My heart pangs as the casket lowers into the ground. Just like that, a man who was so full of life and warmth and emotion is gone forever, never to be seen or heard again. The finality of it makes my throat tight. I swallow as I force my gaze away from the grave.
From up here, I can see everything—the open grave, the casket inside, the crowd of mourners all dressed in black. Roan stands facing the house, straight-backed and still, like if he let himself bend even a fraction, he’d fall apart right there in front of everyone. My heart aches deeply for him.
I shift to his sister Elira next. Her back is to me, her body leaning into her husband’s as her shoulders shake with sobs. Even through the glass and the distance, I can tell the grief is crushing her.
It feels intrusive watching her in this vulnerable moment, so I move the binoculars again—to the one person I’ve been avoiding looking at. Emily. Her back is to me as well, but I’drecognize my friend from any angle, any distance. She’s standing beside Rafael, who has his arm draped around her shoulders. My chest tightens so hard my breath hitches.
Does she really hate me now? I’m not sure I want to know the answer anymore. Some truths are too painful to face.
I drag my attention back to Roan, hating how he holds himself so far apart from everyone else. Even surrounded by dozens of people, it’s painfully clear he’s the loneliest one there.I want to be down there with him. To hold him the way I did in the shower this morning—if he’d let me. Then suddenly, his gaze shifts, landing almost perfectly on my window. I gasp, lowering the binoculars as I stumble back from the glass.
What the hell was that?
My heart thumps in my ears. He couldn’t have seen me, could he?
No, the distance is too great. There’s no way.
I rub my eyes, take a steadying breath, then lift the binoculars again. Roan’s focus is back on the grave. Of course he didn’t see me. He just happened to glance in this direction for a moment, that’s all. Pure coincidence.
Reassured, I move the binoculars away from him and sweep them over the graveside again, slower this time.
That’s when it hits me—every soldier, every captain, every major player I can recognize is down there, gathered to pay their last respects. Which means there probably aren’t many guards actively patrolling the property right now.
All the cameras are still running, sure, but nobody would be watching them live. They’re all busy mourning the man who built this empire. This might be the only chance I’ll get to poke around the main mansion undetected.
My stomach drops, my hands trembling around the binoculars as I step back from the window. I hate this part now—the sneaking, the lying. Because now I know exactly how much I’mrisking. Not just my mission or my sister’s life, but whatever this thing is with Roan.
He thinks we’re working together. And I want to trust him. God, I do. But I still need some insurance, something concrete to hold onto just in case our partnership doesn’t work out the way I hope. I can’t risk losing my sister. I can’t.
I hesitate briefly, my conscience warring with my desperation, then slip out of the room. Down the hallway, down the stairs, out the front door, my movements quick and quiet as I make my way towards the main house.
I keep glancing around as I walk, half-waiting for someone to appear and stop me, but the grounds are eerily empty. Pulling open the mansion doors, I step inside, tense and alert. Every creak or imagined footstep makes my pulse spike, though in reality there’s nothing—just the sound of my own ragged breathing and the relentless thrum of adrenaline.
The door to Afrim’s office is closed, and I grimace as I reach for the handle, but to my surprise, it opens easily.Unlocked. They must have forgotten to lock it in the chaos after everything that happened. And of course, they probably didn’t expect anyone to dare snoop in a dead man’s office. At least not without being caught by the guards first.
Nobody took me into account.
For the second time, I hesitate. I can still turn around. I haven’t technically done anything wrong yet. Just walked through an empty house. But once I enter and start searching, that’s it, there’s no going back. Unease coils in my chest as I cross the threshold and close the door behind me, twisting the lock to make sure nobody can interrupt me until I’m done.
The click sounds exceptionally loud in the silence, and I jolt, standing still for several long minutes, ears straining for footsteps or voices. But again, there’s nothing. My hand lingers on the doorknob as guilt catches up to me now that I’m alone in this room.
I don’t want to do this. I really don’t.
My thoughts drift to Roan. The way he looked in the shower this morning before I joined him. The way he looked at the graveside just now, so unbearably lonely yet so strong. I don’t want to betray him. Whatever this is between us… it wouldn’t survive that.
But this isn’t about him or us. It isn’t even about me. It’s about my sister. The threatening text I received yesterday. I need something. And I won’t–can’tleave here empty-handed just because I let myself fall into bed with a man who makes me feel like maybe this doesn’t have to end the way I always assumed it would. I don’t have to share everything I find with her captor anyway—just enough to keep him satisfied until Roan and I can come up with a better plan.
I blow out a slow breath and approach the desk, trying not to remember what I found the last time I was in here as I start my search. I don't know what I’m looking for yet, but I know I’ll recognize it when I see it.
Thirty agonizing minutes later—after combing through every inch of the office without displacing a single thing—I’m spiraling. If there’s nothing here, where else would I even look? Afrim’s old bedroom? I won’t get the chance to search there. People will be back soon.
Every drawer is stuffed with useless shit men like Afrim hoarded—old invoices, dead burner phones, a rusted pistol, loose cash in mixed currencies, a worn family Bible, two gold cufflinks in a cracked velvet box, folders labeled with shipping manifests, black-and-white photos with names scrawled on the back in sharp handwriting.
Nothing concrete. Nothing useful. Nothing that would beenough for the man holding my sister hostage.The man I have to meet tonight.
Fuck.
I check under the carpet for loose floorboards where a small safe could be hidden. Nothing. I examine the bases of two lamps for hidden cameras or keys. Nothing. Even the ensuite bathroom holds no clues for me.
