NOAH.

Dressed in black cargo pants, a long-sleeved shirt, a coat, and boots, I tucked my Glock behind my back as I left my suite. As I took the stairs down to the first floor, my phone started to buzz like crazy. I dug the device out of my pocket, and a dark frown formed on my forehead as I answered, "What?"

"The club is on fire!" Damian shouted, sirens blaring in the background.

Anger exploded in my chest, my fingers tightening around the phone. "Fuck," I muttered. "I'm on my way."

When I step out onto the veranda, I glance at the house and see Harvey standing on her balcony. She was only wearing a bathrobe, and it was freezing outside. Especially now that there was a fire, clearly arson from whoever had marked us. I yanked my phone out, and I sent a text to one of our men.

Keep your eyes on her. Don't leave her, not for a second.

I climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, ready to go to Club Eden. The roads were fucking busy, and as I got closer to the area where the club was, and I saw the plumes of dark smoke, rage shuddered through me.

Damian is going to kill whoever's responsible for the fire.

The road was closed, and I had to park two blocks away. I climbed out of the SUV, and pushing my hand beneath my coat, my fingers curled around the handle of my Glock as I began to walk in the direction of the club. Rounding the corner, I was met by fire trucks and police cars.

"It's a fucking shit show," I growled as I looked up at the flames licking from the windows. "Christ."

"Noah!" I heard Damian shout as he came running toward us. When I got closer, I asked, "How did it start?"

"Don't know yet," Damian answered.

My eyes lift to the burning club, and I watch as months of work and a fuck ton of money go up in smoke.

"We have to go into the club, they will stay and clean up the mess," Damian said. "It's too dangerous for us all to be out in the open like this."

He was right.

Then he turned to one of our men and ordered, "Pay off whoever you have to. I want complete control of the situation."

"I'll handle everything," the guy assured him.

I turned around, and we walked back to the SUV, Another of our men came with us to offer extra protection. Once we were back in the safety of the armored SUV, I asked, "Do you think it's arson?"

"We won't know until the inspection's been done," Damian replied, his tone harsh with anger. If it's arson, then someone's attacking us.

"Probably Miguel because I sent men to wipe out his family after the fuckers tried to rob Eden. Fuck." Damian banged the seat with his fist.

I pulled my phone out and stared at the device for a moment before I brought it up to the number I had saved from Harvey's profile. I pressed the dial, and was not surprised when it said the number was not in service. She must have blocked me.

When we reached the club, we walked inside and headed straight for his private lounge, which was not touched by the fire. Damian gestured for me to pour him a tumbler of whiskey, and I obliged, filling my cup too.

He had barely taken a sip of his whiskey when he dialed someone on his phone and when it was answered, he muttered, "I want all available men in the streets. Kill every fucking motherfucker you can find."

"Everyone?" I said to double-checks. "Not just the men who did this?"

Damian ignored me and repeated his command, "Every-fucking-one," he said, grinding the word out. Then he tossed the phone on the tabletop.

"Why would you want to do that?" I shrugged,

"Even if I don't know who is not behind the club burning down, I'm done waiting for Zane to find the fucker." He picked up the tumbler and poured the whiskey down his throat.

The past hour had been fucking tiring. It was going from one fucking problem after another, making the anger in my chest reach boiling point. We had lost six good soldiers, the alcohol delivery to the club was hijacked, and the bloody fight that Damian had started had gotten out of control.

When his phone rang from one of our men who was supposed to update him about the fire, Damian was in a piss-poor mood and barked his response placing the call on speaker, "What?"

"They said the fire was started on the fourth floor. It was arson."

Uncontrollable rage poured like hot lava through my body as He muttered,

"We're definitely under attack. Put everyone on high alert." "Okay. "Zane is on his way to the club," he informs us.

He ended the call and immediately phoned Rico. "Tell me you have the bitch's location pinned?"

"Venessa was last seen in South America," he answered.

"I want the fucker found, Rico," He ordered, his tone low and deadly. "Stop fucking around and make it happen."

"Hold up," he said. "The whereabouts of Nessa's uncle just came in."

"Send it to me."

"Okay."

"Be extra careful out there," Rico muttered as he ended the call, and when the uncle's details came through, he forwarded them to our men.

I just sent you a message," he said. "Have men bring her to me."

"On it," He replied.

Then he started a group video call with the other brothers, and when they all answered, he said, "Vanessa Kane is attacking. She burned down the new club and took out six of our men. Be extra vigilant while we deal with the problem."

