MasukAria’s POVThe afternoon light in the penthouse was soft and golden. I had spent most of the day doing small things. I watered the plants. I folded the clean towels in the bathroom. I made myself a cup of tea and let it go cold on the counter. Every sound made me jump … the hum of the fridge, the distant traffic far below, my own footsteps on the marble floor.I was sitting on the couch when the front door opened and Kyle stepped inside.He looked tired. His suit jacket was slung over one shoulder. His white shirt had a small rip near the collar. But what made my heart stop was his face.There was a dark bruise forming on his left cheekbone. His bottom lip was split and swollen. A small cut above his eyebrow had dried blood at the edge.I stood up fast. “Kyle!”He closed the door behind him and tried to smile. It looked painful.“I’m fine,” he said quietly.I rushed to him. My hands reached up to touch his face, but I stopped just before I made contact. “Who hurt you? What happened
Jason’s POVThe underground garage beneath Hartley Tower smelled of concrete and engine oil. Dim lights cast long shadows across the rows of luxury cars. Jason Hartley stood beside his black Mercedes, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his tailored coat.His jaw was tight. His eyes burned from too many sleepless nights.He had come alone.He didn’t bother to bring his security or any assistant. Just the raw need to end this.Kyle’s car pulled in five minutes later. The sleek silver Bentley glided to a stop two spaces away. The door opened and Kyle stepped out, calm as ever in a dark gray suit, hazel eyes scanning the empty garage before landing on Jason.For a moment, neither of them spoke.Then Kyle’s mouth curved into a small, cold smile. “Brother. You wanted to talk. Here I am.”Jason’s hands clenched inside his pockets. “Cut the shit, Kyle. I’m not here for games.”Kyle closed the car door with a soft click. He leaned against the hood, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Then
Margaret’s POVThe elevator doors opened into the sleek marble lobby of Kyle Hartley’s building. Margaret stepped out beside Thomas, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The doorman nodded politely as they passed, but his eyes followed them a little too long. Everything in this place felt watched.They walked through the revolving doors and out onto the busy sidewalk. The afternoon sun hit them hard after the cool air inside the penthouse. Margaret stopped at the curb. She adjusted the strap of her bag and looked back up at the towering glass building. It was really a remarkable building. The life of the rich was actually really beautiful but something felt weird and she couldn’t put her finger on it.Thomas stood beside her, still holding the empty paper bag that had carried the pastries. He shifted his weight. “She looked… okay,” he said carefully. “Better than I expected. The color was back in her face.”Margaret didn’t answer right away. She kept staring at
Aria’s POVThe penthouse felt quieter than usual that afternoon.I had spent the morning doing small things. I made coffee in the fancy machine Kyle liked. I watered the new plants he had brought in … little ferns and orchids that made the living room feel less like a glass box. I folded the blanket on the couch even though it didn’t need folding. I stared out the big windows at the city below. The people looked like tiny dots moving fast. I wondered what it felt like to walk among them without looking over my shoulder.Kyle had left for a short meeting. He kissed me before he went. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Stay inside. Rest. I’ll bring lunch when I come back.”I nodded. I tried to work on my laptop for a while. Emails from the gallery. A few questions about the next show. My fingers moved slowly. Every time I typed a sentence, I felt eyes on me. Even though I was alone. Even though the security cameras blinked green and the doorman downstairs checked every visitor twice.A s
Violet’s POVThe penthouse was too quiet when Violet stepped inside that evening.She kicked off her heels by the door, the sharp sound echoing across the marble floor. The lights were on low, the way Jason liked them when he came home early. She expected to smell dinner. Or hear the clink of ice in a glass. Or see Jason’s jacket already draped over the back of the chair.Nothing.The apartment felt empty.Violet checked her watch. 8:47 p.m.Jason was never this late. Not anymore. Since they had gotten together … since Aria had finally left … he had made it a point to come home early. He would text her from the car. He would walk through the door with that tired but warm smile and pull her into his arms like he was trying to make up for all the years he had looked right through her.Tonight there was no text. No call. No jacket on the chair.She walked slowly through the living room,with her fingers trailing over the back of the white sofa. Her dress from the day’s lunch still felt
Third person POV The room was old money and older secrets.It sat on the top floor of a private club in Lower Manhattan that had no name on the door and no sign outside. Heavy oak panels lined the walls. Portraits of dead men in stiff collars watched from the shadows. A long mahogany table ran down the center, lit by low green banker’s lamps. Crystal glasses and a decanter of fifty-year-old scotch waited like silent judges.Four men sat around the table tonight.At the head was Reginald Thorne … he was seventy-two years old , with silver hair, eyes like chipped flint. He had known the Hartley father better than most. He spoke rarely, but when he did, the others listened.To his right sat Marcus Hale, sharp-faced and impatient, the youngest in the room at forty-eight. He tapped a gold pen against the table, obviously restless and bored of the meeting already.Opposite them were two more: quiet Edward Lang and cold-eyed Victor Kane. They had all inherited seats in the Circle when t
Aria’s POVI woke up to sunlight streaming through the guest room window and the buzz of my phone on the nightstand.A text from Marcus: “Papers are ready. Come by the office at 8 AM.”I checked the time. 7:15 AM.Jason’s bedroom door was already closed when I passed it on my way to the shower. I c
Aria’s POVI sat on the edge of the guest room bed, with my hands folded neatly in my lap. The suitcases Jason had carried back upstairs sat unopened at my feet like evidence of my failed escape.Everything was perfectly still.I was perfectly still.And then I started laughing.It was very quite
Kyle’s POVThe first thing I was aware of was the sweat.It had plastered my hair to the back of my neck and soaked through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt, the sheets beneath me were damp and twisted from what must have been hours of restless turning. I blinked at the ceiling, with my chest hea
Aria’s POV - Three Days LaterI stared at my phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.Claire still hadn’t responded. It has been three days of silence. No texts, no calls, nothing.We were supposed to have dinner on Tuesday night. I’d texted her that morning to confirm and got nothing back. I figur







