It was 3 a.m.
The city was quiet, except for the hum of Alina’s heartbeat—racing, pounding—as she watched Nicholas on the screen again.
Not the man beside her in bed last night.
But the man on a surveillance feed.
The feed she’d secretly installed in his private elevator weeks ago.
Because trust was a fantasy.
And in this empire, everyone was being watched.
He wasn’t alone.
A woman stood too close to him in the mirrored lift.
Bianca Renault.
Red lips.
Diamond heels.
The ghost of Nicholas’s past.
And the real reason Alina couldn’t sleep tonight.
They weren’t touching.
Not yet.
But the tension bled through the screen. And Alina knew that look in Bianca’s eyes—the one that said I still know how to undo you.
She closed the laptop.
Lit a cigarette.
And made a decision she cou
