who still has a spine in that circle."

"Watch it." My voice dropped. "He's your brother."

"He's a dictator in a tailored suit."

"You say that like it's news."

She stepped closer. "So, help me take him down a peg."

I laughed once quietly. "You think that's what I do now? Undercut Zane?"

"You used to think for yourself."

"I still do." I leaned in, lowering my voice to a near-growl. "That's why I know getting involved with you again would be suicide."

Her eyes flickered, just for a second. That damn spark. "Again?" she repeated.

"Don't."

A pause stretched between us, filled with everything we weren't allowed to say.

The air vibrated with all we wanted, the regret, and our history. God, I had missed her. But loyalty had a cost. And I'd already paid it in full.

She broke the silence first. "So that's it? You just follow orders now?"

I stepped back, folding my arms. "I don't follow anyone. But I protect what matters."

She blinked, the hurt too fast to hide. "Right. And I don't? I know you feel it too, this pull between us. You've felt it for years."

My heart stuttered, but I clamped hard down on it. She was Zane's sister. "You're wrong," I said, "You're Zane's sister. That's all you'll ever be to me."

"Liar," she whispered. "You can't even look at me when you say it."

I forced myself to meet her gaze, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. "Go home, Ava. Stay out of this."

For a moment, she didn't move, her eyes searching mine for a crack in my armor. Then she laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that cut deeper than I expected. "Fine. But when this goes south, and it will, don't say I didn't warn you." She turned and stormed out, the curtains swaying in her wake.

I stepped out of the alcove, watching her walk away, hurt, but I let her. Because the alternative was a line I couldn't cross. Not without betraying the one man I would take a bullet for. But as she reached the far side of the room, I looked back. She paused at the edge of the crowd, glanced over her shoulder, and for a heartbeat, our eyes met. The fire hadn't gone out. It had just buried itself under loyalty to our comradeship bond.

Every step Ava took felt like something being ripped from under my skin. Something I had buried. I watched her thread her way toward the center of the room, and then she stopped to chat with Sienna. I couldn't hear what they said, not from where I was.

I moved through the lounge like nothing had happened, towards where Kamar was waiting in the VIP suite, maintaining an expressionless poise, which was my trick to staying alive in our world, by not showing any cracks.

But even as I stepped inside the suite, I nodded at Kamar's amused expression as he poured himself another drink.

"You always have such interesting visitors," he said. "Is she part of the package?"

"She's not for sale," I replied flatly.

His grin widened. "Pity."

I didn't respond to that comment as I began buttressing my points on the contract routes and numbers. Though my mind was moving, my mind was still tracking Ava's steps out of the lounge, wondering why she always came back to me even after knowing I would turn her away.

There was a part of me that wanted to chase her. Not to apologize but to explain. To say all the things I never had the right to say out loud. Especially when Zane made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that his half-sister was off-limits to all of us if we wanted to stay breathing. He had said it with a smile, yet I didn't miss the undertone of threat in his friendly words. That was the night I killed whatever it was we had. Not because I stopped feeling it.

"Damian?" Kamar snapped his fingers once. "You're drifting."

I blinked. "No. I'm with you, Kamar."

He leaned in, curling his lips into his smile. "Make sure you stay present. I don't do second chances."

"Neither do I," I said almost immediately.

"That's why I am here to close the deal," Kamar said, reaching out his hand. I took it, and we shook hands. While he signed the contract, I offered him a final drink at the house and left him visibly pleased and satisfied, but Ava's warning gnawed at me. She was right about one thing: trouble was coming. I could feel it in my bones.

And, through the hallway of my own damn lounge, surrounded by everything I had built, I couldn't help but realize that the one thing I had spent years avoiding had just walked back into my life, shaking the very root of my loyalty to Zane Calloway.

AVA SINCLAIR.

The pool water sparkled under the Los Angeles sun, catching the light in a way that made my skin glow radiantly. I arched my back, letting my dark auburn hair spurt in wet, glossy waves down my shoulders and sharp cheekbones. I pouted my full lips, so my blue eyes were half-lidded as I gave the camera my best smoldering stare. The music video director shouted something about angles, but I barely heard him over the pulse of the soft hum vibrating through the air. Every stroke I made through the water was deliberate was a performance not just for the lens but for Damian Pierce, knowing he was watching despite dismissing me like I was nothing more than a spoiled debutante playing at being a star. My slender body sliced through the pool with a confidence that masked the fire raging in my chest, a fire that whispered I would make him see me, really see me, no matter what it took.

