Chapter Seventeen: A Table Set For War

CADE ESTATE

Los Angeles shimmered under a thin winter moon, the city’s restless hum carried uphill to the Voss estate like a warning.

Amara stood at the tall windows of her study, phone dark in her palm, the scent of the ocean pushing through the open doors. Kaylee sat behind her at the desk, every line of her body coiled with energy.

“They’ll tear each other apart before midnight,” Kaylee said, eyes on the string of code she’d just loosed into the world.

On the monitor, a handful of private financial files flickered in encrypted bloom. Each document pointed at Roderick Vale—and at Ethan Cade—names buried together in offshore ledgers and sealed amendments that only Ethan was supposed to know existed.

Amara’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “And you seeded it clean?”

“Like smoke,” Kaylee replied. “No fingerprints. Vale will recognize the files. Ethan will recognize the details. Both will wonder which one of them bled first.”

“Good,” Amara murmured. “Let them wonder.”

Her phone vibrated again. This time not a threat, but a polite invitation dressed in velvet:

Sienna Cade:

Dinner. Tonight. Just us.

Don’t make me beg.

Amara’s breath caught in the smallest hitch. Dinner—in that house, of all places.

Old ghosts prowled the edges of the message: Elara’s shy laughter in those marble halls, the scent of Sienna’s expensive perfume lingering in college corridors. And her baby Milo. She had burned that name—Elara—still, the memory scraped raw.

“No,” she said aloud, almost to herself.

Kaylee swiveled in her chair. “What’s wrong?”

Amara tossed the phone onto the desk. “Sienna wants me at the Cade estate tonight.”

Kaylee raised a brow. “You’re not seriously considering it.”

“I already declined.”

“And?”

“And she’ll push.” Amara knew Sienna’s persistence, the way honey could turn to steel without warning. “She always does.”

Kaylee tapped a pen against her palm, thoughtful. “Then we push back. Ignore it.”

Before Amara could answer, the phone buzzed again.

> Sienna:

Come on, Amara. Ethan wants to congratulate you for the bid.

Amara read it twice. The phrasing wasn’t a request; it was a hook. She hated that it worked.

Kaylee’s voice sharpened. “Tell me you’re not going.”

“I need to see what they want.” Amara turned toward the closet, already reaching for a black silk dress. “Every move is information.”

“You walk in there alone and you’re the information.”

“They wouldn’t dare touch me.”

Kaylee stood, blocking the doorway. “Take me, at least. Or security. Damien will—”

“Don’t,” Amara cut in. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“Damien won’t like it,” Kaylee insisted.

“Then don’t tell him.” The words landed cold.

Kaylee studied her for a long beat. “You think the silence from that unknown number means it’s over. It isn’t. It means they’re waiting.”

“Let them wait.” Amara slipped past her, the conversation closed.

--------------

The car wound up the hills, engine a low purr. Lights of the city smeared the horizon, an unsteady constellation. Amara kept her gaze forward, refusing to look at the familiar turns that once belonged to Elara’s life.

Her pulse stayed even, but her hands remembered—the way the Cade driveway had felt the first time she walked it, a lonely scholarship girl flattered by Sienna’s impossible warmth.

She buried the memory like a body.

The Cade estate loomed ahead, all white stone and black glass gleaming beneath the moon. The air smelled of wet cedar and the faint, electric promise of rain.

The front door opened before she touched the bell. Sienna stood there in a sheath of cream silk, diamonds winking at her throat. Her smile was a weapon dressed as grace.

“Amara,” she said, voice smooth as poured wine. “You look…dangerous.”

“I dress for the company I keep.” Amara stepped inside without waiting for permission. The words flew over Sienna's head as she didn't react.

The foyer smelled of polished oak and power, exactly as she remembered. The past tugged at her like an undertow—late nights studying here, Sienna laughing at some private joke, Milo's cries and laughter. Ethan’s glance like a blade across the room. She straightened her spine and let the ghosts fall away.

Sienna’s gaze flicked over her face, searching for something, maybe a crack. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“You were sure enough to set a table,” Amara said.

A flicker of amusement touched Sienna’s lips. “Follow me.”

The dining room gleamed with controlled opulence: black marble table, crystal glasses, silver cutlery reflecting the chandelier’s cold fire. A single candle burned at the center, its flame a delicate spear.

Ethan Cade waited at the far end, dark suit perfectly cut, expression unreadable. He rose when she entered.

“Ms. Voss.” His voice carried the weight of a man used to owning every room. “Thank you for accepting our invitation.”

“I wasn’t aware I had.” Amara took the chair Sienna indicated, refusing to glance at Ethan longer than necessary.

A servant poured wine. Conversation began with surface pleasantries—weather, art auctions, the new wing at the Getty. But beneath the words ran an undertow as sharp as broken glass.

Ethan finally leaned back, eyes narrowing. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself in this city in just a few days. Impressive, considering your…unexpected appearance.”

Amara met his gaze, unblinking. “You of all people should appreciate unexpected acquisitions.”

Sienna’s smile widened, though her knuckles whitened around her glass. “We only wanted to congratulate you, Amara. No hard feelings about the bid.”

“Hard feelings are a waste of time,” Amara said softly. “Besides, I don’t believe congratulations are your only reason for this dinner.”

Ethan tilted his head, almost a nod of respect. “Direct. I like that.”

“Thank you,” Amara replied. “Say what you brought me here to say.”

Silence settled, thick and deliberate. Rain tapped the windows like impatient fingers.

Ethan spoke first. “A curious thing happened this morning. Certain private records—records no one should possess—found their way into discreet circulation. Roderick Vale is beside himself. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Amara let the question hang. “Why would I care about your personal business and who is Mr. Vale?”

“I apologize, but you, whether you like it or not have come to be associated with us these past few weeks” Ethan said, voice low. “You know how the media can be, we thought we'd give you a heads up. The details could only have come from someone who wants a wedge between us.”

Sienna studied her over the rim of her glass, eyes bright and sharp. “Someone who knows how to hurt quietly.”

Amara allowed herself the smallest smile. “Sounds like you have an enemy.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Everyone does. The trick is knowing which ones sit at your table.”

Their eyes locked across the candlelight. For a moment the room narrowed to a single breath.

“You invited me,” Amara said at last. “If you’re wondering whether I’m your enemy, you should already know the answer.”

“And what’s that?” Sienna asked softly.

“That I don’t waste bullets on ghosts,” Amara said. She rose, smooth and deliberate. “Thank you for dinner.”

Ethan didn’t move to stop her, but his voice followed like a shadow. “This isn’t over.”

Amara glanced back, one hand on the doorframe. “It never is.”

Outside, the air was cool and sharp, rain finally beginning to fall in thin silver threads.

Amara walked to her car without looking back, every sense alive to the weight of their stares from the windows.

Inside the Cade estate, Sienna exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Ethan remained at the table, eyes on the candle’s flickering flame.

“She’s different,” Sienna said quietly.

“She’s dangerous,” Ethan corrected.

“And brilliant.”

He didn’t answer. But the faintest curl of a smile touched his mouth—as if the hunt had only just begun.