Seven days later, Ethan stood alone in a quiet penthouse suite overlooking Central Park.
Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the park below, its trees dark against the glittering skyline. Traffic moved slowly along the surrounding avenues, headlights sliding through the night like thin rivers of light.
Ethan barely noticed any of it.
He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuff of his shirt.
The man staring back at him wasn’t Ethan Blackwood.
It was Alexander Konstantin.
The transformation was precise.
A perfectly tailored tuxedo worth five thousand dollars fit his frame like it had been designed specifically for him. His hair was styled differently—shorter at the sides, swept back with controlled elegance. Subtle contact lenses had turned his natural brown eyes into a sharp, i
