HARPER.

The luxury-decorated hall was filled with the kind of energy that makes one feel a sense of belonging. Crystal chandeliers threw bright light across the room, adding a touch of sparkle to the sequined gowns and tuxes that everyone in the room wore. The air smelled of expensive perfume oozing with ambition. Who would blame them? After all, it was what brought me there, too. Becoming Lila was phase one of my strategy and it had been a good touch. With my bug on Noah's Calendar, I was closer to Atlas's than ever. The next phase of my plan was why I was at the banquet hall that evening.

I stood near the entrance, clasping a glass of untouched champagne in my hand as I scanned the crowd at the Los Angeles annual Tech gala, with my press badge hanging around my neck, granting me access but marking me as an outsider. I didn't mind. Outsiders saw everything others missed.

Since the guests were still arriving, the action was outside on the red carpet, and I walked out of the hall to participate in the ongoing circus. The flashing cameras, shouted questions, and the low hum of anticipation that always preceded the arrival of a big shot all made me soak the air with nostalgia. I had been there with a notebook tucked into my clutch, while my ears pricked for any lead gist worth chasing. They had been my humble beginning, and perhaps they will usher me into a better future that day.

Most of the arrivals were tech moguls and local celebrities, all showing off the usual parade of wealth and influence and none caught my attention as I took a sip of my champagne watching the media buzz. But then a sleek white Bentley rolled up, and the crowd's energy shifted, and soft murmurs rippled through the reporters, tightening their focus at once. Every camera lens was redirected to capture the car angles, and I leaned forward, squinting against the glare of spotlights, waiting to see who could command that kind of buzz.

The car flung open, and Audrey Movitch stepped out, and my breath caught. I could hear the hush fall on everyone on the red carpet. Audrey was the PR handler for the Atlas Group. Of course. Her presence explained the sudden charge in the air. She moved with the grace of someone who had mastered the art of being watched, her tailored navy dress hugging her frame, her auburn hair swept into an elegant chignon. But it wasn't her poise or her designer heels that held my attention. It was the way her smile never quite reached her eyes as she turned to field questions from the press line. While they hauled lots of questions about Atlas operations, she answered each of them with a polished deflection, showing her masterclass in saying nothing while sounding like she was spilling everything. I knew that trick. I have seen it in politicians, CEOs, and liars. My pulse quickened. Audrey Movitch was in on the other dark deals Atlas is involved in aside from the tech business; she was clearly hiding something, and I was going to find out what. Just like the four brothers, Audrey was loyal to the group. She had been working with Atlas for over six years. Investment banking didn't breed that kind of loyalty and secrecy. I'd thought she was in the clear and merely doing her job as a PR specialist until that moment. Bingo Audrey!

I watched her work the red carpet, her responses smooth as glass. "The Atlas Group is thrilled to support innovation in sustainable tech investment," she said to one reporter. "Our focus is on empowering the future, not dwelling on the past." The reporter nodded, scribbling furiously, but I caught the slight tightening of her jaw when someone asked about the brothers' private ventures. She laughed it off, a tinkling sound that didn't match the flicker of unease in her eyes. My fingers twitched around my glass. I was trained to spot the cracks in a facade, and Audrey's was starting to show. The gala's host called for everyone to move inside, and I trailed the crowd, keeping my eyes on Audrey. She glided toward the main hall, her posture impeccable with a fixed smile.

I needed to get close to her, too, not just for a soundbite like the other reporters, but for something real. My charming vibe was going to come in handy, knowing that years of working in rooms like this had taught me how to make people trust me and forget I was a journalist until it was too late. After the press had eased off on her trail, I decided it was time for me to warm up my way to the PR lady. I adjusted my dress, a deep emerald number that hugged my curves without screaming for attention, and made my move.

"Audrey Movitch?" I said, falling into step beside her as we entered the hall. My voice was light with the kind of tone that invited confidence. "You handled that press line like a pro. I'm Harper Kane, by the way."

She turned, her eyes assessing me in a heartbeat. Up close, she was even more striking. She had sharp cheekbones, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and eyes that seemed to see right through me. But her smile was practiced. "Thank you, Harper. It's just part of the job. You're with...?"

