Chapter Two

KAEL

“Who was that woman?”

Damon looked up from his phone.

“Which woman?”

I stared at him.

He sighed. “Right. The one you looked like you wanted to strangle in the corridor.”

“I didn’t look like I wanted to strangle anyone.”

“You had that little vein in your forehead.”

I turned toward him.

Damon held up both hands. “Fine. You looked perfectly relaxed. Almost welcoming, actually.”

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Immensely.”

I picked up a glass of water from the nearest table and drank half of it in one go.

Across the ballroom, Serena Sinclair was talking to her parents. She was smiling at something her father had said, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Every so often, she’d glance in my direction, then quickly look away as if she hadn’t been caught.

She was a terrible liar.

Or perhaps she simply didn’t care whether I noticed.

Either possibility annoyed me.

“Serena Sinclair,” I said.

Damon followed my gaze.

“Richard Sinclair’s daughter?”

“You know another one?”

“Not personally.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Why?”

I didn’t answer.

Damon had known me long enough to recognize when a question wasn’t an invitation to keep asking questions. Unfortunately, he had never developed the good sense to stop.

“Is she the reason you sent Whitmore running?”

“Whitmore ran because he was stupid enough to think I wouldn’t discover what he’d done.”

“And the woman?”

“She overheard us.”

“Ah.”

I looked at him.

He grinned. “So she overheard you threatening a man, insulted you to your face, and walked away. I’m trying to understand why you’re still watching her.”

“I’m not watching her.”

Damon glanced at Serena, then back at me.

“Of course not.”

I considered throwing my glass at him.

Instead, I set it down and walked toward the stage.

I had more important things to worry about than a woman who apparently thought common sense was optional.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

⸻

The problem with family names was that people assumed they understood what they meant.

Blackwell meant money. Influence. Generations of men who had built an empire and expected their sons to make it bigger.

Sinclair meant something else.

It meant a file I hadn’t looked at in three years.

It meant a photograph I’d kept in a drawer despite telling myself I should have burned it.

And it meant a woman who had died under circumstances nobody had ever explained to my satisfaction.

Vivienne Vale.

I hadn’t heard anyone say her name tonight. I hadn’t expected to.

But the moment Serena told me who she was, I remembered the look on Vivienne’s face the last time I saw her.

She’d stood in my uncles’s study, pale and furious, with a folder clutched against her chest.

I was twenty.

I remembered because I’d come home early from gym and found her arguing with my uncle.

“You promised me,” she’d said.

My uncle had been standing behind his desk, his expression cold.

“I promised you nothing of the sort.”

“You said nobody would get hurt.”

“And nobody will, provided you stop interfering.”

She’d looked at him as though she’d never seen him clearly before.

Then she’d turned and walked out.

I had followed her into the corridor.

“Vivienne?”

She stopped.

For a moment, she looked almost relieved to see me.

Then she glanced toward the study and shook her head.

“Go upstairs, Kael.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“You’re crying.”

She wiped her cheek quickly.

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t.

I knew it. She knew I knew it.

But she’d always been good at making me feel like the difficult one whenever I asked questions she didn’t want to answer.

That night, she left the house.

Three weeks later, she was dead.

An accident, according to the police.

A tragic loss, according to my uncle.

A lie, according to the part of me that had never stopped asking questions.

I dragged a hand down my face.

Three years.

Three years of private investigators, unanswered calls, missing documents, and people suddenly developing terrible memories whenever I asked about Vivienne’s last few months.

And now Richard Sinclair’s daughter had appeared in front of me, wearing an expensive dress and making jokes about my manners.

Coincidence was a convenient word people used when they didn’t want to look any deeper.

I had never been particularly fond of convenient explanations.

“Kael.”

Damon’s voice brought me back to the ballroom.

He was standing beside me with two glasses of water.

“You disappeared.”

“I was standing right here.”

“Physically, yes.”

I took the glass he offered.

He studied me for a moment.

“Is this about Vivienne?”

I looked at him sharply.

He didn’t flinch.

Damon had been my friend since we were children. He knew there were certain subjects I didn’t discuss, but he had never been especially good at respecting that boundary.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not asking you to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m asking whether you’re about to turn a charity gala into another investigation.”

“I don’t investigate people for entertainment.”

“No. You do it because you don’t sleep properly when you don’t have answers.”

I said nothing.

Damon sighed.

“Just be careful. You don’t know anything about that girl.”

“Her name is Serena.”

“Oh, good. You’ve learned her name already.”

I gave him a look.

He smiled into his glass.

I was going to have to find a new friend.

⸻

I found Richard Sinclair near the bar.

He was speaking to two men I recognized from the financial sector, laughing at something one of them had said.

He looked comfortable.

That bothered me more than it should have.

A man with nothing to hide could afford to look comfortable. A man who had spent years burying something might look exactly the same.

There was no point guessing which kind of man Richard Sinclair was.

I needed facts.

“Mr. Sinclair.”

He turned, and his smile widened.

“Kael. Good to see you. I was hoping we’d have a chance to speak tonight.”

“Then I won’t disappoint you.”

He excused himself from the other men and shook my hand.

His grip was firm. His expression was open.

He was good at this.

“Your father would have been pleased to see how well you’ve taken over the company,” he said.

“My father is difficult to please.”

Richard laughed.

“Some things never change.”

I smiled politely.

“How long have you known Vivienne Vale?”

The change in his expression was almost invisible.

Almost.

His smile remained, but his eyes shifted briefly toward the ballroom entrance.

Then he looked at me again.

“Vivienne?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”

“I asked how long you knew her.”

He took a sip of his drink.

