Amara's POV :
I woke up angry.
Not scared, not shaken, just pissed off.
Someone had been in my apartment twice now, left a black rose and a threat like I was supposed to roll over and disappear.
They really didn't know me at all.
I grabbed my phone: 7 AM. Sarah's door was still closed, she'd be asleep for another hour after her night shift.
Good. I didn't want to explain where I was going or why I looked ready to fight someone.
My phone buzzed. Ethan.
"It's early," I answered.
"Yeah, well, you asked me to look into those names." He sounded wired. "I found something."
"Tell me."
"First name, James Porter. Dead. Car accident five years ago, single vehicle collision, no witnesses."
Cold washed through me. "Suspicious."
"Very. Second name, Martin Lowe. Still alive and working at Vale Industries. Senior financial advisor, been there twenty years."
Twenty years meant he was there when Dad died.
"Send me everything."
"Already did. Check your email." He paused. "Amara, be careful. One guy's dead and the other's still working for the company you're investigating."
"I know."
"So what are you gonna do?"
"What I always do." I grabbed my bag. "Ask questions people don't want to answer."
"That's a terrible plan."
"Probably."
"Amara..."
"I'll be fine. Thanks, Ethan."
I hung up before he could argue and pulled up my email, scanned what he sent: Martin Lowe's employment history, photo, position.
Older guy, late fifties, gray hair, professional smile that looked practiced.
He'd worked with Dad, was still alive, still at Vale.
I needed to talk to him.
But first I needed to get past Roman Vale.
---
Vale Industries was downtown, a glass tower that probably cost more than entire neighborhoods.
I walked through the lobby like I belonged there, heels clicking on marble, press badge visible even though I wasn't here for work.
The security desk had two guys in suits with earpieces.
"Can I help you?" The one on the left didn't smile.
"Amara Reyes, I have a meeting with Mr. Vale."
"I don't see you on the schedule."
"It was a last-minute addition. He asked me to come in this morning."
The guard glanced at his partner, then back at me. "I'll need to verify that."
"Go ahead." I kept my voice steady.
He picked up the phone and dialed, waited. "Yeah, I have an Amara Reyes here saying she has a meeting with Mr. Vale." Pause. "Uh-huh. Okay."
He hung up and his expression shifted. "You can go up. Forty-second floor."
I blinked. "He's expecting me?"
"Apparently."
That didn't make sense unless he'd been expecting this, expecting me to show up angry.
I got in the elevator and hit forty-two, watched my reflection in the mirrored doors: dark circles, jaw set, shoulders tight.
I looked ready to start a fight.
Good.
The elevator opened onto a sleek floor with a receptionist who looked like she'd never smiled in her life.
"Ms. Reyes?" she said before I could speak.
"Yes."
"Mr. Vale is finishing a meeting. He'll see you in a moment. Wait here."
I sat in one of those uncomfortable modern chairs and tried not to think about how Roman had known I was coming.
Five minutes passed, then ten.
I was about to demand entry when a door opened and two men walked out.
One was Roman.
The other was older, gray hair, expensive suit, the kind of presence that filled a room without effort.
They were talking low but the older man's expression was serious.
Then he glanced over and saw me.
His eyes lingered for just a second, something unreadable crossing his face, before he turned back to Roman.
"We'll finish this later."
Roman nodded. "Thanks, Uncle Alexander."
Uncle.
Alexander Vale, the man who'd raised Roman after his father died.
He walked past me without another word and disappeared into the elevator.
Roman stood in the doorway, those cold eyes on me.
"Ms. Reyes." His voice was flat. "You're persistent."
"We need to talk."
"Clearly." He stepped aside. "Come in."
I walked past him and the door closed behind me.
The office was massive: floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek furniture, a desk that probably cost more than my car.
Roman sat behind the desk and leaned back like he had all the time in the world.
"Sit."
"I'd rather stand."
"Suit yourself." He watched me. "You have five minutes before my next meeting, so whatever you came here to say, say it."
I walked up to the desk, dropped my bag on it, pulled out my phone and opened the photo of the carved rose.
"This was on your balcony at the gala." I turned the screen toward him. "You know what it is."
He glanced at it. "It's a rose."
"It's a symbol. My father had papers with this exact thing on them sixteen years ago, right before he died."
Roman's expression didn't change. "And?"
"And last night someone left a black rose in my apartment with a note that said 'last warning.' Someone's been threatening me since the gala and you know why."
"I don't."
"Liar."
His jaw tightened but his voice stayed calm. "Careful, Ms. Reyes."
"Or what? You'll have me thrown out?" I leaned forward, hands on his desk. "I'm not scared of you and I'm not leaving until you tell me what my father found."
"I don't know what your father found."
"But you know he found something."
Silence.
We stared at each other, neither blinking, the air crackling.
"Your father worked for Vale fifteen years ago as an external auditor," he said finally. "He completed his contract and left. Two years later he died of a heart attack. That's all I know."
