LOGINThe drive to the outskirts of the city was unusually quiet.Amy sat in the back seat beside Zion, her fingers intertwined with his while her father's car moved steadily through the thinning traffic. The city gradually gave way to quieter roads lined with trees, modest houses and stretches of undeveloped land.Nobody spoke for several minutes.Amy stared through the window, trying to prepare herself for what was coming.Her grandmother was alive.The woman whose funeral she had attended as a child—the woman whose death had been explained to her so many times that she had never questioned it—was alive.Somewhere.Waiting.
The car moved through the quiet streets with its headlights cutting through the darkness, but Amy barely noticed the road.Her mind was still inside that house.Inside the hidden passage.Inside the conversation with Elena.Inside the photograph of Adrian Cole standing beside her grandfather decades ago.She stared through the window, watching streetlights slide across the glass.Beside her, Zion was unusually quiet.His hand rested over hers, his thumb moving slowly across her knuckles as though the simple gesture could keep her anchored.Amy finally looked at him."Yo
Amy stared at the rejection email on her laptop and laughed bitterly.“Unfortunately, we’ve decided to move forward with another candidate.”Again.She slammed the laptop shut and dropped back onto her couch with frustration.The apartment around her was small compared to the Armstrong mansion, but
Amy threw her heels across the room the second her bedroom door slammed shut behind her.One landed near the vanity.The other hit the wall.“Perfect,” she muttered bitterly.She loosened the collar of her blouse and stared at herself in the mirror.Calm face.Perfect hair.Controlled expression.Ex
Amy Armstrong adjusted the sleeve of her blazer for the third time before stepping out of the car.The towering glass building before her reflected the early morning sun like a polished diamond.Diamond Towers.Her father’s empire.Soon to be hers.A lump formed in her throat.“Miss Armstrong?” the
I had walked into intimidating rooms before.Boardrooms filled with executives who thought they knew more than me.Meetings where my last name spoke before I did.But nothing prepared me for this.Zion Petrakis didn’t just sit behind his desk.He owned the space.The room was too quiet, too bright,







