Jason’s POV
The report from Alvarez arrived in the clipped, impersonal way the man always delivered bad news—short, efficient, designed to irritate me.
“Courier service confirmed. The package was signed under a single initial. ‘J.’ Nothing more, sir. No surveillance near the drop. No identifiable prints. No security flags.”
I stared at the message on my phone long after the screen dimmed, the soft hum of my penthouse office settling around me like an accusation. Nothing more. My jaw tightened. Alvarez was the best. If he couldn’t extract more than that, it meant whoever sent the gift knew how to cover their tracks. Too well.
And yet, the problem wasn’t the missing answers. The problem was the way the letter J now sat between me and her.
Gigi.
She thought it was mine. She thought I
