Mag-log inDamien’s POVI took a corner booth where shadows pooled thick enough to hide in. From here, I could see everything without attracting attention. The beer in front of me stayed untouched—just a prop.The bar was the usual kind of hell: loud music, spilled alcohol, and men who didn’t care about consequences. Levi blended right in… almost.He sat across from Tommy—leader of the Black Reapers, professional manipulator, and cancer in leather. Tommy leaned back casually, drumming his fingers on the table.One of his men slid a small packet toward Levi.Levi’s eyes widened, but he grabbed it fast—too fast—like he was afraid someone might take it back.Then the woman slid into the booth beside him.Mid-twenties, confident, dressed to distract. She ran her hands slowly across his shoulders, down his arms, whispering something into his ear.And here was the part that made my stomach twist—Levi visibly relaxed.His shoulders dropped and his breathing eased. His mouth curved into a small, dazed
“Celeste?”Warm hands—steady, familiar—closed over my shoulders.I gasped sharply and blinked up at my brother Michael, the restroom hallway spinning slightly as my breaths came too fast, too shallow. My legs trembled. I hated it—this weakness, this loss of control—but the cold water on the floor, the splash, the sudden drenching of my shoes…It had thrown me straight back into the ocean.Michael cupped my face gently. “Hey. Look at me. Breathe. Slow.”“I… I’m fine,” I managed, though my voice was thin and shaking.He didn’t buy it for a second.“Come here.” He guided me to sit on a small bench near the hallway wall. “You’re not fine. And that’s okay.”I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heartbeat thundering like waves crashing against rocks.“I just… the water— it startled me,” I whispered.Michael’s eyes softened, dark with worry. He brushed my damp hair behind my ear in that older-brother way that always made me want to cry and feel safe at the same time.“You don’t have to pr
Nico’s POVI was supposed to be fixing fence boards.Instead, my brain was stuck replaying every damn thing I shouldn’t care about.Sage Keene’s face when Martha said, “He called again. He’s looking for you.” The bitterness in her voice when she answered, “He doesn’t own us anymore.”And that photo in her room. The one turned face-down on her dresser. Sage as a kid, smiling at the camera— and beside her, a man whose face had been scratched out so violently I shouldn’t have seen it. Shouldn’t have been there at all.But now it wouldn’t leave my head.“No wonder she’s built like barbed wire,” I muttered. “Anyone raised by that kind of monster would be.”I kicked a rock on the path, frustration punching through my ribs. Why the hell was I thinking about her this much?I was so buried in my thoughts I almost missed the sound.A soft, miserable whimper.I stopped.Peered over a clump of weeds near the fence. Something shivered.A rabbit. Tiny, scruffy, breathing too fast—its hind leg twis
Damien’s POVMark’s knock came exactly thirty minutes earlier than expected.Never a good sign.I didn’t bother telling him to enter—he was already stepping inside, tablet in hand, face drawn tight with the kind of tension only bad news could carve.“It’s worse than we thought,” he said without preamble.A muscle in my jaw ticked. “Show me.”He handed me the tablet. The moment my eyes hit the first page of the report, something cold and venomous slid down my spine.Solmar Holdings, Inc.Registered three years ago. Zero employees. No physical location. And zero operational history.“A ghost company,” I muttered. “Of course it is.”Mark nodded grimly. “No office. No payroll. No tax activity. Nothing. Except…” He swiped to the next page. “…a sudden spike in high-value transactions starting a few months ago.”My fingers tightened around the tablet.It must be Levi.The timeline matched.“And that’s not the worst part,” Mark continued.He swiped again.My heart rate kicked up.On screen wa
Celeste’s POVLe Jardin Bleu had always been beautiful, but today… it felt magical.Sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling, painting soft gold highlights over Margaux’s sketches and the racks of garments we’d set up around the café. The air held the rich aroma of espresso, butter, and lavender—Colette’s signature combination.I stepped back to admire the setup. “The contrast pieces look even better under this lighting.”Margaux beamed. “Told you. Your design instincts are always spot-on.”Before I could answer, the beaded curtain rustled and Colette herself peeked in—small, elegant, and radiating the kind of energy that made everyone feel like family.“Mes belles créatrices!” she exclaimed, sweeping into the room. “Is everything going well? Do you need anything?”“We’re good,” I said, smiling. “Thank you again for letting us use your space.”Colette waved her hand like she was shooing away a fly. “Nonsense! Talent should be seen. And what you two have created…” She pressed a hand
Celeste’s POVI woke up buzzing.The good kind of buzzing—not anxiety, not fear—just pure, fizzy excitement coursing through my veins.The exhibit was happening. My comeback collection was happening.Margaux and I had a full day ahead: setting up the display racks at Colette’s café, finalizing the lighting, checking the arrangements, steaming everything one last time. It was the kind of chaos I loved—creative chaos, purposeful chaos. The kind that made me feel alive.I tied my hair up, slipped into my apron, and started gathering tools and materials into my large canvas tote.Pins, scissors, fabric glue, extra trims, sewing kit—I double-checked every compartment mechanically, humming as I worked. The sun filtered in through the tall windows, turning the room a warm honey-gold. It felt like a sign.A good day.A good beginning.I reached for the organizer box tucked under the right side of the table—the one where I kept beads and finishing accents.But when I pulled it out, something







