LOGINUndercover Hearts is a contemporary romance thriller featuring two professional liars who find themselves investigating the same crime from opposite sides. Sophia Chen is an investigative journalist who goes undercover as "Sophia Sterling.” She poses as a wealthy tech heiress to infiltrate Platinum Connections. An exclusive matchmaking service where wealthy clients are mysteriously dying or losing their fortunes. She believes owner Marcus Blackwood is running a blackmail and murder scheme. Marcus Blackwood is an undercover FBI agent. He co-owns the business as part of a long-term federal operation, with his childhood friend Elena Vasquez handling day-to-day operations. When Sophia appears, Marcus suspects she has ulterior motives. Neither realizes they're both good guys pursuing the same case—or that Elena is the real villain orchestrating everything from the shadows. The story follows their immediate, intense attraction as they circle each other with growing suspicion and undeniable chemistry. Both are expert lie-detectors thrown off balance by someone who matches their intelligence and perception. Through disastrous client dates, psychological evaluations, and increasingly personal conversations, they engage in a dangerous dance of deception while fighting feelings that threaten to compromise their respective missions.
View MoreSophiaSix months later, the city feels like a different place. Or maybe it’s just me.The book sits heavy in my lap, its cover glossy, my name embossed in silver letters. Glass Houses: The Rise and Fall of Elena Vasquez. It feels strange, holding the story of the last year in my hands, bound and permanent, when so much of it felt like smoke and mirrors at the time. It’s called a bestseller now and award committees whisper my name. But all I can think about is how Marrin trembled on the stand, how Herbert sweated through his wire, how Elena smiled as if the walls were collapsing around someone else.The cost of truth doesn’t fit neatly between two covers. But it’s there, invisible ink only I can see.Marcus reads it sometimes when he thinks I’m asleep. I catch him with the lamp on, brow furrowed, finger tracing the words like they’re more dangerous than bullets. When I ask, he only shrugs and says, “You wrote truth like a blade. I’m proud of you.” And maybe that’s the only review I’
MarcusThree weeks is just enough time for the adrenaline to drain from your veins and leave only the ache behind.The courthouse looks the same as it did during the trial. Columns like stone sentries, the hum of cameras outside, the smell of disinfectant that clings to your clothes. But today is different. Today isn’t testimony or strategy. It’s judgment.Elena sits at the defence table in a charcoal suit, hair pulled sleek, eyes forward. She doesn’t look at me, not once. Maybe she knows if she did, I’d see the cracks. Maybe she doesn’t want me to.The judge’s words are measured, deliberate. Twenty-five years to life. The gavel strikes, and the sound echoes like a door slamming shut.Elena doesn’t flinch. Not outwardly. But I see the minute twitch of her jaw. It’s the performance of a woman who’s lost everything but refuses to give the audience the satisfaction of seeing her break.My hands are locked together in my lap, the pressure of my fingers digging into my palms. Relief crashes
JamieIt happens on the sidewalk, of all places.One second I’m fumbling for my phone outside Noah’s bakery, the other I’m staring at the metal glint of a key in his palm.He just holds it there, no ceremony, no little velvet box. Just Noah in his flour-dusted hoodie, cheeks pink from the November chill, saying, “I thought you should have your own key to my apartment. For… whenever.”My stomach flips like I just jumped out of a plane without checking the parachute straps.I take the key before I can overthink it. It’s warm from his hand, heavier than a normal key should be.“Wow. Romantic,” I say, voice wobbling around the sarcasm. “No speech? No flowers? Just handing it over like you’re loaning me your Netflix password?”He smirks, “Do you want flowers? I could go get you some and we can re-enact the whole thing.”“Only if they’re edible,” I shoot back. “A cookie bouquet, preferably.”But the joke doesn’t hide the truth buzzing under my skin. This is big. Monumental. And terrifying.
SophiaThe verdict follows us like a shadow all the way home. Elena’s mask has finally cracked, and the jury cut her down piece by piece. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.Marcus’s hand stays clamped around mine as if letting go would undo it all. Even as we step into his apartment, the air heavy with silence, he doesn’t release me. His suit jacket drops to the chair, his tie half-loosened, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease.Neither does mine.I know what he’s thinking. What we’re both thinking. This is the end of Elena’s reign, but probably not the end of her shadow. Still, for tonight, I don’t want shadows. I want him.I tug on his hand and lead him toward the bedroom without a word.He stops in the doorway, eyes storm-dark, voice rough. “Sophia…”I don’t let him finish. My lips press to his, hungry, needy, dissolving everything in the heat. He groans into my mouth, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other spreading over my lower back.The kiss deepens frantically, like we’
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