The cold that gripped Amelia's skin remained much in the early sun. Her ideas were razor-edged, shattering the tranquility like fractured glass. She hadn’t slept—not really. Not with Greg Vance’s name echoing in her mind.
The man had vanished off the grid after his dismissal from Hawke Industries, and now he was back, watching her, sending threats.
That kind of move wasn’t personal—it was paid. Someone wanted her rattled, exposed, and if possible… gone.
But Amelia wasn’t going anywhere.
She slipped into a tailored black pantsuit with golden buttons, pairing it with red stilettos that clicked like gunfire on the marble floors. She wore her confidence like armor, her lipstick like war paint. This was how queens prepared for battle.
By the time she arrived at the office, her investigati
