LOGINThe morning sun felt too bright, cutting through the haze of a night spent staring at the ceiling. Ava walked into the salon, her steps heavy, her shoulders carrying the weight of the previous evening’s kitchen-table confession. She felt like she was walking through a dream, the image of her mother’s tear-streaked face still burned into her eyelids. Tessa looked up from the reception desk, her eyes narrowing as Ava dropped her bag. “You look like you went ten rounds with a heavyweight and lost.” Ava shot her a look, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. “Good morning to you, too.” “Seriously,” Tessa pressed. “Did you even sleep?” “A little.” “That’s not an answer.” Ava brushed it off, needing the structure of the day to keep her from unraveling. She focused on the rhythm of the salon—the hum of the dryers, the scent of products in the air, and the endless flow of appointments. For a few hours, it worked. She managed to push Marcus’s bruises and her mother’s fear into the back o
The city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but Julian paid it little attention. His focus remained on the file spread across the desk. Three days of digging had produced nothing useful. No hidden accounts. No suspicious transactions. No wealthy benefactor quietly funding Ava Hayes’s business. Just numbers. Normal, boring numbers most people would never think twice about. Julian flipped through another page, irritation building with every line. People always left traces. Greed left traces. Secrets left traces. Fear left traces. Yet every road seemed to end in the same place—a small salon, a hardworking owner, and a family struggling to stay afloat. None of it made sense. His phone vibrated. Without looking, he answered. “Tell me you found something.” “Not exactly.” Julian closed his eyes. “Then why are you calling?” “There’s something you should see.” A notification appeared on his tablet. Julian opened the attachment and found a spreadsheet filled with rows
The kitchen remained quiet long after Marcus finished talking. Nobody seemed to know what to say. The first-aid kit sat open on the table. A stained cloth rested beside it. The kettle on the stove had long since stopped whistling. Marcus leaned back in his chair, exhausted. The fight had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. Across from him, Leo stared at the table. His jaw was tight. His shoulders were rigid. The guilt was written all over his face. Marcus noticed it immediately. “Stop it.” Leo looked up. “Stop what?” Marcus pointed at him. “That look.” Leo laughed bitterly. “What look?” “The one where you’re blaming yourself.” Silence. Leo looked away. Marcus sighed. “You didn’t put me in that fight.” “They came because of me.” “No,” Marcus said firmly. “They came because they’re idiots looking for someone to bully.” Leo clenched his hands. “If I hadn’t gotten involved—” “Enough.” Marcus’s voice cracked through the room. Everyone went quiet. “I’
Marcus walked through the front door of his mother’s house late. He was trying to act normal, keeping his head down and moving toward the kitchen, but the harsh overhead light caught the fresh bruising on his jaw. Elena turned from the counter, the kettle forgotten in her hand. “Marcus Hayes, what happened to your face?” Marcus sighed, stopping in his tracks. “It’s nothing, Mom. Just a disagreement at the yard.” “Nothing?” She was already at his side, her hands firm as she tilted his chin toward the light. She saw the split lip and the ragged scrape along his cheekbone. Leo, sitting at the small kitchen table, looked up. The moment he saw Marcus, his face went stony. His own hand subconsciously drifted to the spot on his side where he’d been hurt weeks ago. “That’s not from a disagreement,” Leo said, his voice tight. “That’s a beating.” “No,” Marcus corrected. “It’s a win. You should see the other guy.” He wrapped a hand around the edge of the table, the skin a
Noah sat at his desk. The office was dead quiet, but his mind was racing. His phone buzzed. He picked it up. A message from his head of security. Security: Someone has been asking questions about the shop on Fifth. Noah’s eyes narrowed. Noah: What kind of questions? A reply came almost immediately. Security: Permit records. Lease agreements. Insurance and liability documents. Noah stared at the screen. Noah: Why? Security: We don’t know yet. But it doesn’t look routine. A pause. Then another message appeared. Security: Whoever it is has been digging for the last three days. Noah’s jaw tightened. Noah set the phone down. His gaze fixed on the wall, but he wasn’t seeing his office. He was seeing the salon. Ava. For months, he had kept his worlds separate. He had built a line between them and made sure nobody crossed it. Now someone was testing that line. This wasn’t his grandfather. It wasn’t the board. It was something else. Someone else.
Julian had spent days watching from a distance. Days studying routines, faces, and schedules. He knew how the sun hit the front window, which bus stopped on the corner, and exactly when Ava laughed the loudest. But watching could only take him so far. If he wanted the answers Lydia demanded, he had to step inside. Tuesday afternoon seemed like a good time. He parked across the street, smoothed his cuffs, and stepped out of the car. The salon was busy. It was the usual Tuesday rhythm—the sharp hum of dryers, the smell of fresh color, and the chatter of women catching up on their lives. Ava stood at her station, focused on the client in her chair. The warmth of the morning breakfast at home was still with her. It had been a good start to the week. She didn't hear the door chime over the dryers, but she felt a change in the room. The air felt different, like someone had walked in and turned the temperature down. Ava looked toward the entrance. A man stood near the desk. He wo







