INICIAR SESIÓNFramed for her mentor’s murder and the arson that erased her past, forensic accountant Vesper Ashford is left with nothing. Her bank accounts are frozen, her identity is gone, and her face is plastered across every news station in Manhattan as a wanted killer. Hiding in the shadows of the city, she is hunted by law enforcement and the lethal syndicate that set her up. Her only way out comes from the last person she expects: Caspian Kensington, the cold, ruthless tech billionaire whose off-shore empire she was illegally auditing. Caspian isn't offering charity. Someone inside his board is using his platform to launder billions and bring his company down from the inside. He needs Vesper’s sharp mind to uncover the traitor, and she needs his power to survive. He hands her a new name, an bulletproof identity, and a place by his side as his chief risk advisor. But stepping into Caspian’s high-stakes world means standing directly in the line of fire. To clear her name, Vesper must trust a man who hides as many dangerous secrets as the killers hunting her down.
Ver másVespera "Vesper" AshfordThe morning sun pierced through the tinted glass of Caspian’s Tribeca penthouse, casting long, sharp shadows across the polished concrete floors.I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest suite, staring at a woman I barely recognized. The soot and dried blood were gone, replaced by a tailored ivory pantsuit that clung perfectly to my frame. My hair was styled into sleek burgundy waves, and a pair of designer frames rested on the bridge of my nose. Beneath the foundation and high-end silk, my ribs still throbbed, and my left hand was tightly bandaged, hidden under the long sleeve of my blazer.I took a slow, steadying breath. Yesterday, I was a hunted fugitive running barefoot through Chinatown. Today, I was Vespera Vane—Caspian Kensington’s newly appointed Chief Risk Consultant.The door behind me clicked open. Caspian stepped into the room, impeccably dressed in a dark navy Tom Ford suit. His gaze swept over me, lingering for a fraction of a sec
Fl: Vespera "Vesper" AshfordThe dark blue passport felt heavy in my palm, its crisp gold-embossed crest shining beneath the sleek ambient lighting of Caspian’s Tribeca penthouse. I flipped it open with my uninjured hand.Vespera Vane.The photo was unmistakably me, yet completely altered. My dark hair had been digitally smoothed and tinted a rich burgundy shade, my sharp cheekbones accentuated, and my tired eyes polished into a cool, calculating stare. Attached to the inner page was a flawless paper trail: a decade’s worth of high-profile auditing records across London, Zurich, and Singapore."You had this prepared before you even tracked me down in Chinatown," I said, my thumb tracing the smooth laminate of the forged document."I don't leave my survival to chance, Vesper. Neither should you," Caspian replied without turning away from the rain-slicked glass overlooking Manhattan. "In seven hours, the executive board of Kensington Financials convenes for an emergency session. They ex
Vespera "Vesper" AshfordThe violent sound echoed off the damp brick walls, shattering the dead silence of the alley.I winced, bracing for the burning impact of a bullet, but the weight pressing down on my forehead suddenly vanished. The man above me pitched forward, dropping like a sack of stones onto the pavement right beside me. Blood pooled instantly around his neck.The second shooter spun around, pulling his weapon, but a shadow stepped out from the far end of the passage. Two quick, suppressed shots rang out—thwip! thwip!—and the second gunman crumpled to his knees before collapsing face-first into the mud.My breath hitched in my chest. I scrambled backward until my back hit the cold chain-link fence, my whole body trembling uncontrollably.Who is this? Police? FBI? Or another hit squad?Heavy, measured footsteps approached through the fog. Out of the darkness walked a tall figure wrapped in a sharply tailored charcoal coat, completely unfazed by the corpses at his feet. The
Vespera "Vesper" AshfordForty-eight hours. That’s how long I’d been living like a rat in the underbelly of Manhattan.The freezing October rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a bitter, bone-chilling fog that rolled off the Hudson River. I crouched behind a row of rusted dumpsters in a Chinatown alley, my arms wrapped tightly around my chest. I had managed to steal an oversized black hoodie and a pair of worn-out sneakers from a laundromat basket yesterday, but they did little to keep out the damp cold.My stomach let out a sharp, painful growl. I hadn't eaten a solid meal since the night Marcus died.Think, Vesper. There has to be a way out of this.I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to stop my body from shaking. Every bank account registered under my name was frozen—I’d checked at an ATM down on Canal Street using my primary debit card, only for the machine to swallow the plastic whole and display a red ACCOUNT SUSPENDED notice. My emergency stash, my backup fake IDs, my har


















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