Chapter 10: The Witness

There were two versions of Ava Grace Sinclair.

The first was the girl who walked blindly into a marriage she didn’t fully understand.

The second sat now in front of a cracked screen, burner phone in one hand, and a name on her lips like a whispered rebellion.

Marcus Hale.

She stared at the email Vanessa had sent unsigned, untraceable but definitely her. The subject line read like a dare:

He knows where the skeletons are buried. Use him wisely.

Ava hadn’t responded. Not yet. She didn’t trust Vanessa, not completely, but she trusted what fear looked like in a woman’s eyes. And Vanessa hadn’t just looked scared she’d looked haunted.

The same way Ava felt.

She leaned back against the windowpane, the city humming quietly beneath her. This version of her was quieter, sharper. Less emotional, more precise. There wasn’t time for panic anymore not with Clause 17 hanging over her like a noose with velvet trim.

And now… a witness.

Or something close to it.

By noon, Ava had made the decision.

She didn’t tell anyone where she was going not even Luisa, who had started to smile again but watched Ava like a mother watching a storm build in her child’s eyes.

She wore all black. Not to be dramatic but because it made her feel like armor.

The rooftop café was barely marked. Just a narrow staircase above an old bookstore and a flickering light with no name. It overlooked a forgotten corner of the city skyline, where pigeons gathered and time slowed down just enough for secrets to feel safe.

He was already there.

Marcus Hale.

Slightly unshaven. Hoodie pulled low. Hands wrapped around a chipped mug like it was his only tether to this world.

Ava approached cautiously.

“Marcus?”

He didn’t stand. Didn’t smile. Just nodded and gestured to the empty seat across from him.

She sat.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said.

He shrugged. “Most people who get involved with Grayson Wolfe don’t last long. I wanted to see what makes you different.”

Ava studied him. “You worked for him?”

He laughed short and bitter. “I cleaned up after him. There’s a difference.”

She pulled the folder from her bag. The contract. The version she hadn’t signed but somehow had.

“Clause 17,” she said. “What happens if I break it?”

Marcus went still.

For a second, he didn’t speak. Then he looked her directly in the eye, the weight of something old and unforgiven behind his stare.

“Clause 17 isn’t a threat,” he said. “It’s a system.”

“A system?”

He leaned forward. “You don’t just vanish. You’re rewritten. Connections sever. People stop returning your calls. Your past becomes messy, questionable. Your future? Tainted. And no one — not your friends, not your family even realizes it’s happening. You just fade out of the frame.”

Ava’s throat tightened. She wanted to believe it was paranoia, exaggeration. But the pieces had already started shifting. Luisa had stopped talking. Her agency hadn’t called in days. Even her best friend back in Chicago had gone quiet.

“How many people?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “Vanessa was the second. You’re the third.”

She stared at him. “Who was the first?”

He looked down at his mug. “Her name was Lila. She didn’t walk away. She disappeared.”

Chills swept down her spine.

She wanted to ask more. She wanted to know everything. But her phone buzzed once, inside her pocket.

Blocked number.

She didn’t answer.

“I have recordings,” Ava said. “Backups. Copies of everything. If he tries anything, I”

“Then he’ll know,” Marcus interrupted. “And he’ll move faster.”

She went silent.

“What do I do?” she asked finally. And it wasn’t fear in her voice it was readiness.

Marcus slid a folded envelope across the table.

Inside: a photo. A security badge. A name: Elena Grant Legal Compliance, Wolfe International.

“She used to be his fixer,” Marcus said. “But she’s not loyal anymore. She saw too much. You find her you find the real beginning.”

“And if she doesn’t want to talk?”

He smiled faintly. “Everyone wants to talk eventually. They just need to be asked the right way.”

Back at the mansion, Grayson poured himself another glass of scotch.

He stared at the security camera footage on his laptop. Ava, dressed in black, stepping into a building she’d never entered before.

He didn’t recognize the man. But he would.

He always did.

“She’s shifting,” he murmured to himself.

Then he picked up his phone.

“Alaric,” he said, voice cold. “It’s time.