I kicked off the pool's edge, gliding beneath the surface, the world muffled and serene for a fleeting moment. My thoughts flowed as fiercely as the surrounding water. Damian had always been there, lurking in my life like a shadow I couldn't shake. He was Zane's best friend, older by a decade, with an infuriating charm that made my knees weak and my temper flare.

I remember the summer I turned eighteen, the way his dark eyes had lingered on me for so long at Zane's beach house, his lips curling into a half-smile that promised things we would never dare to voice. We had stood too close on the balcony, the ocean breeze tangling my hair, as I felt his breath warm against my cheek when he had leaned in, only to pull back, muttering something about his loyalty to my brother. Loyalty. As if I were a child who couldn't handle her own heart. I broke the surface, gasping softly, water streaming down my face as I tilted my head for the camera.

The photographer clicked furiously, shouting, "That's it, Ava! That look is fierce and untouchable!"

I wasn't untouchable, though. Not when it came to Damian. Every dismissive glance he had thrown my way since I returned to Los Angeles and every time he called me "kid" or brushed off my attempts to talk, it cut deeper than I would admit. I wasn't the naive girl he seemed to think I was. I have walked runways in Paris, sipped champagne with royalty in Dubai, danced under the stars in Santorini. I had lived a life most could only dream of, yet here I was, still chasing the approval of a man who saw me as Zane's little sister and nothing more.

The video shoot wrapped with the director clapping like we had just filmed the next blockbuster. I climbed out of the pool, wrapping a silk robe around my bikini-clad body, the fabric clinging to my damp skin. The crew bustled around, packing up equipment, but my focus was elsewhere. Damian.

He had been at the shoot earlier, lounging by the bar with that effortless swag, his tailored suit hugging his broad shoulders. He hadn't stayed long at the location but just long enough to watch me dive into the pool and then leave without a word. The memory of his indifference to me burned. I would show him I was his equal, not some flighty heiress. I would make him want me.

While the crew cleaned up the location, I found myself lingering with my manager, Andrea. She was a petite woman with a pixie cut and a laugh that could light up a room. We had walked through the chaos of the day, and now we sat at a corner table, sipping martinis.

"You were a vision out there today," Andrea said, her eyes sparkling. "I mean, damn, Ava. You made that pool look like it was made for you."

I laughed, swirling my drink. "Thanks, Andrea. You made me look like a goddess. That smokey eye? Lethal."

She grinned, leaning closer. "So, spill. What's with you and Mr. Tall, dark, and brooding in the shadows? I saw the way you two were looking at each other."

I blushed, glancing down at my glass. "It's... complicated. He's my brother's friend. I've known him forever."

"Uh-huh," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And I've known my cat forever, but I don't look at her like I want to climb her like a tree."

I burst out laughing, "Okay, maybe I like him. A little. But he's... difficult. And there's stuff with my brother I can't ignore."

Lila reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "Hey, you're Ava freaking Sinclair. You've walked runways and have caused a few international incidents with that smile. Whatever's going on, you've got this. And if that guy can't see how incredible you are, he's an idiot."

Her words warmed me. "Thanks, Kayla," I said softly. "I needed that."

"Anytime," she said, clinking her glass against mine. "Now, let's order another round and plot how you're gonna make that man beg for mercy." I grinned, letting her words reignite the fire in my chest for Damian.

I took the elevator back to my suite at the Château Marmont. I kicked off my heels and let the robe fall to the floor, the cool air kissing my skin. The room was a study in opulence, a gold-accented chandelier full of crystals that sat over my palatial-sized bed. I grew up in places like that, raised by my maternal grandparents after Mom died. Their wealth had shaped me into the sleek, confident woman I had become. I had decided to be a Sinclair, not Calloway, a deliberate shield against the shadows of my half-brother's world.

My half-brother, Zane Calloway, who is the billionaire genius behind Atlas Group, was a man everyone in LA revered. But I had heard the dark whispers of how folks had vanished after crossing him. When our father died five years ago, I saw a shift in Zane, the way his eyes suddenly became hardened and his smiles grew rare. Yet I had pretended not to notice, focusing on my modeling career.

