Chapters 3

Eliza's POV 

The car smelled of clean leather and faint cedar. I sat in the back seat shaking so hard my teeth clicked together. Tears dried sticky on my cheeks. Adam didn’t say a word. No “it’s going to be okay.” No hand on my shoulder. He just reached into the center console, pulled out a small bottle of water, and a folded white linen handkerchief. He placed them on the seat between us without looking at me. Then he turned his head to the window, giving me the back of his dark hair and the line of his jaw. That silence felt bigger than any comfort he could have offered. It made my skin prickle.

We didn’t go to a hotel. The car turned off the main road, slid through quiet streets lined with tall gates and low lights. It stopped in front of a plain gray building—no sign, no doorman, just a black metal door that opened when Adam pressed a fob. Inside the elevator smelled new, like fresh paint. He punched in a code. The doors closed. We rose.

The apartment was small, clean, expensive in a way that didn’t show. White walls. Dark wood floors. One large window looking out at city lights that blurred through my wet eyes. A kitchen counter. Two stools. Nothing personal. Nothing that belonged to anyone.

“Safe,” Adam said, closing the door behind us. “Untraceable to him.”

I stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around myself. My dress felt too thin. My shoes pinched. I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

He moved to the kitchen. Filled a kettle. Took two plain white mugs from a cabinet. No fancy machine. No steamed milk. Just black coffee when the water boiled. He set one mug in front of me on the small glass table. Sat across from me. Opened a slim black folder he had carried from the car.

He didn’t rush. He let me wrap my fingers around the warm mug first. The heat hurt my cold skin. I liked it.

“I know what Scott is planning,” he said. Voice low, even. “It’s not a merger. It’s a hostile takeover dressed up as a friendly deal. He’s been working with Thorne competitors—my competitors—to strip Sterling Global down. Sell the profitable pieces. Gut the rest. Your father’s name would disappear in five years.”

He pushed the folder toward me.

I opened it with fingers that still trembled.

Pages of numbers. Bank statements. Transfer records. Dates going back two years. Small amounts at first—five thousand here, twelve thousand there—moving from Sterling accounts into something called “Sovereign Holdings.” A private account. Scott’s name on it. Not mine. Not the company’s.

I flipped pages. More transfers. Bigger now. Millions. Always routed through shell companies. Always ending in the same place.

“He wasn’t just preparing to sell your father’s company,” Adam said quietly. “He was preparing to leave with its soul.”

My throat closed. I saw Dad’s face in my mind—tired eyes after long nights, proud smile when he signed the papers that made Sterling Global real. He trusted Scott. Told me Scott was steady. Smart. The right man.

I closed the folder. Looked up at Adam.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want something from you.”

He leaned back. Crossed one leg over the other. Looked straight at me.

“I want the aerospace division. Clean. Separate. No strings. You keep control of everything else—manufacturing, defense contracts, the core legacy. You get Sterling Global back the way your father built it. And you get to watch Scott lose everything he thought he already won.”

I stared at him.

A partnership. Not help. Not rescue. A deal.

“You help me stop him,” he went on. “I give you the lawyers, the investigators, the boardroom leverage. We move fast. We move quiet. But you have to be all in, Eliza. No hesitation. No second thoughts. No looking back at the man you married. Can you do that?”

My chest felt tight. Not from crying anymore. From something sharper. Hotter. It started in my stomach and climbed up my throat like fire.

I thought of Scott’s smile that morning. The earrings. The way he kissed my cheek without seeing me. The sofa. Chloe’s laugh. The words she said about the baby. About him pulling away. About not risking an heir.

He stole three years of my life. My hope. My body. My trust. My father’s work.

The grief that had been choking me all evening hardened. Turned into something else. Something cold and bright and dangerous.

Rage.

I looked at Adam. Really looked.

His eyes were steady. Not kind. Not cruel. Just waiting.

I nodded once. Slow. Sure.

“Yes,” I said. My voice didn’t shake. “I can do that.”

He studied me for a long second. Then he stood. Buttoned his jacket. Walked toward the door.

“I’ll have papers drawn up tonight. We start tomorrow. Sleep if you can.”

He reached the door. Paused. His phone sat on the table where he left it when he poured the coffee. The screen lit up. A notification.

I saw the name before he turned back.

Chloe.

The preview text showed just enough.

“She took the bait. Moving to Phase 2.”

My blood turned to ice.

Adam didn’t see it. He was already opening the door. “Lock this behind me. Don’t open for anyone but me.”

The door clicked shut.

I stared at the phone. The screen went dark again.

Chloe.

The same Chloe who wrapped herself in Scott’s robe. Who told me about the baby with a smile. Who called me soft.

“She took the bait.”

Was I the bait?

Was Adam playing both sides?

Did he bring me here just to break me more? To make sure I had nowhere else to turn?

My hands clenched on the edge of the table. The mug was still warm. Coffee untouched.

I looked around the empty apartment. Safe, he said. Untraceable.

Maybe.

Or maybe this was the next cage.

I reached for the phone. My finger hovered over the screen.

I didn’t touch it.

Not yet.

But the rage that had started to burn inside me didn’t fade.

It grew.

Whatever game they were playing—Scott, Chloe, maybe Adam too—I was done being the piece they moved.

Tomorrow I would sign whatever Adam put in front of me.

And then I would start watching.

Everyone.