Chapter 3
The sound of ice settling in his glass was the only noise in Ethan's office. The room was dim,
lit mostly by the screens glowing behind him—live stock tickers, encrypted emails, silent
feeds from hidden cameras.
He didn't usually handle the mess personally. That was what other people were for—people
who asked no questions and were paid well to keep things clean. But this time, he needed to
be sure.
This time, it was personal.
He picked up a slim silver folder from his desk and opened it. Inside were surveillance shots
of Mira taken weeks ago—grainy, but clear enough to show she hadn't been careful. He'd
warned her. Told her to keep her mouth shut, to stay away from Sofia, to stop digging.
But Mira had never been good at following rules.
He flipped to the next page: a blurry image of Lena standing too close to a locked door.
Another of Sofia at her office, her expression unreadable, her back to the camera.
They were getting curious.
That was a problem.
Ethan leaned back, thoughtful. He wasn't worried about Adrian—his oldest friend had his
distractions and no idea what ran under the surface of Cross Holdings. Adrian still believed
in structure, legality, and the illusion of control. Ethan had long since moved past that.
The shell company was just one of many. A façade. But it was this one—Greybridge
Corp—that Mira had stumbled onto. Too clever for her good.
He closed the file.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he said, voice calm.
A man stepped—clean-cut, efficient, sharp-eyed. Ethan's fixer. The kind of man who could
erase a mess before it started bleeding.
"She's asking questions," the fixer said without preamble. "Sofia."
Ethan's expression didn't change. "Is that so?"
"She knows about Mira. And she's circling Greybridge."
Ethan stood and crossed to the window, looking out at the city below. "Tell Mira to stay quiet.
No contact. No warnings. If she breaks that, she's on her own."
The fixer hesitated. "And Sofia?"
Ethan's fingers tightened slightly against the glass.
"Let her dig," he said softly. "Let her see what kind of world she's stepping into."
He turned back, his smile cold.
"If she wants to play this game, I won't stop her. But when she loses... I won't help her
either."
The late evening light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm amber
streaks across the polished concrete floors of Ethan Cross's top-floor office. From here, the
city below looked tame—just lines, motion, and light.
Adrian sat comfortably in one of the dark chairs near the desk, his sleeves rolled back, his tie
slightly loosened. He hadn't said much since he walked in, but then again, he rarely did
when he was listening.
Ethan poured himself a drink and set the bottle between them without asking. "Long week?"
Adrian gave a quiet exhale—more like a dry laugh. "They're all long lately."
Ethan nodded once, then settled into his seat. "I figured you'd say that. That's why I didn't
start this conversation over email. It needed more than a click."
He reached into the drawer, pulled out a slim folder, and slid it toward Adrian. "This is the
one I told you about. Greybridge Corp."
Adrian hasn't touched the folder yet. "The shell company?"
Ethan smirked. "It's a little more than that now. I've been dressing it up. Restructuring. Quiet
acquisitions, mostly overseas. By the time it hits the market, it'll look clean. Valuable."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning to keep it or flip it?"
"Depends on the board's mood," Ethan said. "And on Lord Swift."
Adrian's interest was sparked by the name. "He's involved?"
"He wants in," Ethan replied, sipping his drink. "He's been circling for weeks. Says it's the
kind of venture that needs 'strategic minds and old money.' His words, not mine."
Adrian finally opened the folder. The documents were lean and clean—Ethan's style. Names
he recognized, others he didn't. Nothing looked suspicious.
He leaned back, flipping a page. "And what do you want from me?"
"Endorsement," Ethan said simply. "If Swift sees you behind it—even quietly—it changes
everything. Legitimacy. Reach. It becomes a Cross-Larsen play, not just mine."
Adrian studied him for a long moment. "You think he still matters?"
Ethan gave a small shrug. "Swift always matters. He doesn't show his cards unless he
already owns half the table."
Adrian didn't answer right away. He looked back out at the skyline, the city alive in a
thousand fractured reflections.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll back it. Quietly."
Ethan smiled—small, satisfied. "I knew you would."
They sat in silence for a beat.
Then Adrian said, more to himself than to Ethan, "Feels like something big's shifting. Like
we're not seeing the whole board yet."
Ethan didn't respond right away. Just swirled the amber in his glass and said with a calm
edge, "Then it's a good thing we're sitting where we are."
Mira hadn't slept in two days. Not properly, at least.
She kept the lights off in the small Airbnb apartment—just the glow from the streetlamp
leaking through the blinds. She didn't move much. Just watched the shadows crawl across
the walls as the city buzzed in the distance.
The burner phone buzzed again.
She ignored it.
It had to be Sofia. Or worse — someone pretending to be her. She couldn't risk it.
Mira sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around her knees. Her breath fogged the glass
of a chipped wine bottle she hadn't touched. Not since the night everything unraveled.
The last time she saw Ethan, he had kissed her like it meant nothing — like it was just part of
the act. But she'd seen the hesitation in his eyes afterward, the flicker of doubt. He was good
at hiding things, but not from her. Not anymore.
She still wore the silver bracelet he gave her. A stupid habit. Every time she tried to take it
off, she froze. It wasn't sentiment. It was fear.
He knew where she was. He had to.
But he wasn't coming after her. Not yet.
Mira reached under the coffee table and pulled out a manila envelope. Inside: printed
screenshots, emails, and some bank trails she shouldn't have had access to. Evidence. Not
enough to expose the whole thing, but enough to burn a few names if it landed in the wrong
hands.
She thought of Sofia then. Her laugh. Her temper. The way she always saw through people
and called it out like fire.
God, I miss her.
But how could she face her now?
Mira blinked back the tears. She had lied. Not once — over and over. For months. And not
just to protect herself. To protect Ethan. Because somewhere, deep down, a part of her still
believed in him. Or maybe just hoped she'd been wrong.
The phone buzzed again.
This time, she reached for it. The message wasn't from Sofia. It was from a number she
didn't recognize.
"Time's up. We talk. Tomorrow. Don't make me come find you."
There was no name.
But she knew who it was.
Not Ethan.
Lord Swift.
Her chest tightened. She hadn't heard from him in over a year. Not since he gave her the
warning.
"You don't run from people like me, Mira. You just ran out of time."
She slipped the bracelet off for the first time in months and placed it carefully on the table.
Tomorrow, everything would shift.