I padded across the plush carpet to the dressing table, my reflection staring back at me. I was reaching for my phone when my eyes caught a folded piece of paper on the floor, half-tucked under the bathroom door. My pulse quickened as I bent to pick it up, the edges crisp and heavy, like it carried weight beyond its size. I unfolded it, and the words made my breath pause.

"Stay out of my business, or you will regret it."

That was it; there was no signature or hint of who had left it, but I knew who sent the threat note: Kamar. His threat hung in the air, choking me until I sank onto the edge of the bed, still holding the note with trembling hands. Zane had always kept me at arm's length from his company, insisting it was for my safety. I had played along, jet-setting across the globe, modeling, living the life of a carefree heiress. But I wasn't stupid. I had overheard enough late-night calls, seen enough guarded looks between Zane and his men, to know Atlas Group wasn't just a tech empire. Our father's death had changed Zane. He had stepped into a role I didn't fully understand, and now this note confirmed what I had feared: His world was darker than I had let myself believe.

My mind raced, piecing together fragments of the past. The way Zane's jaw tightened whenever I asked about Atlas. Damian and his other friends, too. The thought of him sent a jolt of longing through me. He was Zane's right-hand man, always at his side, always in on the secrets. If anyone knew what this note meant, it was him. And if I played this right, I could use it to pull him closer, to force him to see me as more than Zane's sister.

I grabbed my phone, letting my fingers fly over the screen as I typed a message to Damian.

"Meet me at the rooftop bar... 9 PM. We need to talk." I hit send before I could second-guess myself. This note was about proving I could handle whatever Zane was hiding and showing Damian I wasn't the spoiled girl he thought I was. I had spent years chasing my freedom, but now I was chasing something else: truth, and just maybe, Damian.

֍

At 8 pm, I showered, letting the hot water wash away the day's tension, but it couldn't rinse away the unease curling in my gut. I walked to my closet to choose my clothes for the night. And after several selections, I decided to wear black leather pants that hugged my long legs, a silk blouse with a neckline dipped low enough to catch his attention, and a matching heel that made my six-foot frame tower. I styled my hair in loose waves before I swiped the hot-red lipstick across my lips, giving my poise the slash of defiance. If I was walking into danger, I would do it looking like a queen.

I made it to the rooftop bar at exactly 9 pm. I spotted Damian immediately, leaning against the bar, holding a whiskey glass in his hand. His dark hair was tousled, his suit jacket unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt.

I strode toward him, ignoring the heads that turned my way. "Damian," I said.

He turned, his eyes raking over me. First, it lingered on the lipstick, the heels, and back to the fire in my expression. "Ava," he drawled, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. "You look ravishing, as always. What's this about?"

I slid onto the stool beside him, crossing my legs, letting the movement draw his gaze. "Don't play dumb," I said, keeping my tone light. "You saw me at the shot today. You left without a word. And now I get this." I pulled the note from my clutch, sliding it across the bar.

His smirk faded as he unfolded it, his jaw tightening as he read. "Where did you get this?" His voice was low yet dangerous, and it made me flinch.

"Under my door," I said, meeting his gaze. "Someone's watching me, Damian. And I'm betting you know who and why."

He folded the note, slipping it into his pocket, his expression unreadable. "You need to stay out of this, Ava. Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong."

"Am I?" I leaned closer. "I know Zane's not just running a tech company. And I know you're in on it. Don't lie to me."

His eyes darkened. "You're playing a dangerous game, kid."

"Don't call me that," I snapped, my temper flaring. "I'm not a child, Damian. I'm not blind, either. If Zane's in trouble, I deserve to know. And if you don't tell me, I'll find out myself."

He laughed, "You think you can handle it? You've spent your life posing for cameras, Ava. This isn't a runway."

His words hurt my feelings, but I refused to let him see them. "Maybe that's not so far from the truth," I said. "But I'm not as fragile as you think. And I'm not letting this go. So here's the deal; You help me figure out who sent that note, or I will go digging. And trust me, I know how to make noise."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes searching for mine like he was seeing me for the first time. Then he leaned in, so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath, the faint cedar of his cologne. "You're trouble, Ava Sinclair," he murmured. "Always have been."

My heart raced, but I didn't back down. "Good," I said, curving my lips into a smile. "Then you'll help me."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and I knew I had him. "Fine," he said. "But you do exactly what I say. No questioning."

"Deal," I said, my pulse singing with victory.

As he signaled the bartender for another drink, I basked in my feelings. Though I was stepping into a world I didn't fully understand, I wasn't alone.