"Christ," Liam was the first to mutter his words. "Anything I can help with?"

"Are you hurt?" Ethan said, gasping.

"They have managed to contain the fire, and we are handling this," Zane cut in before Damian could respond. I noticed a bit of indifference in Zane's demeanor, which was a bit unusual, but I decided to just silently listen.

"The second Rico finds out where the fucker is hiding, we're attacking."

"Okay." Ethan and Liam said. Zane merely nodded, then he ended the call. I have to suppress the urge to ask Damian what was up with Zane just as he threw the fucking phone against the wall.

"We'll find Vanessa," Damian said. "She can't hide forever."

"We'd better," I snapped.

I poured him another drink, and while I took a sip of the whiskey, my thoughts turned to Harvey. I haven't been able to make direct contact with her since our last argument, and I'd give anything to ease some of the tension by sinking deep into her sweet pussy.

Suddenly, one of Damian's staff rushed into the lounge, and it drew my attention back to the lounge.

"You'd better have good news for me," Damian yelled to Rico.

"My men killed the fucking uncle. And Vanessa's in Woodley."

"Then wheels up in thirty minutes," Damian ordered. "Let the others know we're meeting at the airfield."

"On it." Rico said, leaving at once. Climbing to his feet, Damian said to me, "Let's go."

As we walked out of the lounge, he signaled for some of our men to join us.

When they caught up to us, he muttered, "Get a group of men to meet us at the airfield. I want them heavily armed. We're attacking Vanessa."

"Got it, boss," one of the men said, immediately pulling out his phone to make the call.

We hurried out of the club, and once we were all in the SUV, Damian started the engine. "Fucking finally."

"You can say that again," I muttered, more than ready to put an end to this Vanessa mess.

I haven't been home in three days since they attacked Harvey, and was exhausted. Fuck, it feels longer than three days.

The drive to the airfield took forty minutes, and by the time Damian stopped the SUV, he had zero patience for the one-hour flight to Woodley.

Hopefully, the fucker doesn't disappear before we get to her. He would lose his fucking shit if that happened.

We climbed out of the SUV and walked to where Rico and four of our men were waiting.

"It is going to end as a good evening," Rico said. "We know where Vanessa is. Why aren't you happy?"

"I am," he growled.

"Sure as fuck doesn't look like it."

"Rico, we are not in the mood for your shit today. Let's get this over with so we can all take some time off to deal with..." I caught myself before mentioning Harvey and our little entanglement.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me, and to cover up my near-slip-up, I shouted, "Get on the fucking plane."

When I entered the cabin, I took my seat and Damian sat beside me giving me a questioning look. I shook my head so he wouldn't start asking questions.

Once all the men had boarded, the private jet took off. Once in the air, Rico and his men inspected the weapons we always kept onboard.

My thoughts turned to the past week. Lila showed up, discovering who she was, the threats on her, and now Club Eden was up in flames, resulting in the attack on our men.

The attack on our men had been bothering us more. Even though Rico had said it wasn't some intoxicated drug dealers, I still believed they were all connected in a way. If it wasn't Vanessa, then who would have the guts to gun down the Atlas men?

Rico's phone chimed a notification and when he picked it up, he let out a sigh,

Damian turned to face him and asked, "What?"

"Vanessa hasn't been spotted again." Fuck. With my eyes locked on the oval window beside my seat, I asked, "Where was she last seen?"

"A set of traffic lights near one of her clubs."

"She will probably be there until late," Damian said. "Which means we'll have to wait her out."

"Or we go in." I muttered, "We want this done as quickly as possible. We've wasted enough time on this fucker."

"How do you want to do this, Noah?" Damian asked. I didn't miss the hint of amusement in his voice.

I played out a couple of scenarios in my head before answering, "We'll all go into the club. Our men as well. We'll walk up to the fucker as a family, and kill him in front of everyone. It will send a message not to fuck with us."

Just in case someone else is behind the fire and stalking Harvey.

"And the witnesses?" Damian asked.

I wave a careless hand in the air. "Let them talk."

"Hmm, I love this side of you, Noah." Damian said, his eyes glinting with approval.

When we finally touched down in Woodley, we headed straight to the SUVs Rico had arranged for us and piled into the vehicles.

During the drive, I tapped my fingers impatiently on my thigh until we pulled up to Vanessa's club. It was quiet, and I figured it was because it was still early in the evening anyway.

