Sterling Group Headquarters The air in the boardroom was thick with the scent of leather chairs and bitter espresso, the tension so palpable Alexa could almost taste it—metallic, like blood on her tongue. Lillian Smith didn’t sit. She never did in these kinds of meetings. Instead, she prowled the perimeter of the table, her stiletto heels clicking against the marble like a ticking clock. Every board member tracked her movement, their eyes flickering between her and Voss, who sat rigid in his chair, his knuckles white around his untouched coffee. Alexa stayed standing at the head of the table, her palms flat against the cold mahogany. She could feel Sean’s presence behind her, a silent sentinel by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his reflection a shadow in the glass. Lillian stopped directly across from Voss. “Let’s not waste time,” she said, her voice smooth, amused. She slid a manila folder across the table with one manicured finger. “Richard, darling, you’ve been a very naughty boy.” Voss didn’t touch it. His jaw flexed. “This is a witch hunt.” Lillian sighed, as if disappointed by a child’s poor excuse. “Then you should’ve brought a better broom.” Alexa reached for the folder and flipped it open. Inside were not just the photos Sean had shown her—Voss meeting with the mob lawyer, the city inspector, the union boss—but more. Bank transfers. Voicemails. A damning chain of emails between Voss and a shell company that had mysteriously acquired the land adjacent to the tower site weeks before he’d been brought onto the project. He planned this from the start. She looked up, meeting Voss’s gaze. “You sabotaged my permits on the Philly project.” It wasn’t a question. Voss leaned back in his chair, pretence ease, but Alexa saw the vein pulsing in his temple. “Competition isn’t sabotage, Alexa. It’s business.” Lillian let out a low, humourless laugh. “Oh, Richard. You always did mistake arrogance for strategy.” She tapped the folder. “The only reason you’re not in handcuffs right now is because my daughter has a soft spot for clean endings.” Alexa closed the folder with a snap. “Resign.” Voss’s smirk was thin. “Or what? You’ll run to the press?” He spread his hands. “Go ahead. By the time the lawsuits are settled, your tower will be a parking lot.” Sean pushed off the window. The movement was casual, but the room stilled. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “You’re forgetting something,” he said, stepping forward. “You don’t own those shares anymore.” Voss stiffened. “What?” Sean pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and slid it down the table. The document on display was a transfer agreement—signed, notarized, and dated this morning. Voss’s face drained of color. Alexa glanced at Sean. When the hell did he do that? Sean’s lips curled, just slightly. “You were so busy playing kingmaker, you didn’t notice your partners bailing.” He nodded to the silent board members. “Turns out, no one likes a sinking ship.” Reeves, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat. “Richard… perhaps it’s best if we discuss this privately.” Voss stood so fast his chair toppled. “You spineless—” “Enough.” Lillian’s voice cut through the room like a blade. She didn’t raise it. She didn’t need to. “Walk away now, and you keep your reputation. Fight, and we burn it all down.” The silence that followed was absolute. Alexa could hear the hum of the air conditioning, the distant murmur of the city below. Somewhere, a phone vibrated against wood. Voss’s hands clenched. For a second, she thought he might lunge at her, at Sean, at Lillian. But then his shoulders dropped, the fight draining out of him like a deflating balloon. He straightened his tie. Smoothed his jacket. And then he laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound. “You think this is over?” He looked at Alexa, his eyes glinting with something ugly. “You’re just like your mother. And that’s your fatal flaw.” He turned and walked out. The door slammed behind him. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Reeves exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Well. That could’ve gone better.” Lillian arched a brow. “It went exactly as it should have.” Sean retrieved his phone from the table, his expression unreadable. Alexa studied him, the way his fingers flexed slightly around the device, the tension in his shoulders. He’d known about the shares. He’d planned this. And he hadn’t told her. What else isn’t he saying? Reeves cleared his throat again. “So the design?” Alexa didn’t hesitate. “The spirals stay.” Lillian smirked. “And Richard’s shares?” Sean pocketed his phone. “Already have a buyer.” Alexa shot him a look. “Who?” His smile was razor-thin. “Someone who understands the value of loyalty.” Before she could press, the door burst open. A young associate—one of Reeves’ assistants—stood panting in the doorway, her face pale. “Mr. Reeves—you need to see this.” She hurried forward, handing him a tablet. The screen displayed a live news feed. Alexa’s stomach dropped. BREAKING: FIRE REPORTED AT STERLING GROUP CONSTRUCTION SITE The camera panned over the skeletal frame of the tower, smoke