3. THE DEVIL'S GIFT.

Angel.

I woke up with a pounding headache and a bitter taste in my mouth. My eyes burned as I blinked up at my ceiling, my limbs tangled in my sheets.

It was day 3 of my suspension and I was already bored to death.

My thoughts went to what had happened last night. It had been a mistake, even though it was necessary.

With a groan, I sat up and reached for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a dozen missed calls—and every single one of them from Cyrus.

Shit. Am I in a deeper mess this time around?

I scrambled out of bed, heart racing, and opened the last message from him:

“Report to the office. Now.”

I took the fastest shower of my life, trying to scrub off the sweat, the scent of regret, and the stale alcohol still clinging to my skin.

As the water hit my face, I thought about last night—the way Max closed his eyes when I touched him. It was like he was reliving a memory instead of being in the moment, and I had let him.

Because in truth, I hadn’t been thinking about Max at all. I was thinking about blue eyes behind a mask. And that was the real problem.

***

The office was already buzzing by the time I arrived in black slacks and a gray button down.

My hair was gelled back and I had made an effort to look really professional. On the way to the office, my mind had been racing—trying to figure out why Cyrus would call me back to the office while I was still on suspension.

I was greeted with the familiar chaos of agents rushing through the halls, and I discovered how much I've missed it.

Greeting a few agents on the way, I marched straight to Cyrus' office and pushed the door open.

And there he was—Agent Daniel Flair—standing in front of Cyrus’ desk like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Cyrus looked up when I entered, eyes hard. “Angel. Take a seat.”

Dan turned, clearly surprised to see me. I gave him a small nod and turned to Cyrus, refusing to sit.

“What’s going on?” I asked, voice low.

Cyrus leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers across his stomach. “Your partner’s been underperforming.”

I arched my brow, just as Dan scoffed. “Oh come on—”

“Save it,” Cyrus cut him off with a raised hand. “You were assigned to work with CID on the Judge Mendez murder. Not only did you delay evidence handovers, but you ignored protocol and pissed off the lead investigator. They’ve filed an official complaint requesting your removal.”

My brows lifted slightly. Dan had always been smug, but I didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to screw up this badly—not when he had blackmailed me to get the role in the first place.

“And they’re right,” Cyrus continued, voice calm but loaded with disappointment. “You’re impulsive, defensive, and you treat cooperation like it’s beneath you. Which is funny, considering you can’t handle a damn thing on your own.”

Dan bristled. “You’re just saying that because you want your golden boy back.”

His gaze flicked to me. I stared back, expression unreadable.

Cyrus didn’t even blink. “That’s enough. You’re suspended until further notice. I’ll reassess after reviewing all your reports.”

Dan’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You can’t be serious—”

“You are dismissed, Agent Flair.” The finality in Cyrus’ voice left no room for argument.

Dan’s jaw clenched. He shot me one last glare—like this was my fault—and then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I exhaled slowly and stepped closer to the desk.

“So…” I said. “What now?”

Cyrus looked tired. “Now? You take over the investigation.”

I blinked. “Wait—what?”

“You heard me,” he said. “CID already requested you. They’ve worked with you before, they trust your methods, and frankly, you’re the only one I trust to clean this mess up.”

I stared at him for a second, trying to decide if this was a good thing or not.

“Don’t let your personal life interfere again,” he added, voice dropping a notch. “Whatever happened that made you risk suspension, bury it. Focus. I’m giving you a second chance—don’t make me regret it.”

My throat tightened, but I nodded.

“I won’t,” I said, assuring him and also assuring myself.

By the time I got back to my office, I had the case files stacked in front of me like a wall I had to climb.

Mendez’s murder. CID’s reports. Witness transcripts. Forensics. There was enough paperwork to bury me alive.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing at my temple as I tried to force my mind to focus.

I needed this. I needed to feel the familiarity and satisfaction in solving a case. I—

The sharp rap on the door made me glance up. Carla, our admin assistant, poked her head in.

“Package for you,” she said, her brows furrowed slightly. She walked in and placed a small box—no bigger than my palm—on the desk.

I raised an eyebrow. “From who?”

She shook her head. “No return address. Security cleared it though—no explosives, no toxins. Just… weird.” She looked visibly unsettled. “I’d still be careful.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, already reaching for it.

She left, the door clicking shut behind her.

I stared at the box.

It was plain—matte black. No writing, no markings. I turned it once, twice, then slowly slid a finger under the edge of the lid and lifted.

The scent hit me first.

Metallic. Sharp. Coppery. Blood.

And then, when I saw it, my heart stopped.

Because inside the box was a finger—severed clean, pale, stiff. The skin was starting to gray at the edges and dried blood crusted near the joint.

But that wasn’t what made the bile rise in my throat.

It was the ring.

A polished onyx band sat snugly at the base of the finger. In the center of it, a single silver letter: E.

I staggered back so fast my chair screeched across the floor and slammed into the cabinet behind me. My stomach twisted and I barely made it to the trash bin before I retched.

“Max…”

I gasped, wiping my mouth, trying to steady my breath as I grabbed my phone and dialed his number with trembling hands.

“The number you have dialed is not available at the moment…”

I slammed my fist into the desk. Goddamnit.

I turned back to the box, chest heaving, forcing myself to look again.

That was his finger, his ring. I knew it.

I reached in slowly, hand shaking, and found the small slip of paper nestled underneath the velvet lining.

I hadn’t noticed it before. I unfolded it with care, every muscle in my body on edge.

The note was written in blood-red ink, jagged but neat letters scrawled across the page.

“You belong to me, my Ángel. Only me.”

For a long time, I couldn’t move or breathe.

Because, it finally dawned on me that this wasn’t just about Max. The target was me.

And I fucking felt guilty.