We climb out of the SUVs, and I lift my arm signaling for my men to move closer. I looked at Rico, who was carrying a grenade launcher, and ordered, "Blow the door." Damian ordered.

"But..."

"Do what's asked now" I yelled impatiently. All their questions were starting to get me angrier.

I can feel Damian, Rico, and the others staring at me, but I ignore them.

Rico launched the grenade, and we watched with satisfaction as it blew a hole in the front of the club. When we walked toward the hole, our men followed. I pulled my Glock from behind my back and took off the safety.

Damian shoved an extra magazine into my hand before he took the lead while ordering, "Stay behind me."

The air was filled with smoke, and I glanced over my shoulder, finding Rico right behind me.

Damian had barely set foot in a dance area when gunfire erupted around us.

"Move!" Damian shouted as he ducked to the left. I followed him, lifting my arm to return fire to the second floor, which was the VIP area.

"Vanessa is definitely here." Rico screamed.

We ducked into a hallway that led to a restroom, and with the meager cover, Damian and I tried to pick off the enemy one by one.

When Rico tried to move forward to help out, I muttered, "We've got this."

Noting there was a lone fucker with a submachine gun hiding behind the pillar. And not knowing the whereabouts of the rest of my team, I shouted, "Where the fuck are you?"

"DJ's booth," one of them yelled at us.

Suddenly, Damian darted out from behind our hiding place, and my heart fucking stopped as I watched him slide across the floor before he ended the fucker with a kill shot to the head. When he climbed to his feet, I nodded at him with pride filling my chest, then I shouted at the others, "Get your asses out here."

Damian caught up to me as I headed for the stairs, and when we were heading up them, I muttered, "Good job."

"Thanks," he breathed as he reloaded his gun.

Halfway up, I glanced behind me where some of our men were, then I saw Rico running toward us while another kept an eye out for any stragglers.

This is too fucking easy.

As soon as the VIP area came into view, my eyes locked on Vanessa. She was seated at a table, with her men forming a half circle around her.

What the fuck is she playing at?

"Did you really have to go to all this trouble?" Vanessa asks, her eyes locked on Damian.

"Yes," he muttered as I pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. Looking at Rico, I nodded toward the bar.

I turned my gaze back to Vanessa, and staring at the fucker, I let out a sigh. "All you had to do was ask for a cut but no, you had to be stubborn and come into our territory, stealing our shipment and burning up my club." Damian started.

"There's a lot of money to be made in LA," she says. "There was no rule on who could take it."

I noticed the sweat beading on her forehead.

Damian picked up a tumbler of whiskey on the table, and he took a sip.

When he set the tumbler down again, he murmured, "You really should have asked, Nessa."

His eyes narrowed on the fucker, and unable to hold back a second longer, his arm flies up, and he pulled the trigger. I watched as the bullet hit Vanessa right between the eyes. Her head snapped back, and her mouth dropped open.

Intense relief poured into my chest as I watched her drop dead to the floor.

As more bullets started to fly, one of her men plowed into Damian and tackled him off the chair. Hitting the floor, his knee slams into Damian's thigh.

The gunfight lasted for just five minutes, and when the last of Vanessa's men dropped dead, Damian lifted his hand and held his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart. "That fucker came this close to kneeling me in the balls."

I let out a burst of laughter, then said, "I'm pretty sure he took a bullet for you."

"What?" He snapped, and, darting up, he checked him for gunshot wounds.

Just as he saw the blood on his side, he said, "Flesh wound on my back."

He shoved off the body before climbing to his feet.

"That's not taking a fucking bullet." I glanced around the area, then asked, "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah, just need to visit the clinic," one of our men muttered. "I took a bullet in the leg."

Another moved closer to help him down the stairs. I glanced at Vanessa's body.

She won't be the last enemy we will have to face, but we will take that as a win.

"Let's go," I muttered.

"Someone going to give me a hand?" Rico asked where he was still lying by my feet.

I glanced down at him, and shaking my head, I grabbed hold of his hand and hauled him to his feet.

As we headed down the stairs, I reached for the tumbler of whiskey Damian had poured before he killed Vanessa and downed the amber liquid.

"One down. God only knows how many to go," Damian muttered. I patted his shoulder. "Let's go home."

"Never seen or heard you this excited about going home before. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing that's your business, Damian." I shrugged, increasing my walking pace to the SUV.

