All Chapters of The Reset: Chapter 31 - Chapter 37

POV: ZiaThe room was too white, too quiet, and smelled too much like expensive leather and old law books. We were inside the "Citadel," Arthur’s high-security office wing of his estate. Across the mahogany table sat two men I didn't know—specialists Arthur had called in. They were looking at me with pity.I hated it. I hated the air in my lungs. I hated that my clothes still smelled like the charcoal and salt of Clayton’s skin."Zia," one of the men, a federal investigator named Miller, leaned forward. "We need to understand the motivation. Sylvia is already wealthy. She has assets, she has the townhouses, she has the security teams. Why is she so obsessed with this ledger? Why risk a murder charge in broad daylight?"I let out a harsh, jagged laugh that felt like glass in my throat. "I don't know. I don't care. Maybe she likes the color of the ink. Maybe she's just bored." I slammed my palm onto the table, the sound echoing like the gunshot I couldn't stop hearing. "If she wants the

POV: ZiaThe "Citadel" no longer felt like a prison. It felt like a war room.Arthur stood at the head of the mahogany table, but for the first time, he wasn't the one in charge. I was. I sat at the center, the weight of Horizon Anchor Logistics resting on my shoulders. We weren’t just looking at the ledger anymore; we were looking at lives."The board members are on the line," Arthur whispered, gesturing to the sleek conference phone.These were the "upper-class" partners—men and women who had built this empire alongside my father. I could hear the tension in their breathing through the speaker."Zia?" one of them, a man named Sterling, asked. "We were told you weren't... capable. Sylvia said the 'Resets' made it impossible for you to even remember the company's name.""Sylvia lied," I said, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. "She’s been skimming your dividends and gutting the heart of this company while you looked the other way. I have the signatures. I have the proof. A

POV: ZiaThe press conference had been exhausting. I sat in the high-backed leather chair in Arthur’s library, the silence of the room ringing in my ears. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind that familiar, hollow ache.I had the company back. I had the money. I had the evidence to put Sylvia in a cell for the rest of her life.But as I looked at the empty chair across from me, I realized the one thing I couldn't buy back with a signature."You did well today, Zia," Arthur said, pouring two glasses of water. "Your father would have been—""I know," I cut him off softly. "He would have been proud. Everyone keeps saying that."I stood up and walked to the large bay windows that overlooked the front drive. "But it's quiet, Arthur. It's so quiet now."I watched a silver sedan turn into the long driveway. It was moving fast, kicking up gravel as it sped toward the front of the house. I tensed. Sylvia’s goons? No, the security team at the gate would have stopped them.The car screeched

To my wonderful readers,As I sit down to write this final note, my heart is overflowing. We have traveled a long road together—from the sun-drenched beaches of Kauai to the high-stakes corporate halls of Pennsylvania. We watched Zia Balough fight to remember who she was, and we watched Clayton Balough fight to protect the woman he loved. But today, I want to step away from the story for a moment and talk to you as the woman behind the keyboard.When I first started writing The Reset, I didn't just do it for the plot or the characters. I did it for the "at-home" mothers.I know exactly what it’s like. I know the feeling of a day that is measured in laundry loads, diaper changes, endless errands, and the constant, beautiful, but exhausting noise of a household. Sometimes, in the middle of the "mom-life" hustle, it is so easy to feel like your own identity has been "Reset." You aren't just Victoria or Zia—you are "Mom." And while that is the greatest title in the world, it can also be a