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.

NOAH.

I took a long sip of the warm coffee, finishing what was left in the cup. After swallowing it, I crushed the cup until it was hard to use as a recyclable material, before tossing it into the huge trash can five feet away. The air was stale, filled with the carbon waste of the smoke that seeped from the nearby chimney.

I reached for my handkerchief, wiped my fingers clean, then pulled my face cap further over my face to shield it from any curious onlooker. The last thing I wanted was to be identified out here. I wasn't running from the press, but my brothers. They would want to know why I was downtown, and I wasn't about to be laughed at one more time. I hated the dismissive manner in which Damian had waved off my question about the lady I met at his club, as if I were hallucinating. Not that it helped not to know her name either.

Lila's face had haunted me for the last week. Her sharp cheekbones, her eyes, and alluring lips all refused to fade. I couldn't shake it, no matter how many reports I skimmed or meetings I sat through. So, I did what I always did when obsession took hold of me. I acted.

I would easily have sent for one of the artists on Atlas' payroll, but that would mean involving Zane and the other brothers. Instead, I drove downtown to hire a sketch artist who had received a great recommendation online. And I fed him every detail I could recall of Lila. He didn't ask questions, he merely listened with his pencil in hand as he scratched away at his pad, his eyes flicking up occasionally to gauge my certainty. When I was done describing, I excused myself to get some air outside while he completed his sketch.

I glanced at my wristwatch and noted I had been standing out there for thirty-five minutes. I crossed my right leg, shifting my weight as I leaned against the pole. I had barely done that when the artist popped out of the door, beckoning me inside.

I hastily made my way into the shop, the sketch stared back at me. I couldn't believe my eyes. He had sketched it to look so close to the real thing it sent a chill down my spine.

"Thank you, this is good," I said, as I reached into my wallet, grabbed a few dollar bills that were more than double what he had charged.

"Please call again," he said, beaming at me as he tucked the notes into his pants pocket,

"You have to keep this between us. I will not appreciate you breathing a word of this to anyone."

"I totally understand you. Thanks." His nod was curt, and I left with the sketch folded tight in my jacket pocket.

When I drove back to my office in Atlas, I fed the sketch into our advanced facial recognition system. As the COO, I had access to data most governments could only dream of; we have databases that cross-referenced faces and aliases from the dark corners of the world. While the system hummed,, scanning through the faces, I turned my attention to my other task, which was tracing the location of the missing shipment. It had vanished somewhere between Shanghai and LA. My brothers were counting on me to handle it, especially with Liam and Ethan out of town. I wasn't about to let them down. Not again.

My phone buzzed. Zane's name flashed on the screen. I sighed, picking up.

"Noah, where the hell are you?" His voice carried that mix of irritation that only an older brother could pull off. "Groomsmen fitting was an hour ago."

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Work's got me buried, man. I'll reschedule."

"Buried, huh? Or avoiding?" Zane's tone sharpened. He knew me too well.

"Work," I said flatly, cutting him off. "I'll handle it."

"You'd, better, Sienna would happily grill you all over." He chuckled.

"Got ya" I said, and I hung up before he could push further. The truth was, I didn't have time for fittings or small talk. Not with Lila or whoever she was lurking in my head, and not with a shipment missing that could tank our quarter.

The facial recognition system pinged, notifying me it had found a match. My heart kicked up a gear as I leaned forward, my eyes locked on the screen while I checked out the profile of the name it had matched with the sketch.

"Oh my days," I whispered, as it stared back at me. Harper West. Journalist. Freelance. Her bylines appeared in high-profile outlets, including the Times and the Guardian, as well as some gritty investigative pieces on the dark web. My stomach twisted instantly.

Lila was a freaking journalist! A journalist sniffing around Atlas wasn't just trouble, but a five-alarm fire blaring off. And Lila was not just a random nosy journalist wanting a piece on Atlas but one clearly digging into the cartel. Harper West wasn't just a face in my head anymore. She was a high-level threat.