HARVEY.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, the upload button on the publisher's portal staring back at me like a dare. One click, and this story will go live on the site's front page.

I sat back in my ergonomic chair and stared at the glowing screen of my laptop. The cursor blinked at the end of the document, mocking me with its finality.

Atlas Empire Built on Blood.

The title alone sent a shiver down my spine, not from fear, but from the rush of knowing I'd nailed the piece. Months of actively digging through leads, endless late nights fueled by all types of coffee and takeout, while piecing together the fragments I had gotten from anonymous tips and leaked documents, not to mention the gala and forced roleplaying of a charming reporter to perfection. Yet two people gave me cold feet about jumping at claiming the deserving reward for my hard work. Audrey Movitch and Noah Bennette.

I had carefully ripped off the Band-Aid that Zane Calloway and his brothers... Damian, Ethan, Noah, and Liam had painted a picture of Atlas to the world. My piece was going to give them all they needed to know that these men weren't just savvy business people running a high-stakes investment firm. But that Atlas Empire was a meticulously crafted facade, a front for their cartel operations. Drugs, shipments, money laundering, and brutal killings of their rivals. Then I would proudly get my crown yet... I hesitated. In Audrey, I had made a friend even though I was using her. She would have a hard time defending the brothers against the PR battle that would follow my story. Or she may lose her job. And Noah... God, Noah.

My bills were piling up and the exposé could be my breakout, enough to give me a huge safety from the financial noose tightening around my neck. But Noah... Would he see it as betrayal? Did I care?

Of course, I cared. That was why my stomach twisted into knots.

Shaking my head, I minimized the window and glanced at the TV in the corner of my living room, the news ticker scrolling silently. I needed a distraction, just for a minute, before I hit send. Grabbing the remote, I unmuted it, the anchor's voice filling the room mid-sentence: "...breaking news out of Los Angeles. Club Eden, the upscale nightclub in the heart of the city, is engulfed in flames. Fire crews are on the scene, but sources indicate it may be arson. No casualties are reported yet, but the blaze has destroyed much of the venue..."

Club Eden. Damian Pierce. Atlas Brothers.

My heart stuttered. That club was where it all began with Noah. As I processed my memory of the first night I met Noah, Images of him filled my head, and it was surreal. I could almost feel his hand on my lower back, guiding me through the throng. He had been frequenting Eden since Damian owned it and all I could think of at that moment was his safety.

Was he there when it happened? Had he been caught in it?

The thought hit me like a punch, my breath catching. I reached for my phone instinctively, thumbing through contacts to his name. My finger hovered over the call button. I needed to just check if he was okay. I did owe him that much.

Damn it, Harvey, you do care about this man. More than you should.

But no, I shouldn't. He was a case. A story. Caring about him blurred lines, and blurred lines get journalists killed or even worse, I could get discredited. And that would mean vacating this comfortable apartment and office. Never!

I set the phone down, the screen going dark as if echoing my resolve. The fire was probably cartel-related anyway, another thread on the web I had unraveled. If Noah was involved, he and his brothers would handle it. They always do.

Shrugging off the unease, I maximized the portal window again. "Darn the consequences."

The story was my ticket out of mediocrity. With a deep breath, I clicked upload. The progress bar filled agonizingly slowly, and I started to tap the desk with my fingers while I waited. Then, after what seemed like forever, the pop-up prompt displayed the words that told me I had successfully aired my story.

"Published. Live on site."

A wave of adrenaline crashed over me. It was done. The world would know Atlas's secrets, Zane Calloway's empire exposed as a cartel stronghold. Noah would hate me for it. Hell, he might come after me. But bills don't pay themselves, and the thirst for my survival trumped sentiment towards Noah, a one-night stand.

I pushed away from the desk, my legs shaky as I stood. A hot shower would wash away the guilt, or at least numb it for a while. Peeling off my sweatshirt and yoga pants, I padded to the bathroom, but something caught my eye through the parted window drape in the street below.

My apartment was on the second floor, overlooking a quiet residential block that had its private garage for its owners, but t hat night, a black sedan idled across the street, the engine had been turned off, but there was someone in the driver's seat. The driver's head was turned towards my window yet unmoving.

Paranoia prickled my skin as I recalled Noah's warning about being careful in my search. I had been careful, using only anonymous sources and encrypted files, but in this game, caution wasn't always enough. Clearly.