"Freelance, mostly," I said, keeping it vague. "I cover the tech beat for a few outlets. You know, chasing the next big thing." I flashed a grin, letting a hint of mischief creep into it. "Though I have to say, Atlas always seems to be the story everyone wants but no one can quite get."

Her laugh was soft, but I caught the edge in it. "We're just a boring investment firm, I'm afraid. Not much of a story there."

I tilted my head, letting my expression say I didn't buy it without being rude. "Oh, I don't know. Five brothers running a billion-dollar empire? That's the kind of thing that sells papers."

She didn't miss a beat. "They're brilliant men with a vision. I'm lucky to work with them." Her tone was perfect, but her fingers tightened slightly around her clutch. Gotcha Audrey.

We reached the seating area and I glanced at the place cards, my heart doing a little leap of its own when I saw my name next to hers. Luck or fate, I didn't care. I was exactly where I needed to be.

"Looks like we're tablemates," I said, pulling out her chair before she could. A small gesture, but it set the tone for charm since I was here to make her comfortable and definitely like me.

She slid into her seat in fluid movements, and I took the chair beside her. The room buzzed with conversation mixed with the clink of glasses and cutlery. Onstage, a tech influencer was droning about the Fintech future, but I barely listened. My focus was on Audrey, how her gaze flicked to the stage but never settled. She was on guard, and I needed to change that.

"So," I said, leaning in just enough to make it feel intimate without crowding her, "how do you do it? Managing the PR for a juggernaut like Atlas. I bet you've got stories that'd make my hair curl."

She smiled, and this time it felt a little more genuine. "It's a lot of coffee and a good pair of heels," she said, crossing her legs. "But honestly, it's about knowing the mission. The brothers are intense, but they're focused. They want to change the world, and I help them tell that story."

I nodded, filing away the word "intense." It wasn't much, but it was a start. "Must be exhausting, though. Keeping all those plates spinning. I mean, the brothers, Zane, Ethan, Noah, Damian and Liam. They're practically perfect. No one ever sees them slip up. That's got to be your doing."

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment, and I knew I had hit a nerve. "They're disciplined," she said, her voice steady but her fingers brushing the stem of her glass a little too quickly. "They know what's at stake."

I wanted to push, to ask what exactly was at stake, but I held back. Pushing too soon, and she'd clam up. Instead, I pivoted. "I get it. I've covered enough CEOs to know the ones who shine do it because they've got someone like you in their corner. You're like the magic behind the curtain."

That got a real laugh out of her, a low, throaty sound filled me with warmth. "Wizard, huh? I'll take it. But I'm no Oz. Just a girl from Chicago who's good at her job."

"Chicago?" I latched onto it, sensing an opening. "No way, I spent a summer there interning at the Tribune. Best deep-dish pizza I've ever had. You a Lou Malnati's fan or what?"

Her face lit up, and for the first time, I saw her relax. "Lou's is solid, but I'm a Pequod's girl. Caramelized crust, extra sausage. You don't mess with perfection."

I grinned, leaning back in my chair. "Pequod's? Okay, I respect it. We used to argue about pizza rankings in the newsroom like it was a blood sport. What else do you miss about Chicago?"

We slipped into easy banter, trading stories about dive bars and lakefront summers. I kept my questions in a friendly light, letting her lead, but I was always watching, always listening. The way her shoulders loosened when she talked about her old neighborhood, the way her eyes darted to her phone when a notification pinged. She was good, but she wasn't perfect. There was something behind her polish, she had something she was guarding. I just needed time to find it.

The talk show portion of the evening dragged on, some panel about blockchain that had half the room checking their watches. I used the lull to keep Audrey talking, steering the conversation to safer ground on movies, travel, the chaos of PR life. I mirrored her energy, laughing at her jokes, nodding at the right moments. By the time the panel wrapped, we were chatting like old friends, and when she pulled out her business card, I knew I'd played it right.

"Here," she said, handing it to me with a smile. "In case you ever want to talk about pizza or PR disasters."

