The Don's Alibi.

The Glass Mask

The Moretti estate was a fortress of marble and shadow, tucked away behind iron gates that looked like spears. As the black SUV purred up the driveway, Harper felt the 30 million Naira weight of her ambition pressing against her ribs.

"Remember," Dante said, his voice a low vibration in the dark interior of the car. "Lorenzo Moretti is a predator. He doesn't look for truth; he looks for weakness. If your hand shakes, he’ll know you’re the maid I plucked from the hallway."

"I'm not that girl anymore," Harper lied, though her heart was currently performing a frantic drill beat against her corset.

The car door opened, and the night air bit at her shoulders. Dante stepped out first, offering a hand that felt like warm stone. As she took it, he pulled her close, his lips brushing her temple in a display of affection that sent a confusing jolt of electricity through her.

"Then prove it," he whispered.

The Dinner of Wolves

The dining room was dominated by a long table where Lorenzo Moretti sat like an ancient, dying king. His eyes, clouded with age but sharp with malice, locked onto Harper the moment they entered.

"Dante," Lorenzo rasped, gesturing to the empty seats. "I heard you found a flower in the dust. I didn't believe the news until I saw the sparkle of those diamonds."

"Harper is more than a flower, Lorenzo," Dante replied, pulling out her chair with a practiced, possessive grace. "She is the only person in this city who actually understands the value of silence."

The dinner was a battlefield disguised as a five-course meal. Every question was a trap. Every look from the Moretti guards standing by the walls felt like a physical threat.

"So, Miss Evans," Lorenzo’s son, Marco, leaned forward. He was younger, with a cruel mouth and eyes that lingered too long on Harper’s neckline. "My father says you’re an artist. A producer? KROXY, isn't it?".

Harper froze. They had done their homework. "I’m a work in progress, Marco. Much like the city itself."

"Funny," Marco smirked, swirling his wine. "I had a friend who stayed at The Grand Elysium last week. He swore he saw the famous 'KROXY' delivering a tray of gin to his room at three in the morning.".

The table went silent. Dante’s grip on his steak knife tightened until his knuckles turned white. Harper could feel the trap closing. If she faltered now, the "Don's Alibi" would crumble, and her mother’s security would vanish with it.

"Your friend has excellent taste in music," Harper said, her voice steadying as the adrenaline of her stage persona took over. "But he clearly can't handle his liquor. I was in the penthouse with Dante all of last week. If your friend saw a ghost in a uniform, perhaps he should tip better."

Lorenzo let out a dry, hacking laugh. "She has teeth, Dante. I like that."

The Price of the Song

When they finally escaped back to the penthouse, Harper collapsed against the door, the gold silk of her dress feeling like lead.

"You handled Marco well," Dante said, tossing his jacket onto a chair. He walked to the window, looking out at the city he ruled. "But he’s not convinced. He’ll keep digging until he finds a body or a witness."

"Then let him dig," Harper said, walking toward the tablet Dante had given her. "While he’s looking for a maid, I’m going to make sure the world only sees a star."

She opened the KROXY folder and tapped on a new project. The beat she had been humming earlier—the one that sounded like the police sirens and the crash of the ice bucket—began to loop through the speakers of the penthouse.

Dante turned, his obsidian eyes watching her as she moved toward the built-in studio equipment. "You’re really going to do it? You're going to use my money to become a ghost in the machine?"

"I'm going to earn my alibi, Dante," Harper said, pulling the headphones over her ears. "You gave me the goal. Now watch me hit it.".

As the first heavy bass line of her drill track filled the room, Dante didn't leave. He sat in the shadows, a glass of bourbon in his hand, watching the woman he had bought become a woman he didn't recognize.