Grabbing my binoculars from the shelf, which was a leftover from bird-watching days that now served for surveillance when needed, I crouched by the window, adjusting the focus until I had the car's plate in view. It was a California tag. I jotted the sequences down on a notepad, noting that the driver had shifted in his seat to light a cigarette, the flare illuminating his face. I saw the earpiece and wondered who he was. A Security detail? Clearly, he wasn't a cop because he was a bit too discreet to be one.

I fired up my laptop again, logging into a database I had been granted hacked access to years ago through a contact at the DMV. I entered the plate number and waited for the results to load.

When it did, I went through the profiles until I found the match. The number was registered to Sentinel Solutions, a private security firm. I did a quick web search on them to find out it was a high-end protection service whose clientele included corporate execs and...

"wait a sec," I said, wondering why the name seemed to ring a bell. I had seen that name somewhere and recently, too.

I checked through my referencing with my Atlas notes, and after a few minutes of turning pages, I found it. A footnote on payments from Atlas Group to Sentinel for consulting signed under Noah Bennette's name.

It didn't take me another hour to figure out that the man out there wasn't there to harm me, but to protect me. He had sent someone to watch over me, probably after whatever threats he had hinted at.

And there I was, having just detonated a bomb under his world. The story would hit the wires soon, trending by morning. Reporters would swarm Atlas HQ Feds might get involved if my evidence held up. Noah, with his fierce loyalty to his brothers, would be wrecked and betrayed by the woman he'd let in.

I sank onto the edge of the bed. Why did it hurt so much? I'd known from the start this was risky, that getting close to him was a means to an end.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back. No time for weakness. If Noah had protection for me, it meant danger was real, maybe from his enemies. Now mine too. I needed to move, pack a go-bag, and find a safe spot until the dust settled. But first, the shower.

I hurriedly got off the bed, peeled off my clothes and headed to the shower. Hot water poured over me, causing fog to form steam the mirror, but it did little to cleanse the regret ripping through my veins. As I lathered soap, all I felt was Noah's possessive yet tender hands on me, his breath hot against my neck as he murmured my name.

"No!" I hastily got out of the shower, wrapped my wet body with a towel before walking over to check my phone. There were notifications of emails from my editor waiting

"Harvey! You have done it again. Your story's blowing up! Great work!"

Other notifications of shares, comments, and others were there too. Like I had expected, the viral spiral was beginning. But there was no call from Noah. Yet.

He probably hadn't seen it. Or maybe he had, and silence was his response.

Pacing the room, I dressed quickly, choosing jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers for easy movement. The watcher outside hadn't budged as I peeked again, to confirm. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand answers, but that was suicidal.

Instead, I brewed some creamy coffee, the bitter aroma grounding me as I plotted next steps. Hole up in a motel? Call my old contact in San Francisco for a couch? Or... reach out to Noah to explain? No. That ship had sailed with the upload.

Men like Noah die for each other and now, I had thrust a knife into that bond.

My guilt gnawed deeper. What if the fire at Club Eden was retaliation? What if Noah had been there, hurt or worse?

I grabbed my phone again, typing a quick text.

"Heard about the fire. Are you okay?" But I deleted it.

Caring made me vulnerable, and vulnerability got one killed in his world.

Sipping my coffee, I scrolled through early reactions to the story. Noticing that Mainstream sites had picked it up and my byline was trending. Pride swelled, but so did fear. If Atlas retaliated, that watcher outside my building might not be protection but my killer.

It was time to run. I bolted the door, grabbed my keys. But as I slung a bag over my shoulder, my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I answered it anyway. "Who is this?"

A pause, then "Harvey. What the fuck have you done?" Noah's voice yelled into my ears; he was furious. He had seen the story.

"Noah... I-"

"Save it. You used me. And you must believe that your goddamn story is way more important than your life?"

"No! It started that way, but..."

"But nothing. You just painted a target on yourself. I can no longer protect you, Harvey." His tone shifted from anger laced with concern. "Get out of there. Now. My guy's outside..."

"Your guy? Yeah, I noticed. Protection or surveillance?"

"Both. Damn it, Harvey, I cared about you. Still do, fool that I am."

He hung up. I stared at the phone, heart torn between running for my life or going to him and explaining? The story was out, and the consequences were starting to barrel down.

But Noah... maybe there was a way to salvage us amid the wreckage.