I took it, my fingers brushing hers, and slipped my own card into her hand. "Oh, I'll be calling. You're too interesting to let slip away."

Her smile faltered for a split second, and I wondered if she'd caught the double meaning. But she recovered fast, tucking my card into her clutch. "Looking forward to it, Harper."

The gala was winding down already with guests drifting toward the exits, but I wasn't ready to let her go. I needed more than a card. I needed her trust. "Hey," I said, standing as she did, "you want to grab a drink? Somewhere less... chandelier-y? I know a great spot a few blocks from here. No press, no pressure."

She hesitated, and I held my breath, knowing this was the make-or-break moment. My mind raced, wondering if I had pushed too hard? Was she seeing through me? But then she nodded, her smile softening. "Sure. I could use a drink."

We slipped out a side door, avoiding the lingering photographers, and stepped into the cool night air. The city hummed around us, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement. I led her to a quiet bar I'd scouted earlier, a place with dim lighting and booths that promised privacy. We settled in, ordering some cocktails, and I let the conversation flow naturally, steering it away from Atlas for now. I needed her to feel safe, to see me as a friend, not a threat.

"So," I said, stirring my drink, "you ever get tired of the PR game? All the spinning, the secrets?"

She took a sip, her eyes meeting mine over the rim of her glass. "Sometimes. But it's what I'm good at. And it's not all secrets. Some stories are worth telling."

"I bet you've got some good ones. The kind that don't make it to the press releases."

She laughed, but there was a guarded edge to it. "Maybe. But you know how it is, some things are better left off the record."

"For now," I said, flashing a playful grin. "But I'm patient. And I'm a great listener."

She studied me, and for a moment, I thought she might shut down. But then she leaned back, her posture easing. "You're trouble, Harper Kane. I can tell."

"Only the good kind," I shot back, and we both laughed, the tension breaking like a wave.

"I think we will make great friends" Audrey said, sipping on her cocktail.

We talked for hours, the bar emptying around us. I kept it light, letting her share what she wanted, but every word, every gesture, was a piece of the puzzle. Audrey Movitch was my way in, my key to unlocking whatever the Atlas Group was hiding. I didn't know what it was yet, but I felt it in my bones. There was something big enough that could improve my career. And as we clinked glasses, I knew I was closer than ever to finding it.

DAMIAN.

The smart TV screen flickered off after the video chat with the brothers, leaving the private office in Club Eden bathed in the dim glow of my lamp. Noah's voice still echoed in my head, his insistence that the missing shipment was just a clerical error grating against my instincts. He had claimed the shipment was missing because of a paper mix-up. Sure, if others believed that.

I leaned back in my leather chair as I thought of Noah's recent spiral, the booze, his hallucinations about some bimbo he picked to warm his bed, and his distractions at work. I had considered reaching out to Zane, letting him know his little brother was teetering on the edge of a cliff. But Zane was neck-deep in wedding plans with Sienna, probably picking out tablecloths or some nuptial nonsense. I decided to keep an eye on Noah myself for now.

The intercom buzzed sharply, snapping me out of my thoughts. I straightened, smoothing a hand over my tailored jacket. "Yeah?" I said, pressing the button.

"Mr. Pierce, you have a guest," came the clipped voice of my assistant, Kendra. "Ava Sinclair." My pulse kicked up a notch. Ava. Of course, she'd show up unannounced without warning.

I glanced at my desk, filled with scattered papers, a half-empty glass of bourbon, and a pen I'd been fidgeting with during the call. It looked so unkempt. I shoved the papers into the drawer, capped the pen, and tucked the glass behind a stack of books. A quick check in the small mirror on the wall confirmed my tie was straight, my dark hair still in place. I grabbed the cologne bottle from the shelf, spritzed an extra layer, and inhaled the sharp, woody scent.

"Send her in," I said.