“Socially, I suppose. Our families moved in similar circles. There were charity events, business functions. That sort of thing.”

“Did you know her well?”

“Not particularly.”

Interesting.

Vivienne had once told me that the Sinclairs had helped her with something important. She’d never explained what, and I’d been too young and too distracted by my own problems to push her for details.

Richard was telling me he’d barely known her.

One of them was lying.

Possibly both.

“Why do you ask?” he said.

“I’m curious.”

“About Vivienne?”

“About a great many things.”

He laughed, but this time it sounded forced.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you much there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

We stood in silence for a moment.

Then his gaze moved past me.

“Ah, there’s my daughter.”

I didn’t turn around immediately.

I didn’t need to.

I already knew who he meant.

“Serena,” Richard called.

She approached us with a glass in her hand and an expression that suggested she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I was just speaking with Kael.”

“So I gathered.”

Richard gave her a warning look.

She ignored it.

“Kael was asking about Vivienne Vale,” he said.

For the first time that evening, Serena stopped looking amused.

It was a small change. Her fingers tightened around her glass, and her gaze moved from her father to me.

“Why?”

Her voice was quieter now.

Not frightened.

Careful.

That interested me more than her earlier insults.

“An old acquaintance,” I said.

“An acquaintance?”

“Is there a problem with that word?”

She stared at me.

“I just didn’t know you knew her.”

“You knew her?”

“My family knew her.”

The answer came too quickly.

Richard cleared his throat.

“Vivienne was a family friend, sweetheart. Years ago.”

Serena didn’t look at him.

“She wasn’t just a family friend.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable enough that Richard tried to fill it.

“Serena, darling, why don’t you go and find your mother?”

“I’m talking.”

“And I’m asking you to find your mother.”

She looked at him for a long moment before turning back to me.

Something had changed between them, something old and familiar.

I recognized it because I’d seen it before.

A person asking a question they already knew the answer to.

A person refusing to answer because the truth would be inconvenient.

Serena set her glass on the bar.

“Excuse me.”

She walked away without another word.

Richard watched her go.

Then he turned back to me with a strained smile.

“She’s always been outspoken.”

“I noticed.”

“She doesn’t always think before she speaks.”

“Neither do most people.”

He laughed politely.

I didn’t.

Because Serena had reacted to Vivienne’s name like someone had just opened a door she thought was locked.

And Richard Sinclair had looked terrified that she might walk through it.

⸻

I left the gala twenty minutes later.

Damon offered to drive me, but I told him I’d arranged for my car.

He didn’t argue. He simply gave me a look that said he knew I was lying about something and would eventually make it my problem.

Outside, the October air was cold enough to clear my head.

My driver opened the rear door, and I slid inside.

“Home, sir?”

“No. The office.”

He nodded.

I took out my phone and called the only investigator I’d kept on the Vivienne case.

He answered on the fourth ring.

“Mr. Blackwell.”

“I need you to look into Richard Sinclair again.”

A pause.

“Again?”

“Yes.”

“Is there something new?”

“His daughter.”

Another pause.

“Serena Sinclair?”

I sat up straighter.

“How do you know her name?”

“Because she appears in some of the old photographs connected to Vivienne. She was a child at the time, but—”

“Send me everything you have.”

“Kael, I should warn you. If the connection is what I think it is, this may be bigger than—”

“I didn’t ask for a warning.”

He fell silent.

“Everything,” I repeated. “Every photograph, every document, every record connecting the Sinclairs to Vivienne. And I want to know what Richard Sinclair was doing the week she died.”

“I’ll get started.”

I ended the call.

Outside the window, New York slipped past in streaks of light.

I thought about Serena standing in that corridor, looking at me as though she couldn’t decide whether I was an idiot or a threat.

I thought about the way her expression had changed when I mentioned Vivienne.

And I thought about the photograph in my desk drawer.

Vivienne stood in the middle, one hand resting on the shoulder of a little girl with dark curls.

Serena.

I’d recognized her the moment she’d told me her name.

I just hadn’t expected her to be old enough to look me in the eye and challenge me.

I hadn’t expected Richard Sinclair to be standing three feet away, pretending he barely remembered a woman who had once trusted him.

Most of all, I hadn’t expected Serena to look genuinely hurt when her father dismissed Vivienne as a family friend.

I didn’t know what that meant yet.

But I intended to find out.

My phone vibrated.

A message from the investigator appeared on the screen.

There’s something you should know about the accident report. It was amended forty-eight hours after Vivienne’s death. The original copy is missing.

I read it twice.

Then I called him back.

He answered immediately.

“Who amended it?” I asked.

“We’re still trying to establish that.”

“Then establish it.”

“There’s another thing. The original report references a witness who was never interviewed.”

“Name?”

A pause.

“That’s the problem. The name has been removed from every copy we could find.”

I stared at the screen.

For three years, I’d been chasing a dead end.

Now, in a single evening, I’d found a connection to the Sinclair family, a father who clearly knew more than he was saying, and a missing witness.

And the only person who seemed willing to speak about Vivienne was the daughter everyone wanted me to leave alone.

Serena Sinclair.

I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes.

This wasn’t going to be simple.

It wasn’t supposed to be.

But if the Sinclairs had played a part in what happened to Vivienne, I would find out.

And if Serena knew something she wasn’t telling me, I would find that out too.

I opened my eyes and looked out at the city.

I had no intention of getting close to her.

I had no intention of trusting her.

And I certainly had no intention of letting her get under my skin.

I’d met her less than an hour ago, and already she was becoming a problem.

I just hadn’t decided what I was going to do about her yet.