Grabbing my bag, I slipped out the back, evading the watcher. As I hailed a cab, my mind was racing. What had I unleashed? And could I live with it?

DAMIAN.

The metallic tang of blood still clung to my clothes as I stepped out of the SUV, the Woodley night air doing little to wash away the adrenaline buzzing in my veins. Vanessa's lifeless eyes stared back at me in my mind. It was satisfying, but not enough. Killing her was like swatting a fly; the swarm was still out there. Maybe others are sniffing around Atlas's edges. And Ava... God, Ava. She was the real storm brewing in my chest.

I wiped my hands on my pants, the faint smear of red a reminder of the chaos. Noah was silent beside me, his jaw set like he was chewing on his own demons. "That was too clean," I muttered, scanning the dark streets. "Vanessa didn't act alone. Someone's pulling strings." He nodded, eyes flicking to his phone.

"Rico's digging. But we need to lock down the crew. No loose ends."

We piled into the jet, the hum of the engines a temporary lull. My thoughts drifted to Ava, her scent still on my skin from last night, her whispers echoing in my ear. But I wasn't walking away again. Not this time.

As the plane lifted off, my phone buzzed. A text from Ava

"Heard about Woodley. Are you okay? Come over. We need to talk."

My grip tightened. Talk? Or more? Either way, danger was closing in, and she was right in the crosshairs.

I leaned back in the leather seat, the vibration of the engines thrumming through my bones, but it did nothing to dull the edge in my mind. Vanessa's death replayed in my mind, the way her head snapped back, the spray of blood misting the air, the thud of her body hitting the floor. It should have felt like closure, a clean-cut severing of one more threat from the tangled web around Atlas. But satisfaction eluded me. Her eyes, wide and glassy in that final moment, mocked me. She was a pawn, elevated by her own greed, but pawns don't move without a hand guiding them. Who was the real player? Some upstart smells weakness in our ranks after the Club Eden fire?

I glanced at Noah across the aisle. He stared out the window into the black void, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on his knee. His recent distractions and the way he had snapped orders during the hit made me curious.

"Are you good?" I asked, my voice low enough not to carry to Rico and the others dozing in the back.

He turned, his eyes shadowed. "As good as it gets after torching a club and dropping bodies. You?"

I snorted, "Alive. That's the bar these days."

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed again in my pocket. It was from the crew updating me about the fire at the club. When I turned back to face Noah, he had shut his eyes and was snoring softly. Though I wanted to address his situation, yet I ignored it for now.

The flight dragged, and I closed my eyes without sleeping until the jet touched down in LA with a jolt, the runway lights streaking.

We hopped off the jet in silence, and Noah clapped my shoulder. "Get some rest. Tomorrow,"

"Yeah," I muttered, but the rest was the last thing on my mind. I slid into my black Audi, the engine purring to life as I peeled out toward Ava's penthouse. The fire at Eden replayed in my head. I had watched the flames devouring the structure of my investments as it went up in smoke. We may have contained it and paid off the right officials, but the hit stung. It was a message that we had a mark on Atlas. And now, with Vanessa's blood on my hands, I wondered if I had escalated too far.

I drove into Ava's building, a sleek home, and I valet-parked, nodding to the security guard who knew me by sight. The elevator ride up felt eternal until the soft chime at the penthouse level echoed my unease. I rapped on her door; the sound rang through the quiet hallway.

No answer. I knocked again, louder. Silence.

"Ava?" I called, pressing my ear to the wood. Nothing. My gut twisted into a familiar knot, the kind that signaled trouble. I tried the handle and realized it was locked. Fishing out the spare key she had given me that morning, I hesitated. Then I decided I had no choice. I turned the key, and the lock clicked open.

The penthouse greeted me with her floral perfume mixed with the faint citrus of her favorite candles, but it felt abandoned.

"Ava?" I called again, stepping inside, my boots thudding on the marble floor. The living room sprawled before me, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering skyline, plush couches where we had spent tangled nights, a half-empty wine glass on the coffee table. There was no sign of her.

I checked the kitchen, Nothing, then I walked to the bedroom, the bed was made, and the closets were undisturbed. Everything was neatly placed. I started to feel panic flicker, but I tamped it down. She was probably out, I told myself. Maybe she had gone to a late fitting or a meeting with her agents.

But her text had said, "Come over." I pulled out my phone to dial her number. It rang once, twice, then straight to voicemail. "The number you have reached is not in service."

What the hell?

