I TEXTED, “YOUR DAD IS WAY TOO HANDSOME.” THEN MY PHONE BUZZED: “ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ME?”

The rain battered against the concrete pillars of the overpass, washing away the blood on the asphalt but doing nothing to cleanse the horrific truth hanging in the air.

Julian murdered our father.

I stood beside the overturned SUV, my hand still gripping Adrian’s arm. The warmth radiating through his cashmere overcoat was the only thing anchoring me to reality.

“That’s a lie,” Julian rasped from inside the crushed cabin. He was bleeding heavily from a gash on his temple, struggling against the deployed airbag. His eyes locked onto Adrian with a hatred so venomous it felt physical. “You forged the ledger, Adrian. You paid off the judge. You bought the crown with my blood.”

Adrian didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. His quiet authority was far more terrifying than Julian’s rage.

“I forged nothing,” Adrian said coldly, stepping closer to the wreckage. “You got greedy, Julian. You couldn't wait for the old man to step down. I covered up the murder to protect the family name, and I exiled you because I couldn't bring myself to put a bullet in my own twin. That was my mistake.”

“What about Elena?” I blurted out, looking at the unconscious woman in the backseat. “She said you forced her to fake her death. She said you threatened to kill Madison.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek as he looked at the woman who used to be his wife.

“Elena didn't flee because she found out a secret, Evelyn,” Adrian said, his voice dropping to a harsh, painful whisper. “She fled because she was the one who helped Julian poison him. They were having an affair. She wasn't trying to protect Madison from me. I was protecting Madison from a mother who was willing to murder her own father-in-law to get control of the syndicate.”

A reversal so sharp it made me dizzy. The grieving widower. The tyrannical boss. The exiled brother. Every role had just violently inverted.

Before I could ask another question, the wail of police sirens pierced the night, growing rapidly closer.

“We have to move,” Adrian said, turning to me.

He didn't grab my wrist the way Julian had. He offered me his hand. A choice. After everything I had just heard, he was still giving me the power to walk away.

I looked at the child’s drawing I still clutched in my left hand—the shadow figure behind the family. It wasn't Adrian mocking his brother. It was a warning. Julian had always been the shadow, trying to consume the light.

I took Adrian’s hand.

He pulled me toward a sleek, black sedan idling a few yards away. His loyal driver—the man in the gray suit from the hotel, now nursing a heavily bruised throat—opened the door for us. We slid into the plush leather seats just as the first flashing blue lights rounded the corner of the expressway.

The car tore away into the darkness, leaving the wreckage and the sirens behind.

The interior of the car was silent for ten full minutes. The adrenaline began to recede, leaving behind a deep, aching exhaustion and a throbbing pain in my head.

Adrian reached into a built-in compartment between the seats and pulled out a first-aid kit. He snapped it open, his large, capable hands surprisingly gentle as he pulled out an antiseptic wipe.

“Turn your head,” he ordered softly.

I obeyed. He carefully dabbed the cut on my forehead. The stinging pain made me wince, and he immediately eased his pressure.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his dark eyes focused entirely on my face. Up close, without the barrier of his public persona, he looked exhausted. The gray at his temples felt less like a sign of age and more like a map of the stress he carried.

“You didn't go to New York,” I said quietly, stating the obvious.

“I was never going to New York,” Adrian replied, taping a small bandage over the cut. “I knew Julian had slipped back into the country. I seeded the New York rumor to draw him out. But I didn't know he had Elena with him. And I certainly didn't know he was going to target you.”

His hand lingered on my cheek for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he pulled away. The air in the car suddenly felt incredibly dense. The memory of my text message—*Your dad is way too handsome*—hung between us like a neon sign.

“Julian said you’ve been watching me for three years,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “He said you paid for my sister’s medical bills.”

Adrian looked away, staring out the rain-streaked window. “Madison is my entire world, Evelyn. But she is young, and she is blind to the darkness in our world. You have always anchored her. You protected her when my lifestyle isolated her. When your sister got sick, I knew you would drop out of law school to work three jobs to pay for it. I couldn't let you derail your life. So, I made an anonymous donation to the hospital.”

“It was half a million dollars, Adrian.”

He finally looked back at me. The intensity in his gaze made my breath hitch. “It was a small price to pay to ensure the woman I… to ensure you stayed exactly where you belonged.”

He caught himself, but I heard the slip. The woman he loved. Julian had been right about one thing.

“If you knew Julian was in Chicago,” I shifted the subject, my heart beating too fast for the confines of the car, “why didn't you just have your men take him out?”

Adrian reached into his overcoat pocket. He pulled out a delicate, silver object and placed it in the palm of my hand.

It was a heavy, antique silver skeleton key. The metal was cold and deeply tarnished.

“Because Julian has something I need,” Adrian said grimly. “He stole this from my study three days ago. It’s the key to the family vault beneath the old estate. The vault doesn't hold money, Evelyn. It holds the physical evidence of our father’s murder. The poison vials. The forged documents Julian used to try and frame me. If the feds get into that vault, the entire Vale empire crumbles, and Madison goes to federal prison as an accessory for living off the syndicate's money.”

I stared at the key. “But you just gave this to me. If Julian stole it, how do you have it?”

“I don't,” Adrian said softly.

I looked down. I turned the silver key over in my hand. Engraved on the back were three letters.

C.V.A.

“This isn't the vault key,” I realized, a cold dread washing over me.

“No,” Adrian said, his voice tightening. “It’s the key to Madison’s penthouse apartment. Julian didn't leave it in my study to boast. He left it as a trade. He wants the vault. But he’s going to use Madison to force me to open it.”

My phone vibrated in my lap.

I looked down at the cracked screen. A text message from Madison.

Maddie: Evie, are you with Dad? Connor just let someone into my apartment. He looks exactly like—

The text cut off.

Adrian saw the screen. The color completely drained from his face.