Seconds after, the door flung open, and Ava Sinclair stepped into the room. She moved in like she owned the space, letting her heels click against the polished hardwood with reckless abandon. Her blue-colored dress, hugging curves, made my loins groan with desire instantly. She had styled her hair to fall in loose waves over one shoulder, and her eyes locked onto mine with that familiar touch of challenge and amusement. I forced myself to stay seated and keep my hands still on the desk, even as my blood thrummed with the memory of her... how things were between us years ago, before everything got complicated.

"Damian," she said, "you're looking... busy."

I smirked, leaning back in my chair, letting my gaze linger on her just long enough to make her notice. "Always am, Ava. You know that. What brings you to my little corner of the world?"

She didn't sit. Instead, she crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly, her lips curving into a smile that made her eyes lit up even more. "We have real business to talk about."

My gut tightened. Ava didn't do small talk, and "real business" with her usually meant trouble. I gestured to the chair across from my desk. "Sit. Let's hear it."

She hesitated, then slid into the chair, crossing her legs in a way that made the room feel smaller. I kept my eyes on her face, but it took effort to focus. I had to echo my mantra repeatedly. Damian. She's Zane's sister. She's off-limits.

Yet the thought didn't stop the heat creeping up my neck.

"Someone's threatening to leak information about me to the press," she said, cutting straight to it. "I believe that you do have a snitch in your operations or mine. Maybe both. You feel it too, don't you?"

I did. The missing shipment Noah swore, was a mix-up? I hadn't bought it for a second. My jaw tightened as I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "You got proof, or is this just your gut talking?"

Her eyes narrowed, "My gut's never wrong, Damian. You know that. But if you want proof, how about the fact that my last two modeling contracts got tanked because someone tipped off the clients about my... connections? To Zane and the cartel."

The mention of her career hit me like a jab. Ava had climbed her way to the top of the modeling world, having her face on billboards from Paris to Tokyo. But her ties to our cartel were undisclosed. Zane had insisted on that. I knew the game. Rivals didn't just compete, they destroyed. And someone was gunning for her.

"Who's coming for you?" I asked, my voice low, steady, even as my mind raced. A snitch in the cartel was bad enough. A rival targeting Ava? That was personal.

She leaned forward, mirroring my posture, her floral perfume hitting me like a wave. "I believe it has to do with Venessa Kane," she said. "Lately she's been whispering in ears and spreading lies about me to foreign clients. I know she's got connections of her own, Damian. Deep ones. And with the intensity she's working at, I doubt she's just after me. She's perhaps poking around Atlas and looking for cracks."

Vanessa Kane was a shady bitch, always skirting the edges of our world but never quite bold enough to step into the ring. Until now, apparently. I rubbed my thumb along the edge of my desk, my mind spinning through the possibilities. If Nessa was behind the leaks and the missing shipments, it meant she had someone on the inside.

"You're sure it's her?" I asked, watching her closely. Ava wasn't one to throw accusations without cause, but she wasn't above playing angles to get what she wanted. Especially when it comes to me. Nessa and I had our history and I wasn't going to put it past Ava to poke on it just to get close to me.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm sure. And I need your help to stop her from finding her bug; we cut Vanessa off at the knees. Together."

There it was. The pitch. I sat back, folding my arms, letting the silence stretch. Working with Ava meant diving headfirst into a minefield. Not just because of the danger looming but because of her. Every look, every word, every brush of her hand was going to be a test of my self-control. And I was already failing.

"Why me?" I asked, keeping my tone light, teasing, even as my pulse hammered. "You've got Zane, your big brother. Why not go to him?"

Her smile faded, and for a moment, she flickered her eyes. "Zane's distracted, we all know that. Sienna's got him wrapped up in wedding plans, and I'm not dragging him into this. Not yet. Besides..." She paused, her gaze softening, just enough to make my chest ache. "You owe me, Damian."

The words hit like a sucker punch. I had walked away from her years ago, not because I wanted to, but because Zane had made it clear that Ava was family, and family was untouchable. I had promised to keep my distance. But promises didn't erase the way my skin burned when she looked at me like that.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the intercom buzzed again, shattering the moment. I jabbed the button, irritation flaring. "What?"

"Mr. Pierce, Rico's here," Kendra said. "Says it's urgent."