I dug deeper into her profile, my fingers flying across the keyboard relentlessly. Her digital footprint was meticulous, but trust me to find even the minute detail about her now that she was no longer my one-night stand Lila. By the time I had finished digging into her activities for the past month, I discovered that I wasn't her only target. She attended a gala last week with Audrey, our head of PR. Seeing a picture of Harper, all sharp smiles with her arms linked with Audrey's, like they were old friends, almost made me jump out of my seat with fright. She was watching us and circling, looking for cracks in the empire. Why hadn't I seen it then? Why hadn't I clocked her the second she walked into that lounge?

"Fuck the booze!" I screamed, banging a clenched fist into the desk. I was tempted to call the brothers and inform them that we were being marked, but I decided against it. I had to keep it to myself for the time being. Telling my brothers would only spark chaos, and I needed control to handle this alone.

I copied out her office address and left the office. An hour later, I was tailing her, yet I kept my distance. I needed to know what she was up to and if she had dug up enough on the cartel to raise an alarm. Lila...no Harper was headed into a bar, one known among the cartel gangs for gathering intel.

"What the hell was she doing here? Lila."

I slipped inside, and after seeing Harper sitting at the bar, her back to me, nursing a drink, her eyes scanning the room, I took a seat in a shadowed corner, making sure my cap was low enough to shield my face while I watched her.

She was good in the way she carried herself; subtle movements, all calculated, but I could tell she was waiting for someone. Was she meeting a source? A cartel contact? Or was she just fishing, hoping to catch a lead?

I placed an order for some drinks, not that I was thirsty, but to keep attention off me, since the waiter was starting to glare at me inquisitively. When the waiter brought it over, I handed him an extra tip, and he left a happy man, focusing his attention on other patrons.

I was starting to rethink my decision to trail Harper when a bulky-built guy slid into the stool beside her. His cobra tattoo ran through half of his shoulder to his neck. I tensed, my hand brushing the concealed Glock at my hip, but what surprised me mostly was that Harper didn't flinch, even though I could see her shoulders stiffen, and her fingers tightened around her glass.

The thug leaned in, his voice low but carrying enough for me to catch fragments..

"...stick your nose where it doesn't belong..."

She responded just as sharply, but I couldn't make out the words. Then his hand clamped onto her wrist too roughly, and before I could think, I was out of my seat, covering the distance between our seats quickly.

He didn't see me coming, and I used that to my advantage. I grabbed his shoulder, yanking him back hard enough to send his stool crashing. His head snapped toward me, eyes wide with surprise, then narrowing with rage.

"Walk away," I yelled down at him.

He sneered, shoving to his feet. He was big, but I'd faced bigger. "You her bodyguard or something?"

I didn't answer, but I rained down my fist on his jaw, sending him staggering. He swung back, wildly, and I ducked, driving my elbow into his gut, then slammed my knee into his face as he doubled over. He hit the floor hard, blood trickling from his nose. The bar went quiet with every eye on us, but no one moved.

I straightened, my chest heaving, and turned to Harper. She was on her feet, her eyes blazing at me with defiance. "I didn't need your help," she snapped.

I stepped closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume. "You're welcome," I said, "Next time, I'll let him break your wrist."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but those eyes didn't waver. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

I smirked, leaning in just enough to make her tense. "Someone who knows you're in over your head, Harper West."

Her eyes widened enough to tell me I'd hit a nerve. But she recovered fast, lifting her chin. "You've been digging into me. That's cute. But you don't scare me."

"You should be scared," I said. "You're poking at things that'll get you killed. Drop it."

She laughed, the sound sent a jolt through me. "You think you can just waltz in, play hero, and tell me how to do my job? I don't take orders from strangers."

I held her gaze, my pulse thudding in my ears. She was infuriatingly stubborn. But there was something else about her pulling at me. "Walk away, Harper," I said, softer this time, but with an edge. "Or next time, I won't be there to pull you out."

