32

Chapter 32

Brittany Pov

The news of Linda Chen's murder is all over the city. For two days now everyone has been talking about Linda Chen, her death in a shooting at a gentleman’s strippers club, the police had no leads, the empty chairs at her table, the blood stains on her table.

Stories like that flare up and die down. Only the people involved keep remembering.

I wasn’t one of the grieving. I had paid someone to handle a problem.

The f*e had been outrageous for what should have been cheap information on Adrian. It felt like theft, and I don’t tolerate being cheated.

Linda had known too much. She had seen my face, knew I’d been asking questions about Adrian, and could connect pieces I needed kept separate. If anyone else approached her with money her loose mouth would definitely point at me.Loose ends make trouble. I cut trouble out early.

My investigator Luis, not the useless Jackson whom I'm still trying to know his whereabouts.

Luis brought me a file on Martin a day before Linda’s death. The dossier was precise: full name, address, criminal ties, a wife named Amelia, no children, and a history of drug deals and money moves that wouldn’t hold up in court.

It was leveraged, ready-made.

Luis had also been watching Martin. For the straight three days he’d parked outside Darcy Rodrigo’s estate, noting cars, arrivals, and departures. Martin’s timing matched the whispers that named him when Linda was still alive and the questions I’d been asking about Adrian. He was probably watching Adrian.

We shared a problem.

That morning I decided to act. Luis had mapped Martin’s routine: leave the penthouse at dawn, go to the Rodrigo estate, sit there most of the day. Predictable. Careless, for a man in his line of work.

We boxed him in with two SUVs when he came out of his garage. I sat in my sedan and watched Luis approach his window. Martin stiffened; his hand moved toward where a gun might be, then dropped when Luis spoke calmly. Good. No violence. This was a negotiation.

He stepped out the way men who expect to be obeyed do—neat clothes, designer sneakers, an expensive watch. Handsome, dangerous in a quiet way. I felt an attraction I wouldn't be able to resist if we started working together.

“Martin,” I said without small talk. “I’m Brittany Hawthorne.”

He looked me over, trying to place me. “Should I know you?”

“Soon.” I crossed my legs. “I’ll be engaged to Darcy Rodrigo in two weeks. Our families will announce it.”

A flash of surprise showed on his face, but quickly followed by a look of calculation.

“Congratulations. What do I have to do with that information?”

“Adrian Martinez.” I watched him react.

His jaw tightened. “What about her?”

“Don’t act dumb.” I showed him photos Luis had taken—Martin parked outside Darcy’s house, following the family’s Range Rover to a mall the day before. “You’ve been watching my future home for three days. That’s more than curiosity.”

“You’ve been watching me,” he said.

“I watch people who matter to my plans. Adrian matters.” I put my phone away. “She’s the Pink's nanny in my future house, caring for my soon-to-be stepdaughter. That’s unacceptable.”

“So fire her,” he said, bored and dangerous. “You’ll be the wife. You have the power.”

“Darcy hired her. Pink—his daughter—likes her. Darcy is protective of his staff.” I studied Martin. “You know how Adrian makes men protective, don’t you?”

He sneered. “She’s always been good at playing the victim.”

“Then we agree on the problem.” I leaned forward. “I don’t care about your past history with her. I don’t care about the person that hurt the other first. I care that she’s in my future home.”

“And you need me?” he asked. “You have money, influence.”

“You know Adrian. You know what would ruin her. You can make Darcy doubt her.” I kept my voice flat. “You have insight, I don't.”

He thought about it. “What do I gain in this?”

“Protection.” I was direct. “I know about your drug deals, the money flow, the networks that pay for your luxury. I know names. My family can keep certain people—police contacts—looking the other way.”

His face flickered pale. “That’s a threat.”

“Insurance.” I smiled with no warmth. “Not exposure. Help me and I’ll help you stay invisible. Refuse and anonymous tips find investigators. People leak.” I watched greed and fear do their math.

He shifted, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “What’s the plan?”

Adrenaline tightened my chest in a welcome way. “Adrian was once convicted for drug trafficking. If she’s found with illegal substances—while working in a house with a child—Darcy will act. He’ll fire her, security will search, and parole violations mean jail.”

“You want to frame her,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“I want her gone.” My voice was steady. “If that takes planting evidence, so be it. This is not your first time, isn't it?”

He didn’t deny it. “It’s risky. If it goes wrong—”

“It won’t.” I slid an envelope across the seat. “Fifty thousand now. Double when it’s done.”

He took the envelope and hid it, “And you’re sure?”

“Two weeks until our engagement goes public. Two weeks to make sure Adrian isn’t in my house when the announcement happens. I won’t let some ex-con with a sob story steal my future.”

Martin nodded. “We do it my way. No sloppy work.”

“Agreed. As long as she’s gone.”

We planned for an hour. He had contacts who could supply substances untraceable enough to be believable and the skill to plant them without leaving traces. He knew how to craft an anonymous tip that would trigger a security sweep. The timeline was simple: wait until Adrian was alone, plant the evidence, tip security, let procedure take over. Clean. Fast. Effective.

Before he left he asked, “Why not wait until you’re officially engaged? You’d have more sway then.”

Every day Adrian spent in that house made her more secure. Pink could grow more attached. Darcy could grow protective. I’d seen him look at Adrian in ways he didn’t at others—small, unguarded looks I’d trained myself to spot.

Adrian had a pull I didn’t have: she made men want to protect her. That pull was dangerous when I needed Darcy’s whole attention.

“Two weeks,” I said again.

“Two weeks,” Martin echoed, then walked away to call his contacts. Luis climbed into the driver’s seat. “Home, Ms. Hawthorne?”

“Yes. And schedule lunch with Darcy’s mother for tomorrow.” The plan was falling into place. “It’s time I’m seen as family.”

I remembered the tabloid photo that had started this: Darcy watching Adrian when she carried his child across a room, softening at his eyes.

It was a private moment sold in public, and it showed a danger I could not ignore. I had built my future on careful moves; one mistake and it would crumble.

Luis had been with me for years—quiet, efficient. He delivered facts without fuss and didn’t ask how I used them. I trusted him to dig; I trusted myself to act.

Linda had been at a loose end. People like her remember names and faces, and that memory can undo plans. When a loose end becomes a liability, you remove it.

Framing someone is ugly. It takes a kind of cruelty I kept for protection. I told myself it was necessary. I pictured Darcy furious, Pink confused, Adrian gone, and our engagement announced without a stain. That image steadied me.

When Martin said, “We do it my way,” there was both a promise and a threat. Men like him live by favors and fear. I planned to pay him enough favors to keep him quiet and to hold quiet records to use if he stepped out of line.

A thin knot of guilt tried to form and I folded it away. Guilt distracted. I didn’t have room for it.

The lunch with Darcy’s mother would be a power move. Mothers listen differently. I would be polished, casual, and concerned—seeding small doubts about Adrian without showing my hand.

People change their minds over small believable things. That is how reputations fall: quietly, with tiny cuts.

Martin disappeared into traffic as the city went back to its noise. I felt relief and a small ache at what I was doing. This life had forced my hands severally and I would do what I had to.

At the estate, I adjusted my dress and mask on a practiced smile. Calm meant focus, not softness. I had started the clock. Two weeks. That was all I would give.

Adrian had survived worse—prison, betrayals, men who tried to break her. She’d rebuilt before, but this time the ash pile would be higher. With Martin’s help and my plans, there would be no ladder left. Two weeks to finish what I started.