Rico. One of our cartel contacts, the kind who only showed up when the sky was falling. I glanced at Ava, who raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Send him in," I said, my gut twisting.

Rico slunk into the room in his leather jacket, announcing every step he took. His eyes were darting between me and Ava as he started to talk. "Damian," he said, ignoring Ava entirely. "We got a problem. Big one."

"Spit it out," I said,

"Word on the street is someone's putting a copy on Atlas shipments. And I am afraid we may also not get our next shipment."

"What? We have a dub? Meaning we can not meet our gang's delivery. That's war looming."

I glanced at Ava, whose expression was unreadable, her fingers gripping the arms of her chair. She'd heard every word.

"Exactly. We need to talk with Zane immediately."

"I will pass it on. In the meantime, get me probable suspect names," I said to Rico. "Who's talking, who's paying, who's taking the job. I want everything."

Rico nodded, already backing toward the door. "On it, boss."

He was gone before I could respond. The air in the room felt even more tense now. I turned to Ava, who was staring at me with questions in her eyes.

"You still think this is just about your modeling gigs?" I asked her.

She stood, pacing to the window. "It's bigger than I thought," she admitted. "But it doesn't change what I need from you. We can stop this."

I stood too, moving close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. "And what's in it for me, Ava? Besides getting your target on my back?"

She turned, her face inches from mine, her breath warm against my skin. "You get to keep your cartel intact. And maybe..." She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe you have to stop pretending you don't care."

She was too close. I wanted to step back, to rebuild the wall between us, but my body wouldn't move.

She's Zane's sister. She's Zane's sister.

The mantra did nothing to stop the way my hand twitched, itching to reach for her.

"Alright," I said finally, in a rough tone. "We do this. Together. But we keep it clean, Ava. No games."

Her lips curved into a deep, satisfied smile. "No games," she agreed, but her eyes said something else entirely.

We spent the next hour hashing out a plan, laying out how we would trace the leaks. I listened when she talked and threw in my own ideas, but half my brain was on her the entire time. The way her fingers tapped the desk when she got excited, the way her laugh slipped out when I cracked a dry joke about Nessa's ego. Every second with her was a tightrope walk, and I was losing my balance.

When we finished, she stood to leave, slinging her bag over her shoulder. I walked her to the door, my hand brushing hers as I reached for the handle. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I froze, my fingers lingering against hers longer than they should have. She didn't pull away.

"Damian," she said, "Thank you. For saying yes."

I swallowed, my throat tight. "Don't thank me yet. We're not out of the woods."

She smiled, a real one this time, the kind that made my chest ache. "I know. But I feel better with you in my corner."

I wanted to say something to keep her at arm's length, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I said, "You always knew how to get under my skin."

Her laugh was quiet, "And you always made it so easy."

She stepped closer, her hand brushing my arm, "We're going to be okay, right?" she asked.

I looked into her eyes, saw the flicker of vulnerability she rarely let show. My hand moved before I could stop it, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah," I said. "We'll be okay."

She held my gaze for a moment longer, then stepped back, breaking the spell. "See you soon, Damian."

As the door closed behind her, I leaned against it, my heart pounding. The cartel was under attack but all I could think about was Ava Sinclair. I was in deep, and I didn't know if I wanted to find a way out. I clearly do not.

Ava Sinclair.

The atelier's mirrored walls threw my reflection back at me as the stylist pinned the hem of my gown, one I needed for my Paris networking event. With that event, I could better solidify my place in the fashion world. Yet I knew it could also break it, if Vanessa and her minions had their way.

The dress clung to my curves, its deep neckline daring, its fabric whispering against my skin. I turned, catching the light, and tried to focus on the stylist's quiet murmurs about darts and stitching. But my mind drifted, pulling me back to the night. Everything changed without warning.