I turned, leaving her standing there. I didn't look back, but I felt her watching me. My hands were still shaking as I stepped into the night, the cool air doing nothing to calm the storm in my chest.

֍

I had told Harper to stay away. But I couldn't stay away. Four hours later, I found myself outside her office again, waiting in my car. The window blind was on, but I knew she was in there. I told myself it was about protecting Atlas and about keeping her from blowing up everything we'd built. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. I needed to know why she was doing this, what drove her to chase a story that could end her life. Money? Or mere foolishness.

I slipped inside the office and was appalled to find the space a mess. Papers were strewn on every desk, she had pinned photos and notes to a corkboard, her laptop humming softly. I scanned the board, my eyes catching on a photo of our company, Atlas's name with three question marks scrawled in red marker.

The door creaked behind me. I spun, hand on my Glock, but it was her. Harper stood in the doorway, a takeout coffee in one hand, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto me.

"Breaking and entering now?" she said. "You're not as subtle as you think."

I relaxed my grip on the gun, stepping away from her desk. "You're not as careful as you think. That place is a deathtrap."

She set her coffee down, crossing her arms. "What do you want, mystery man? Another cryptic warning?"

I hesitated. The truth was, I didn't know what I wanted. To stop her? To understand her? To pull her closer or push her away? My mind was a tangle, and her presence wasn't helping. "I want to know why you're doing this," I said finally. "Why are you risking your life for a story?"

Her eyes softened, just for a second, before the steel returned. "Because someone has to. People deserve to know the truth about your precious Atlas."

I flinched at her words, but I kept my face neutral. "The truth gets people killed. You included."

She stepped closer, close enough that I could see the flecks of fire in her eyes. "Maybe. But I'd rather die chasing the truth than live hiding from it."

"Look," I said. "I get it. You want to make a difference or make money. But you're not just taking on the cartel. You're taking on people like me. And I don't lose."

Her lips quirked in a smile. "You're not as scary as you think, you know. I've seen worse."

I laughed softly. "You haven't seen anything yet."

She tilted her head, studying me. "Why do you care what I do? What's it to you if I get myself killed?"

The question caught me off guard. I didn't have an answer, not one I could say out loud. Because the truth was, I didn't know why I cared. Why was I standing in her office at midnight instead of letting her crash and burn?

Instead, I said, "Maybe I just don't like loose ends."

She smirked, stepping back, "Well, I'm not your loose end to tie up. But... thanks. For the bar. You didn't have to do that."

I shrugged, my throat tight. "It was my treat for your services in the hotel. Don't make a habit of it."

For a moment, she merely stood there, ogling at me. Then she grabbed her coffee, took a sip, and said, "You know, for a guy who breaks into offices and beats up thugs, you're not half bad."

I raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at my lips. "And for an escort turned nosy journalist, you're not half bad either."

She laughed. I turned to go, but her voice stopped me.

"Hey," she said, quieter now. "I am not the only one chasing your folks."

I paused, my hand on the door. "I see," I said, glancing back at her. "You can quit the story, for a start."

Her smile was small, but it lingered in my head long after I left. She was tougher than I had assumed her to be. Tough yet sexy enough to stay unforgettable.

HARVEY.

"Harvey! You are mischievous."

Audrey's laugh echoed in my ears as we stepped out of the gala, the chatters of the other attendees fading behind us. Two weeks. That's all it took for her to feel like the sister I never had, her warmth slipping past the cold walls I'd built over years of hostile foster homes and lonely nights. If I weren't here to dig into her company, to peel back the layers of their billion-dollar tech empire, I might've let myself believe we could be real friends. But the truth was, I needed this story. My mortgage was due, and only a big win of another career-defining exposé would keep the roof over my head.

My mind drifted to Noah. He'd taken down that thug with a brutal efficiency that should've scared me, but instead, my pulse had raced for reasons I didn't want to name. Fear, sure. But attraction, too. His warning to drop my investigation into Atlas had been laced with a threat, but those eyes of his held something else. It made me wonder if he was protecting more than just his company's secrets.

