Three days later, She'd used Alexa's contact to get this far: a single email forwarded through layers, subject line reading only :
"Confidential – Carson Global Irregularities."
Attached: redacted screenshots of Derek's emails, the forged signature page, and a single audio clip of Amanda's veiled threat.
It was enough to hook, but not enough to expose everything.The reply had come within hours.
Blackwood Enterprises – Executive Office
From: E. Blackwood (via assistant)
Re: Your message
Be at the Sky Lounge, Lakeview, tomorrow 7 p.m. Private booth 4. Come alone. No recording devices. If this is a waste of my time, don't bother showing up.
No signature. Just the initials EB.
Now here she was, in a plain black dress she'd bought with cash, hair pulled back, no makeup. Trying to look like someone who belonged in a billionaire's orbit and not like a fugitive wife. The hostess with an alluring smile,pointed her towards the direction of booth four which was tucked in a corner, with dimly lit and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the buzzing city of Las Vegas.
Emilia looked further into the booth as she strode over calmly to where he was, her heels clapping the marble as she walked, there he was. She swallowed when she got to the table.
She physically assessed him.
He was tall and he possessed an impressive athletic build, with slightly wavy jet-black hair that suggested he was probably in his mid-thirties. His olive skin glowed with the kind of luxury that came from years of meticulous, deliberate care. His face was impeccably groomed, he wore a short, precise stubble that framed a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Everything about him radiated ruthless confidence; magnetic, quietly intimidating.
Ethan Blackwood lifted his gaze.
His piercing dark eyes remained unreadable as he gestured wordlessly toward the seat facing him.
Emilia sat. The booth suddenly felt smaller.
"You're the anonymous tipster," he said, it wasn't a question as his voice low and clipped, like he was used to people jumping when he spoke.
"Yes."
"You look younger than your email suggested. And more… domestic." he said as he leaned back, studying her.
Emilia's jaw tightened. "I'm twenty-five. And I'm not here to play house."
"Clearly. You're here because your husband's family is trying to steal your father's company. And you think I care." he retorted with a faint smirk.
"I think you care that Carson Global has been pulling the same tricks on half the industry, including you. I have proof, more than enough to make their next merger implode." she revealed.
He tapped a finger on the table once. "Proof you're willing to hand over to a stranger."
"Not a stranger. A rival." she smiled slightly, maintaining eye contact.
"Still a stranger." He leaned forward slightly. "Let me guess. You're the wife. The one they married in to lock down the shares. And now you've run away because you're desperate."
Emilia felt heat rise in her cheeks. "I'm not desperate. I'm strategic."
"Strategic wives don't crawl into my booth at night asking for help. They hire lawyers. Or they stay quiet and collect alimony." he drawled, unconcerned.
"I've tried to stay quiet but it has only gotten me nothing but bruises and death threats." she replied, as she rubbed her hands together under the table in a bid to stay composed.
Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone in a second before she could place it.
"And you think I'm your knight in shining armor?" he said, meeting her gaze.
"I think... In fact, I know that you're a man who hates the Carsons more than you hate wasting an evening so I'm offering you ammunition. Use it or don't." she clipped.
He studied her for a long beat. Then he laughed, it came out short and dry without humor.
"You're naive if you think this whole thing is that simple. The Carsons don't play clean. Neither do I. If I take your 'ammunition,' you become part of my game. Collateral. Are you ready for that?" he asked, effortlessly sounding intimidating.
She chuckled dryly.
"I've been collateral for six months, so if I'm going to keep doing it, I'd rather be collateral with someone who can actually win, Not with some weak-ass losers" Emilia said, as she met his gaze without flinching.
Ethan's smirk faded. He leaned back again, his fingers intertwined as he stared at her intently.
"She's bold. Stupid, maybe. But bold." he thought.
Gracefully, he reached into his black leather Armani jacket and pulled out a slim black card with only a phone number that was embossed in silver.
"Send everything you have to this number. Make sure it's encrypted. If it's real, we'll talk again. If it's not…" He shrugged. "Don't contact me a second time."
Emilia took the card as her fingers brushed his cool, steady.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"Don't thank me yet." He stood, buttoning his jacket . "You're not my charity case, Mrs. Carson. You're a means to an end. Remember that."
He stood up and walked away without another word, his boots moved noiselessly on the marble floor.
Emilia sat there, card in hand, staring at his retreating figure and at the empty seat across from her.
"That is one proud son of a gun" she muttered, rolling her eyes in mock disgust.
Arrogant bastard.
But he'd listened.
And that was the most important thing.
She stood up as she opened her purse, slipped the card inside and began walking away.
She felt her lips curve up in a smile because she knew.
Derek would never see her coming.