I had just clocked twenty years that summer night, with Damian's leather jacket slung over my shoulders. We had been sprawled on the hood of his sleek Mustang, the Los Angeles skyline glittering below us like a promise. His arm had brushed mine, deliberately, his eyes catching mine with that smile that made my stomach flip. "You're trouble, Ava," he had said in his charming, low, teasing voice, but his fingers had lingered on my wrist. I laughed, leaned closer and let myself believe we were perfect for each other. Until Zane walked in on us. When he registered what the scene meant, his fury was intense. After their fist-fight that got too bloody for me, he told Damian to choose me or their friendship. I had, without a doubt, believed that Damian would choose me, but to my utmost dismay, he had chosen Zane. He'd walked away, left me standing in the driveway with his jacket still warm in my hands, while my heart cracked into pieces.

"Miss Sinclair?" The seamstress's voice snapped me back to the fitting room. She stood, pins in her mouth, eyeing me expectantly.

"It's perfect," I said, forcing a smile. "Send the final measurements to my team." I stepped off the platform, the gown rustling as I slipped into my jeans and blouse, still carrying the weight of the memory of Damian's betrayal.

I grabbed my phone and fired off a quick email to my team, confirming my Paris itinerary: fittings, meetings, the gala. Routine, except nothing felt routine anymore. Not with Vanessa's whispers about my connections to Atlas Group and the Cartel dogging my every step, threatening to unravel everything I'd built.

Outside, the Los Angeles sun hit me hard. My white Porsche gleamed in the lot, a sleek beast that always felt like an extension of me...fast, free, untamed. I slid into the driver's seat, loving the way the leather cooled against my thighs, and then I froze. An untagged parcel sat on the passenger seat. My pulse spiked instantly, knowing I had locked the car. I always locked the car, yet there was a parcel in it. I glanced around the lot, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever had left it for me. But it was empty, save for a distant couple strolling hand-in-hand, oblivious to my dilemma. There was no one watching or lurking. But the air felt like I was being watched.

I reached for the parcel, turning it around to see if it was signed. Nothing. Then I tore it open. Inside was a single photograph of me, stepping out of Club Eden with Damian. Scrawled across the bottom in red ink was.

"We know who you are. Ava Calloway," My breath caught, I was never addressed by my father's last name. I flipped the photo over and read out the typed note, "Your cartel friends in Atlas can't save you. Step back, or we end you."

The words sank into me. This wasn't just about my career anymore. This was about Zane and Atlas, who didn't just want to sabotage my runway, they wanted more.

I shoved the photo and note into my bag, my hands trembling as I started the engine. The Porsche roared to life, and I peeled out of the lot. My mind raced faster than the car. Vanessa's name had been circling my thoughts for weeks, ever since my last two modeling contracts went up in smoke. She was a shadow in my world, a rival with a knack for exploiting weaknesses. If she was behind this, she wasn't just targeting me but was gunning for Atlas, and all of us.

By the time I pulled into the garage of my penthouse, the sun had dipped lower. I sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel. I needed help.

I needed Damian.

The thought twisted in my gut. Calling him meant opening a door I had sworn to keep locked, but he was the only one I trusted to fix this mess without dragging Zane into it. Zane would turn this into a war, lock me away like some fragile princess. I wasn't that girl anymore. I could handle this. I had to.

I dialed Damian's number when I got to the foyer, my thumb hovering over the call button for a heartbeat too long before I pressed it. He answered on the second ring, his voice rough, like he'd been running or fighting or both. "Ava? Are you okay?"

"I need you to come to my place," I said, keeping my tone steady, even as my heart pounded. "Now."

"What's going on?" Worry crept into his voice, sharp and real. "You sound..."

"Just come, Damian. And don't tell Zane. I mean it."

He hesitated, then said, "I'm on my way."

I paced the foyer them made my way to the study, the city skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The photograph and note lay on the coffee table, glaring up at me. I poured a glass of wine, and took a sip, but it did nothing to steady my nerves.

Don't let him in again, I told myself. Damian had betrayed me once, chosen loyalty to Zane over me. I couldn't afford to let him close, no matter how much my body remembered the way his touch felt.

The doorbell chimed twenty minutes later, and I straightened, smoothing my blouse, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I walked over to open the door, and there he was in his black suit tailored to perfection, his cologne hitting me at once. He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on me, intense, searching.