Audrey hugged me goodbye, her perfume lingering as she slid into her car. "Once I sorted out this new vacant role. I will have enough time to unwind. Call me tomorrow, Harper. We'll do lunch." Her smile was bright, genuine, and it twisted something in my gut.

"Sure thing." I nodded, waving as her taillights disappeared, then turned to my own sedan. Alone now, I let my thoughts spiral.

Noah knew who I was and that I was digging into Atlas. And why did he care enough to step in? The questions gnawed at me, but so did the lead Audrey had unknowingly dropped earlier about a former Atlas employee who might crack open the truth about Atlas and its ties to the cartel. I had looked up the address, ready to chase for my information.

I drove through the city with Noah's warning echoed in my head that I was in over my head. I gripped the wheel tighter. Maybe I was. But I'd been in over my head my whole life as I shuffled through foster homes, fighting for scraps of stability. I wasn't backing down.

The parking lot was half-empty when I drove in. I scanned the lot, my pulse ticking up. I parked, my eyes flicking to my rearview mirror. I grabbed my bag, tucked my pepper spray into my pocket, and stepped out.

Inside, I knocked on the room on the left with the number on the address. Nothing. I knocked a few more times before my phone buzzed a notification. I reached into my bag for my phone and swiped over the screen to see it was a text from an unknown number.

With shaky fingers, I opened it and read out the contents. "Stop digging, or you won't like what comes next."

A cold threat that sent a shiver down my spine. I deleted it and set the phone in my bag. This wasn't the first time a threat text popped up whenever I was chasing a story.

I knocked on the door again, and this time it was flung open, and a wiry man in a faded jacket appeared. His eyes were darting nervously before he stepped aside, making room for me to come in.

"You Harper?" His voice was low, like he hadn't slept in days.

I nodded, leaning forward. "You said you had something on Atlas. Talk."

He glanced over his shoulder, then pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "I worked in their logistics division. Two years. I saw things off the books. I traced one to a warehouse in Tijuana. Cartel territory."

"You have proof?"

He nodded and walked to a table stand. He picked up an envelope and brought it to me. "This is all I got before they fired me. Said I was 'unreliable.' But I know what I saw."

I tucked the paper into my bag. "Why'd you trust me with this?" I asked, studying him.

He shrugged, his eyes hollow. "You're the only one asking the right questions."

A phone rang in the room, and my source tensed. "You have got to go," he muttered. Before I could talk, he went to the door and gestured for me to leave.

"Thank you," I said, stepping out. He didn't answer as he yanked the door closed after me. My instincts screamed to move as fast as possible, and I did, running out of the building. There was an SUV in the lot when I stepped into the garage outside, its engine rumbling. I walked to my car, my hand on the pepper spray. The SUV's headlights flicked on, blinding me for a second. Then it peeled out of the lot, tires screeching. My breath caught, but I didn't wait to see if it would circle back. I slid into my car, locked the doors, and gunned it out of there. A car appeared behind me, driving too close and in an aggressive manner.

I noted it wasn't the SUV, I took a sharp turn, then another, weaving through side streets. The car followed, matching my moves. Noah's warning rang louder now, his voice in my head. I cursed under my breath, my hands on the wheel. I didn't know if this was his doing or someone else's, but either way, I was in trouble.

I spotted a busy intersection ahead, lights and traffic offering cover. I floored it, cutting through a yellow light just as it turned red. The car behind hesitated, then stopped, blocked by oncoming traffic. I didn't look back, didn't stop until I was miles away. They wanted me scared? Fine. But I wasn't stopping.

֍

The next morning, I hit the gym, needing to burn off the adrenaline still coursing through me. My gym buddy, Joe, was already there, his hair swinging as he pounded the treadmill. He spotted me, waving me over with a grin. "You look like hell, Harper. Rough night?"