Disconnected? Ava lived on her phone for contracts, agents, and endless networking. She wouldn't cut it off without reason. I redialed it, and the result was the same. My uneasiness bloomed into full alarm.

Something was wrong. I paced back to the living room, my eyes scanning for clues. That was when I saw it. A note on the coffee table, propped against the wine glass.

Damian,

Heading to Paris early for the gala. I needed space to think. Don't worry, I'll call when I land. We can talk then.

Love, Ava

Space? From what? The previous night, she had clung to me like I was her anchor.

"There's something I need to tell you," she'd said in her text earlier. Now this? The note felt off. It was too abrupt. Paris was on her itinerary, sure, but early? And disconnecting her line? That screamed evasion, or worse, coercion.

I crumpled the paper and in my fist, Vanessa's death should have bought us time, but what if it triggered something else? What if someone got to her first? Using her as leverage against Zane, against me?

I sank onto the couch, the leather creaking under my weight. Standing abruptly, I pocketed the note and strode to the window, staring at the city below. I needed answers. Zane.

He would be aware of her schedule and contingencies. But calling him meant igniting his protectiveness and our history. Screw it. Ava was worth the explosion.

I dialed his phone, the line ringing as I paced. Zane answered on the third, his voice clipped. "Damian. If this is about that damn story..."

Story? "What story?" I cut in confusion, sharpening my tone.

A pause, then Zane's voice came up, "You haven't seen it? Some hack journalist dropped a bomb online on Atlas. Ties us to the cartel. It's blowing up, and our stocks are dipping. Sienna's handling damage control with the feds, but if you're calling to bitch about exposure..."

"Shut up about the story," I snapped, my pulse spiking. A leak? Now? But that could wait. "This isn't about that. Ava's missing."

Zane's voice went up a notch, "What the fuck do you mean, missing?"

I relayed it to him, informing him about her text, the note, the disconnected line, the empty penthouse. "She texted me after Woodley, said come over, we need to talk. I get here, and she's gone. Paris? Bullshit. She was spooked earlier, like she had something big to spill."

Zane's breathing rasped over the line. "You went to her again? After I told you..."

"Save the lecture," I growled, my free hand balling into a fist. "This isn't about us. Someone's after her."

"You think I don't know the risks?" Zane roared, "She's my sister, Damian! I built this empire to protect her, and you drag her into the dirt with your bullshit romance. If she's gone because of you..."

"Because of me?" Fury ignited, hot and blinding. I slammed my palm against the window, the glass vibrating. "I've been the one shielding her while you're off playing kingpin with Sienna! You think locking her away keeps her safe? She's out there building her life, and threats follow because of Atlas, our Atlas!"

Zane's retort came like a whip. "Don't twist this. You crossed the line years ago, and I let it slide because you're family. But if Ava's hurt, if this is payback for Vanessa or that fire..."

"The fire was a hit on us all!" I shouted back, pacing faster, the room closing in. "Eden burned because someone's testing our edges. Vanessa was part of it, but killing her doesn't end it. Ava knew something she tried to tell me. If you had listened instead of swinging fists "

"Listened? To you screwing my sister behind my back?" Zane thundered, "You're supposed to be my brother, Damian. Loyal. But you chose her over the code!"

I stopped dead, my chest heaving. "The code? That's your excuse? I chose the brotherhood once and walked away from her for you. You know what, Zane? I regretted it every day. She's not a prize, Zane and if you can't see that, if you let your ego blind you."

"Ego?" He laughed, cutting me off. "This is survival. Atlas stands because we don't let personal shit fracture us. You want her? Fine. But not at the cost of everything we've built. Get your head straight, or you're out."

The threat hung, a blade poised. My rage pulsed in my temples. "Out? After all I've bled for this? You'd throw me away like trash?"

"If it comes to that, yes." Zane's tone hardened, unyielding. "Now, focus. We find Ava. Ask Rico to pull strings at the airport. If she's in Paris, we will confirm. If not..."

"We tear the city apart," I finished, my voice was steady despite the storm inside. With Ava gone, the aftermath of raining down fire and spilling blood had just begun.

The call ended with a click, leaving me in silence. I stared at the phone as Zane's annoying words echoed through my ears. I fired off texts to Rico to track Ava Sinclair's Paris flight manifests, phone pings, everything. Emphasizing how urgent it was. Then I grabbed my keys, slamming the penthouse door behind me. Whatever came next, I would face it...for her.