"You going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?" he said. There was an edge to his voice, like he already knew this was bad.

I gestured to the coffee table where the photograph and note sat. He crossed the room in three strides, his shoulders tensing as he picked up the photo, his eyes narrowing at the red scrawl. He read the note next, his jaw clenching so hard I could see the muscles twitch.

"Where did you get this?" he asked,

"My car," I said, crossing my arms. "It was unlocked. Someone left it in the passenger seat."

"Unlocked?" He turned to me, "Ava, you don't leave your car unlocked. Ever."

"I know that," I snapped in my defense, "I locked it. Someone got in any way."

He ran a hand through dark hair, pacing a tight circle. "This is definitely Nessa. Has to be. She's the only one hot-headed enough not to be subtle about it."

I nodded, "It's not just about me, Damian. This is about Atlas. They're coming for all of us."

He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto mine. "You should've called Zane. He needs to know."

"No." The word came out sharper than I meant, but I didn't back down. "Zane would turn this into a cage. He'll have me under guard 24/7, like I'm some damsel who can't handle her own problems. I'm not that kid anymore, Damian. I can deal with this."

His lips pressed into a thin line, frustration flickering across his face. "You're not a kid, Ava, but you're still his sister. And this?" He held up the note. "This is a threat. A real one. You can't just..."

"Don't lecture me," I cut in, stepping closer. "I called you, not Zane. I trust you to help me fix this without turning my life into a prison."

He stared at me, his chest rising. "You trust me," he said, "After everything?"

The words hung between us, heavy with the weight of our past. I wanted to scream in his face, remembering the nights I'd cried myself to sleep because of the sting of his betrayal. But standing there, inches from him, I felt the pull of him.

"Don't," I said. "Don't make this about us."

"There's always been us, Ava," he said, stepping closer. "You know that."

My breath hitched. He was too close now, his body a wall of heat, his gaze pinning me in place. I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scar above his eyebrow from the fight with Zane. My fingers twitched, wanting to trace it,. No.

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to lean into him. "You made your choice, Damian. You walked away."

"I had to," he said. "Zane's my brother. Not by blood, but by everything else. I couldn't..."

"You could've fought for me," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My eyes burned, but I refused to let the tears fall. "You didn't."

He reached for me, his hand hovering near my cheek, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin. "Ava, I..."

I stepped back, "Don't," I said again, but it sounded weak, like a plea. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, the space between us shrank. I could feel the pull, the ache of the memory of his lips on mine. I wanted to kiss him and drown in him.

I turned away, breaking the spell, my hands shaking as I grabbed my wine glass, needing something to hold onto. "We focus on Nessa," I said. "We find out why she's doing this, and we stopped her. That's it."

He didn't move, didn't speak, but I could feel his eyes on me. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. We do it your way. For now."

He went to sit on the couch and I watched him. He was still the Damian I'd fallen for. I wanted to hate him for it, for choosing that life over me, but I couldn't. Not when he was here, fighting for me now.

"We start with Rico," he said, glancing at me. "He's got ears everywhere. If Nessa's making moves, Rico'll know."

I nodded, sipping my wine, trying to focus on the plan and not the way his voice sent shivers down my spine. "And my contacts in the industry," I added. "Someone's feeding her dirt on me. I'll find out who."

He smiled, just a flicker, but it warmed me more than it should have. "You were always good at getting answers."

I laughed. "And you were always good at getting in trouble."

His grin widened, boyish and disarming, and for a moment, we weren't a model and a cartel enforcer plotting against an enemy. We were just Ava and Damian, two kids who'd once thought they could take on the world.

"Still am," he said, his eyes holding mine. "But I'm here, Ava. I'm not going anywhere this time."

My heart stuttered, the words hitting deeper than I wanted them to. I set my glass down, leaning closer, letting myself have this moment, just for a second. "You better not," I said. "I don't forgive twice."

He reached out, his hand brushing mine. "I don't expect you to."

I sat next to him, our bodies touching, the threat of the cartel's exposure looming. But for that moment, it was not just me in it, and it was enough.