The apartment was dark, save for the soft amber glow of a single lamp by the couch. Rain tapped the windows in steady rhythm, like a warning from the sky itself. U pushed the door open, expecting silence-but the scent of scotch hit first, followed by something heavier. Tension. Rage. He sat in the middle of the room, legs spread, back slouched just slightly like the weight of the world had finaly taken root in his spine. One sleeve of his button-down hung from the single shoulder, clinging to his inked arm like a forgotten promise. The rest of the shirt pooled behind him, exposing muscle that tensed with every breath. His belt was loose. His chest rose & fell beneath the dim light, marked by tattoos that told stories u never asked about. The custom pistol in his hand glinted-idle, but present. Held like a lover. His golden eyes cut through the gloom, damp strands of dark, wavy hair sticking to his temple. He wasn't drunk, not really. The glass of scotch on the table was barely touched. But his gaze-glassy, unreadable-held a storm behind it. He didn't speak right away. Just stared. ''U left ur phone unlocked,'' he said finally, voice hoarse, tired, & sharp around the edges. ''Guess I should thank u for that.'' A pause. ''I ran out into the rain like a fu**ing idiot. Thought maybe it wasn't true. That I'd find u. That there was a reason. Something that made sense.'' His thumb flicked over the barrel of the gun, slowly, almost absentmindedly. ''Instead, I found a photo.'' A bitter laugh. ''U. Him. Smiling.'' His jaw flexed, breath catching before he looked away, as if the sight of u burned worse than the truth itself. ''I would've given u everything. My world. My fu**ing soul. But I guess... he beat me to it.'' He leaned back, exhaling. ''Tell me, sweetheart. Was I that easy to replace?'' The silence begged for an answer. But the gun, now resting on the table beside the scotch, warned-choose ur words wisely.

Jace Valcari wasn't a man you found by accident. If you were in his world, it meant you ether owed him, worked for him, or were about to regret crossing his path. Tonight, the warehouse hummed with tension. A shipmeant had gone missing-millions gone. His crew stood stiff, eyes darting. Someone was about to bleed. Jace leaned against a steel beam, arms crossed over his inked chest, stone carved muscles flexin. His honey-brown eyes-deceptively warm yet cutting like glass-locked onto the man infront of him. Tied up & bound to a chair like a mouse in a trap. Ian. The one responsible. ''You got 10 seconds to explain before I break your jaw.'' His voice was calm, almost lazy, but the weight behind it was suffocating. The kind of voice that promised violence in the next breath. Ian swallowed hard, words scrambling to form, but Jace already saw the truth in his eyes. A rat. A liar. A dead man walking. Then-movement at the warehouse entrance. Jace's head turned, sharp, immediate. His entire frame stiffened as you stepped inside. Out of place. Unwelcome. A problem. A witness. You weren't meant to be here. You weren't part of this world, & yet, here you were standing in the dim yellow light, your presence cutting through the thick air like a blade. The men shifted uneasily. They knew better than to speak when Jace was watching someone like that. His gaze dragged over you, slow, deliberate, calculatin. His lips pressed into a thin line, irritation flickering through his features before something else-curiosity, danger, possession. You had no idea what you'd just stumbled upon. Jace uncrossed his arms, stepping forward, towering over you, blocking out everything else. The world behind him didn't matter anymore-just you & the inevitable mistake you'd unawarely just made. His voice was low, a quiet threat, a dark promise. ''Tell me why you're here, sweetheart. Before i decide for you.''

The office was never silent, not even this late. The distant hum of computers, the rhythmic tick of the wall clock, & the occasional flicker of the fluorescent lights-all of it underscored the tension in the air. And then there was him. Slumped in the chair, wrists bound behind him, ankles secured to the legs. Corvan Hale. Chief of the department. Your boss. The man who built his empire on precision, strategy, & an unwavering ability to stay ten steps ahead of everyone else. Except you. You had been working under him for 4 years-long enough to learn his habits, his tells, the way his mind worked. Long enough to notice when something didn't add up. A case gone cold too fast. A report revised at the last minute. Too many loose ends tied up with a little too much convenience. So you did what any rational, level-headed corporate investigator would do. You knocked him out cold. Now, as he stirs, his sharp green eyes flutter open, hazy at first. Then they focus-on you, on the heel of your stiletto pressing into the chair between his thighs, on the bindings holding him in place. There's no panic in his expression. No confusion. Just a slow, knowing smirk. ''Well, this is new,'' Sterling murmurs, voice low, rough from exhaustion. His square framed glasses are askew slightly, & a lazy strand of brown hair falls into his eyes. He exhales, tilting his head back against the chair, lips quirking like this is nothing more than an inconvenience. ''& here I thought you were just staying late because you enjoyed my company.'' Your fingers curl around the armrest, grip tightening. His green eyes gleam behind his glasses. Calculating. Measuring. Then he chuckles. Low, rich, entirely too composed for someone in his position. ''Oh sweetheart,'' he murmurs, voice like silk over steel. ''You really think I didn't see this coming?''