curling into the night sky. Flames licked at the lower levels, devouring scaffolding, tarps, anything flammable. And standing at the edge of the crowd, his face illuminated by the flickering glow— Voss. Alexa was already moving. Sean caught her arm. “Wait.” She yanked free. “He burned it—” “No.” Sean’s voice was low, urgent. “Look again.” She turned back to the screen. The camera zoomed in. The fire wasn’t on their site. It was on Voss’s newly acquired adjacent property. Lillian let out a slow, delighted laugh. “Oh, Richard. You idiot.” Alexa’s pulse roared in her ears. This wasn’t sabotage. It was a message. And it wasn’t for Voss. It was for her. Sean’s grip tightened on her arm. His voice was barely a whisper. “We need to go. Now.” Construction Site The night swallowed the skeletal tower whole. Alexa’s boots crunched over gravel as she and Sean approached the smoldering wreckage of Voss’s adjacent property, the acrid stench of burned plastic and charred wood thick in the air. Fire trucks lined the street, their red and blue lights slicing through the darkness, painting the faces of gathered onlookers in garish flashes. Reporters shouted questions. Police held back the crowd. And standing just beyond the tape, his tailored suit untouched by soot, was Richard Voss. His eyes locked onto Alexa’s the second she stepped into the light. You. She didn’t need to hear him say it. Sean’s hand brushed the small of her back—steady—as they moved closer. “Richard,” Alexa said, her voice cool. “Having a bad night?” Voss’s smile was a razor cut. “I’d say my evening just got interesting.” He nodded toward the smoking ruin. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.” Alexa’s pulse spiked. He thinks I did this. Sean stepped forward, his posture deceptively relaxed. “Funny. We thought the same thing about you.” Voss’s gaze flicked to him. “And why would I burn my property?” “Insurance fraud,” Sean said mildly. “Desperation. A distraction.” A flicker of something dangerous passed behind Voss’s eyes. Before he could respond, a sharp voice cut through the noise. “Mr. Voss!” A detective in a rumpled overcoat approached, his badge glinting under the emergency lights. “You’re the owner?” Voss straightened. “I am.” The detective flipped open a notepad. “Any idea who might’ve done this?” Voss didn’t even glance at Alexa. “I have my suspicions.” Sean snorted. “Yeah? File a report after you account for the missing safety permits on this site.” The detective’s pen paused. Voss’s jaw tightened. Alexa pressed her advantage. “Or the unregistered gas canisters your crew left near the east fence.” She tilted her head. “You do know arson investigations check for accelerants, right?” For the first time, a crack in Voss’s armour. The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Voss, maybe you should come down to the station—” “I’ll have my lawyer call you,” Voss snapped. He shot Alexa one last, venomous look before turning on his heel and striding away. The detective sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You two know more than you’re saying.” Sean gave him an easy smile. “We’re happy to cooperate.” Alexa barely heard the rest of the exchange. Her attention snagged on a figure lurking near the construction trailers—a man in a dark hoodie, watching them. Then he was gone, melting into the shadows. Her skin prickled. Not Voss’s move. Someone else’s. Sean’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her aside. “We need to go,” he murmured. She yanked free. “Who was that?” “Not here.” His voice was low, urgent. Before she could argue, a firefighter called out— “Hey! You can’t be back there!”—and Alexa turned to see a photographer ducking under the tape, his lens aimed straight at her. The flash blinded her for a second. When her vision cleared, Sean was dragging her toward the car, his grip iron tight. “Now, Alexa.” She didn’t fight him. Because in the distance, half-hidden by smoke, the hooded man was watching again. And this time, he was smiling. The Aftermath Rain lashed against the penthouse windows, turning the city into a watercolour nightmare. Alexa paced, her nerves raw. “That wasn’t Voss.” Sean poured two whiskeys, his movements precise. “No shit.” “Then who?” He handed her a glass. “Someone who wanted us to think it was him.” The pieces clicked. The timing. The location. The way Voss looked at me like I’d struck the match myself. Alexa downed the whiskey, the burn grounding her. “We’re missing something.” Sean’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression hardening. Alexa snatched it from him. A single text, from an unknown number: YOU SHOULD’VE TAKEN THE DEAL. Attached was a photo of her loft. Taken tonight. Her blood turned to ice. Sean was already moving, grabbing his jacket. “We’re leaving.” Alexa stood her ground. “No. We end this.” His laugh was sharp, humourless. “It is ended.” He pulled a key from his pocket—not for the penthouse. For something else. “You think this was about a tower?” The truth hit her like a bullet. It never was. Somewhere in the storm, a car screeched to a halt outside. Sean’s hand went to her waist, his voice a whisper against her ear: “Run.”