Victoria Martin의 작품

POV: SylviaThe crystal flute felt cold in my hand, the vintage Krug bubbling with a soft, expensive hiss. I stood on the balcony of my penthouse, overlooking the gray, industrial sprawl of the city I finally, legally, owned."To the 'Little Doe,'" I whispered, raising my glass to the wind. "May you finally find the peace of a permanent reset."Leo stood by the door, his hat in his hand, looking slightly rumpled but satisfied. "It’s done, Sylvia. The husband is down. He won't be catching any more waves. And the girl... she’s locked up in Arthur’s fortress. She looked broken. Like she’d finally given up.""Broken is good," I mused, taking a slow sip. "Broken people don't file lawsuits. Broken people don't care about employee benefits or 85% profit margins. They just want to sleep."I turned back to my desk, where a map of Horizon Anchor Logistics’ new distribution centers was laid out. "With the husband gone, her only tie to that island is severed. Now, we just wait for the grief to se

POV: ZiaThe room was too white, too quiet, and smelled too much like expensive leather and old law books. We were inside the "Citadel," Arthur’s high-security office wing of his estate. Across the mahogany table sat two men I didn't know—specialists Arthur had called in. They were looking at me with pity.I hated it. I hated the air in my lungs. I hated that my clothes still smelled like the charcoal and salt of Clayton’s skin."Zia," one of the men, a federal investigator named Miller, leaned forward. "We need to understand the motivation. Sylvia is already wealthy. She has assets, she has the townhouses, she has the security teams. Why is she so obsessed with this ledger? Why risk a murder charge in broad daylight?"I let out a harsh, jagged laugh that felt like glass in my throat. "I don't know. I don't care. Maybe she likes the color of the ink. Maybe she's just bored." I slammed my palm onto the table, the sound echoing like the gunshot I couldn't stop hearing. "If she wants the

POV: ClaytonI didn't like the plan. I didn't like the crowded market, and I definitely didn't like the way Zia was looking at that ledger like it was the only thing keeping her soul attached to her body.We were walking toward the Filbert Street entrance. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust and roasting coffee. Every person who brushed past us made my skin crawl. I felt like a sentry in a war zone, my eyes scanning every face, every hand tucked into a pocket."There he is," Zia whispered.Across the crowded aisle, near a stall selling massive soft pretzels, stood an older man. He looked like he belonged in a courtroom—stern, polished, but with eyes that moved as fast as mine. He saw Zia, and for a split second, his mask slipped. He looked like a man seeing a ghost.He nodded once. The signal.I leaned into Zia, pressing my lips to her temple. I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to tell her we’d be back in Kauai by Sunday, eating Puka Dogs and watching the sunset. But a

POV: ZiaThe smell of Tony’s Deli hit me like a physical blow. It was the scent of my childhood—salty provolone, cured meats, and the sharp, vinegary bite of peppers. It was a sensory overload that threatened to trigger a Reset, but I gripped the handle of the silver sedan's door and forced myself to stay in the present."Stay sharp, Z," Clayton whispered. He was wearing a dark hoodie, his eyes constantly scanning the street. "I don't like this. It’s too exposed.""It’s the only way," I said.We stepped inside. The bell above the door jingled—a sound I hadn't heard in eight years. Tony, the owner, was behind the counter, slicing ham. He looked up, his eyes widening as they landed on me. He didn't say a word; he just jerked his head toward the back booth, hidden behind a tall display of potato chips.There, sitting with a cup of black coffee, was Arthur Vance.He looked older. His hair was a stark, snowy white, and the lines around his eyes were deeper, but when he looked up, that fami

POV: ClaytonI hated being away from her, even for ten minutes. I stood in the electronics aisle of a twenty-four-hour superstore in Allentown, my eyes darting between the security bubbles in the ceiling and the sliding glass doors. I felt like a shark out of water—I knew how to fight in the surf, but here, the currents were made of neon lights and concrete.I grabbed two prepaid burner phones and a handful of cash cards. I paid at the self-checkout, keeping my head down, and looped back to the silver sedan where Zia was crouched on the floorboards."Got them," I whispered, sliding into the driver's seat.Zia didn't waste a second. She ripped the packaging open with her teeth. Her eyes were focused, the "Reset" fog completely gone, replaced by a cold, sharp desperation. She dialed a number from memory."Tony’s Deli?" she said into the burner. Her voice was steady. "I’d like to place an order for pickup. A large thin-crust... with peppermint."There was a silence on the other end. I wa

POV: ClaytonMy knuckles were white against the steering wheel of the black SUV. Beside me, Lailah sat low in the passenger seat, her head tucked into the collar of Zia’s denim jacket. Every time I glanced at her in the rearview, for a split second, my heart would stutter. She looked enough like Zia to fool a tail, but she didn’t have that specific way Zia held her breath when she was scared.I checked the clock on the dash. Forty-five minutes."They're still there," Lailah muttered, her eyes on the side mirror. "Two cars back. That black sedan hasn't budged since we hit the bypass.""Good," I grunted. "Let them follow the ghost."I pushed the SUV harder, taking a series of sharp, winding backroads through the Pennsylvania woods. The trees were skeletal, their branches clawing at the gray sky like reachers from a nightmare. I missed the palms of Kauai. I missed the predictable rhythm of the North Shore. Here, everything felt like a trap.Finally, I banked a hard left toward the stone