"That's not all."
"It's all I'm going to tell you."
"Why?"
"Because you're asking questions that could get you killed."
"Someone already tried yesterday. Car almost ran me over in broad daylight, remember?"
Something flickered across his face. "I remember."
"Then you know they're serious. So either tell me what's going on or get out of my way."
"Or I could have you arrested for trespassing."
"You won't."
"Why not?"
"Because you're curious." I straightened. "You want to know what I know."
Roman stood slowly and came around the desk until he was right in front of me, too close, invading my space deliberately.
I didn't step back.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I am curious. But curiosity doesn't mean cooperation."
"Then what does it mean?"
"It means you're playing a dangerous game and you don't even know the rules."
"So teach me."
His eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second, then back up. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because the people who know the rules end up dead too."
The words hung between us.
"Your father," I said slowly. "Edward Vale. He died sixteen years ago, same time as mine."
Roman's face went blank.
Got him.
"How did he die?" I pressed.
"That's none of your concern."
"It is if it's connected."
"It's not."
"How do you know?"
"Because I would know."
"Would you?" I stepped closer, close enough to see the scar on his jaw. "Or has someone been lying to you too?"
For just a second something cracked in his expression, then the cold mask was back.
"Get out."
"Not until you tell me..."
"Get. Out." His voice dropped, dangerous. "Before I have security remove you."
I could smell his cologne, that sharp woody scent I'd probably remember later whether I wanted to or not.
"You want me gone because I'm asking questions you don't have answers to," I said. "Questions that scare you."
"I'm not scared of you."
"I didn't say you were scared of me."
His hand came up, almost touching my arm before he caught himself and dropped it.
"You're playing a game you don't understand."
"Then explain the rules."
"No."
He moved fast, one hand gripping my arm, not hard but firm, pulling me closer until we were almost chest to chest.
I couldn't breathe.
"Listen very carefully," he said, voice low. "Whatever you think you know, whatever you think you're going to find, it's not worth dying for. So drop it. Go home. Forget about Vale and your father and all of it."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"No." I met his eyes. "I won't."
We were so close I could feel the heat coming off him, could see his jaw clenched tight, could count his heartbeat in the pulse at his throat.
"You're going to get yourself killed," he said quietly.
"Then help me."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't trust you."
"And I don't trust you. But we both want the same thing."
"Do we?"
"The truth about what happened sixteen years ago."
For a long moment he just stared, his hand still on my arm, face unreadable.
Then his phone buzzed.
He let go and stepped back like I'd burned him, pulled out his phone and his expression hardened.
"Leave. Now."
"Roman..."
"Now."
Something in his voice made me move. I grabbed my bag and walked to the door, stopped with my hand on the handle.
"I'm not going to stop."
"I know."
I left.
---
**Roman's POV**
I waited until the door closed before checking my phone.
Two messages from William.
*William: The car from yesterday. Traced the plate. Shell company, no owner on record, untraceable funds. Professional job.*
Professional meant whoever was after Amara had serious money.
The second message made my jaw tighten.
*William: The Cross partnership. Someone leaked details to Business Insider. Wasn't from our side. They're running a story tomorrow morning with internal numbers.*
I cursed and called William.
He answered immediately. "You saw."
"Who leaked?"
"Still tracking but whoever did it had access to preliminary contract numbers. That's maybe ten people."
"Find out who. I want a name by tonight."
"On it." He paused. "The journalist just left, looked pissed."
"Let her go."
"You sure? She's making noise, people are noticing."
"Good. Let them notice."
"Why?"
"Because if she's loud enough, whoever's threatened by her will make a move and then we'll know who we're dealing with."
Silence.
"You're using her as bait," William said slowly.
"I'm letting her do what she's going to do anyway. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
I didn't answer.
"You want me to keep eyes on her?"
"Yes. Close but not visible. If someone makes another move, I want to know immediately."
"Got it."
I hung up and walked to the window.
Forty-two floors below, Amara was probably halfway to the subway by now, still angry, still stubborn, still asking questions she shouldn't.
She'd come into my office demanding answers like I owed her something.
She didn't know how Vale worked, didn't know that asking those questions out loud made her a target.
But she was going to find out.
And when she did, I'd know exactly who was threatened enough to try stopping her.
My phone buzzed again.
*William: Found the leak source. Encrypted email from inside the building. IT's tracing it now but it's clean work. Whoever sent it knew how to cover tracks.*
*Roman: Keep me posted.*
I set the phone down.
Two problems now: someone leaking my business deals and someone trying to kill a journalist digging into Vale's past.
Separate issues?
Maybe.
Or maybe Amara Reyes was onto something that connected both.
Either way, she wasn't going to stop.
And neither was I.
Because if someone was worried enough about her questions to try running her over in broad daylight, then those questions were worth paying attention to.
I just needed to figure out what she knew before she got herself killed finding out more.