My father had been the one who taught me how the world really worked—how to pull strings, how to bend people to your will. When he died last year, I took everything. His contacts. His shadows.
And now, I’ll use every single one.
I press a button on my desk. My assistant’s voice answers, crisp and efficient.
“Yes, Ms. Kingsley?”
“Get me the old network. All of it,” I say, my voice like steel wrapped in silk. “We have a problem to solve.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As the line clicks off, I glance back at the window, catching my reflection again. That same cruel, knowing smile curls at my lips—sharp, deliberate, unapologetic.
And suddenly, it all clicks together.
So, that’s why he was so distracted at the office yesterday. So tense and cold.
I laugh softly to myself, amused by how blind Dorian still is to the storm about to hit him.
Time to finish what I started.
And this time, it will be forever.
Chapter 6
UNFINISHED BUSINESS
Closure is a story we tell ourselves to survive the chapters we aren't ready to end
Della
Sunday evening drapes itself over the city, soft and warm, but something still weighs on my chest as Jane pulls the car up in front of my hotel.
“You’ll be fine,” she says, giving my hand a warm, steady squeeze as we sit parked at the curb. “Live your dreams, Della. Don’t outrun them.”
I smile faintly, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.
“Thank you for everything, Jane.”
Her eyes soften, kindness and quiet strength shining through.
“You know where to find me, sweetheart. Anytime.”
As I shut the door, she rolls down the window and calls out with a playful grin.
“Let’s meet again before you leave! Lunch or dinner in the city—maybe at that Spanish place you loved so much…”
I laugh softly, the tension easing from my shoulders.
“I’d love that! I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”
“Perfect, sweetie!”
I stay there for a moment, watching her drive away, her taillights slowly melting into the city’s glowing pulse, before I turn back toward the hotel’s glass doors—ready to face whatever waits beyond them.
In my room, the first thing I see is the bouquet of pale pink peonies—still there, their petals just beginning to wilt, like ghosts refusing to fade.
I close the door and exhale slowly.
