All Chapters of Undercover Hearts: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

SophiaThe call comes just after nine, my second cup of coffee for the day cooling beside my notebook.“Tell me you’re sitting down,” Claire says by way of hello.“I’m sitting.”“I pulled the last few tax filings for that charity you flagged. The one that went belly-up two years ago? Guess what’s buried in the final quarter before it closed?”I click my pencil. “Surprise me.”“Offshore transfers. Big ones. And before you ask, yes, they’re routed through an account owned by Marrin’s old company. I checked twice.”That snaps me fully awake. Marrin again. He’s like mildew, once you see him, you start spotting him everywhere. “Destination?”“Three different shell entities. Two in the Caymans, one in Panama. All dissolved within six months of the transfers. No surviving records I can get to without a warrant.”Which neither of us will ever have, and I’m not stupid enough to fake one.“Send me what you can,” I say.“Already in your inbox. And, Sophia? You’re getting close. Just… be careful

SophiaThe wall has become my second heartbeat.It stares back at me from the corner of Jamie’s guest room, a patchwork of printouts, scribbles, and red string. Anyone else would probably call it unhinged. I call it necessary. It’s the only place where the noise in my head sorts itself into something resembling order.Claire’s voice is still in my ears when I grab my pen and scrawl a note in the margin of my latest lead. Liberty-Anne Hoffman. Wire transfer. Same Cayman routing number Marrin used.She’d called late afternoon, sounding tired but fierce in that way only Claire can manage, like she’s been arguing with firewalls and offshore servers all day and came out singed but victorious. The offshore transfers she traced confirmed what I already suspected. Liberty-Anne wasn’t just another overdosed socialite. She was part of the web, caught in the same sticky threads I keep tripping over.Now her name sits on my wall, a fresh Post-it angled upward, linked by a sharp red line to Marr

SophiaPreston is the kind of man my therapist would tell me to say yes to.He’s not just safe, he’s amazing. Handsome, filthy rich, confident without all the Alpha male bullshit, capable of laughing at himself. He picks amazing restaurants without fail and always make me feel cherished. If only there was a spark, I think to myself as I look over at him.The table is set with linen napkins and enough cutlery to require a cheat sheet. There’s a bottle of wine breathing beside the bread basket, and the music is soft enough to blur into the background without demanding attention.It should be perfect. It is perfect, objectively speaking. Preston is steady, polished and gentle. He tells me about his business dealings like he knows I’ll understand the intricacies and jokes about having to wear penguin suits more often than a Bond villain.I smile. I laugh at the right moments. And somewhere deep inside, I wonder why it feels like I’m performing.He’s good company, Preston. Better than goo

SophiaThe bookstore café smells like cinnamon buns and strong espresso, the kind of mix that makes you want to linger even if the chairs are uncomfortable. The space hums with a quiet buzz, pages being turned, low conversations, the hiss of milk steaming behind the counter.I arrive first and order a large cappuccino to keep my hands busy, pretending to read the opening chapter of a novel I pulled from the nearest display. My eyes don’t move across the page so much as hover. Every time the door opens, I glance up. Ridiculous. Like a teenager on her first coffee date.Except this isn’t a date. It’s… reconnaissance. Conversation. A break from spiraling. At least, that’s the script I keep feeding myself.When Marcus finally appears, he doesn’t just arrive. He walks in like gravity follows him around. Tall, sharp lines softened by the faint stubble along his jaw. He’s in a dark coat he hasn’t bothered to button, and when his eyes land on me, the rest of the room seems to recede.“Didn’t

SophiaPlatinum’s office is too polished. Originally I found it elegant. Appreciating that it’s designed to look timeless. But lately it always feels a little like it’s hiding something.Elena greets me in the lobby like we’re girlfriends out for brunch. “Sophia! I’m so glad you could pop in. Come, let’s sit.” Weird, but okay, sure.Her dress is cream silk, draping perfectly, her heels clicking against marble as we cross into a private lounge. She pours sparkling water for both of us without asking whether I want any, sliding the crystal glass over to me like it’s all part of her choreography.“So,” she says brightly, folding her legs with impossible elegance. “How are things with Preston? He’s been practically glowing whenever your name comes up.”I school my face into something neutral. “He’s… good. Really nice. Always a gentleman.”Her eyes gleam with subtle satisfaction, as if she’s scored a point on a board I can’t see. “Of course he is. He’s exactly the sort of man I knew you’d