I forced a laugh, stepping onto the treadmill beside him. "You could say that." My muscles ached, but the rhythm of running steadied me. Joe was the closest thing I had to a friend outside of Audrey, and even that was new. Growing up, I'd learned to keep people at arm's length, hostile foster homes didn't exactly breed trust. But Joe's easy chatter, his no-nonsense vibe, made it hard to stay closed off.

"Spill," he said, slowing his pace to match mine. "You've got that look again."

I hesitated, my eyes on the digital display. "Remember I said I was working on a story," I said finally "Big one. You know Atlas Group. They're... not what they seem."

Joe's eyebrows shot up. "The tech giant? What'd you find?"

I shook my head, my hair brushing my shoulders. "Enough to know I'm on the right track. But someone's trying to scare me off. Followed me last night. Got a threatening call, too."

Joe stopped his treadmill and turned to face me. "Harper, that's dangerous. But if you need to publish what you've got, get it out there before they come for you."

I slowed my pace, meeting his eyes. "I can't. Not yet. It's not enough. I need the whole truth, not just pieces."

He frowned, his hands on his hips. "You're stubborn as hell, you know that? At least tell me you've got someone watching your back."

Noah's face flashed in my mind again. "Not exactly," I said, my voice quieter. "There's this guy who is tied to Atlas. Warned me to back off. But he also saved me from getting roughed up the other night. I don't know what to make of him."

Joe's eyes narrowed. "Sounds like he's playing both sides. Be careful, Harper. Guys like that? They're trouble."

I nodded, but my thoughts were already spiraling. "Let's burn it off," I said, picking up a dumbbell to work with.

"About time," Joe cheered, picking up his pace on the treadmill. Joe was right about one thing, I needed to get my piece out before they killed the story. I was going to start my draft the second I got back to my apartment and have it published during their threat.

֍

I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The hairs on my neck prickled after I left the gym. It was late, and I needed air to clear my head. I grabbed my jacket and headed to the roof of my building.

I heard footsteps coming from the stairwell. My hand went to my pocket, reaching for the pepper spray still there, but before I could turn, a voice cut through the dark.

"Harper."

I froze, recognizing the voice. Noah. He stepped into the moonlight, his eyes glinting with something unreadable about him that made my skin hum.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded,

He stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, casually. "Checking on you. After last night, I figured you would do something stupid."

I laughed. "Stupid? Like chasing a story that could bring down Atlas? Or stupid, like trusting a guy who breaks into my office and follows me around?"

His jaw tightened, but his eyes didn't leave mine. "You're still digging even after the chase today. You don't learn, do you?"

"How do you know about the car chase?"

He didn't answer, just held my gaze, "You're tailing me. Watching me. Why? What's Atlas hiding that's worth all this?"

He took another step, close enough now that I could feel the heat in him, smell the faint cedar of his cologne. "You think you're after the truth, Harper, but you're chasing a death wish. You don't know what you're up against."

"Then tell me," I shot back, my voice rising. "Tell me what's so dangerous that you're stalking and threatening me."

"I didn't threaten you," he cut in, "That wasn't me."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Then who did or still is?"

He looked away, "Just drop it, Harper. For your own sake."

I stepped closer, "I don't run from the truth, Atlas is dirty, and I'm going to prove it."

His eyes snapped back to mine, and for a moment, I saw something raw. "And it's going to get you killed."

"Then why do you care?" I asked, searching his face. "Why are you here, Noah?"

He didn't answer right away. Then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing my arm, "Maybe I don't want to see you get hurt."

My breath caught, and for a second, I let myself feel the weight of his words. "I can take care of myself," I said,

He smiled, "I know you can. It doesn't mean you have to."

"Go home, Noah," I said finally, stepping back, breaking the moment. "I've got work to do."

He nodded, his eyes still on me, like he was memorizing every detail. "Be careful, Harper. I mean it."

He turned and disappeared into the stairwell, leaving me alone with my racing heart. I didn't know what to make of him, or any of it. But one thing was clear: I was going to publish the story the second I finished the draft.