Alexander stared at the glowing screen of his phone, thumb resting still against the edges.
Two days in Alderidge.
Forty-eight hours of silence, dead ends, and ghost trails.
And still—not a single thread unraveled the enigma that was Emily Wards.
No real name. No confirmed origin. Not even a solid address.
She had erased herself so meticulously that even with all his resources, he was chasing after shadows. And he hated shadows.
He placed the phone on the side table and leaned back into the stiff hotel armchair, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if it might offer answers the world refused to give. The silence pressed down, heavy and unmoving.
Then he remembered.
Andrew's voice yesterday, half-distracted as he flipped through files:
"Jude and Jason are here, by the way. Havallon. Some exclusive party thing."
His jaw ticked.
What the hell were his brothers doing in Alderidge?
They had no stake in Velmonte Technologies, no interest in the company's operations—and certainly no business in this city. Alderidge wasn't on their radar unless it involved overpriced liquor, fast cars, or reckless entertainment. Just like that other night—when they took his Pagani without asking and returned it with a quarter-million in damages.
He scoffed under his breath. Typical.
Still, their presence here—now—was too coincidental. And Alexander Velmonte didn't believe in coincidence.
He pushed the thought aside. Jude and Jason were a nuisance, not a threat. Emily was the priority.
Not her face. Not her bravado. But the one question that had haunted him from the beginning:
Did she take the sigil or not?
Because everything hinged on that.
A knock shattered the silence.
He straightened. "Enter."
Andrew stepped in, a thick file in his hand and tension in his eyes.
"Speak," Alexander said, his tone edged with cold anticipation.
Andrew moved forward. "Emily's clean."
Alexander didn't blink.
"She's done nothing wrong," Andrew continued. "I've combed every database—government, academic, black-market backchannels. Every application, every ID number, every move she's made since the moment she stepped into Velmonte Technologies. It all checks out. I don't think she's the one we're after."
Alexander's expression remained unreadable, but his silence was dangerous.
Andrew hesitated. Then said it.
"Because I found the real thief."
That got his attention.
Alexander rose slowly to his feet, each movement deliberate. "Show me."
Andrew placed the folder on the desk and opened it. A photo stared back at them—familiar, but subtly wrong.
Same prescription lenses. Same build. Same tattoo near the waist.
But the eyes—too dark. Lacking the pale gleam that had haunted him since that night.
"Her name is Leah," Andrew said. "She's not from Alderidge—she's based in Hiddenville. I pulled her name from an old underground art registry flagged during that sigil investigation last year. She was logged near the site the night the artifact disappeared."
Alexander studied the photo with narrowed eyes. "So she exists."
"She does. She kept her profile low, but I traced her through obscure student portals and small-time black-market scans. The sigil trail runs cold where she surfaces."
Alexander turned away from the desk, his mind already spinning through scenarios. "Is she working alone?"
"I doubt it," Andrew said. "People like her don't operate solo. I've already begun mapping her known associates. There's a man in Hiddenville who claims to have seen her last week. I've scheduled a meeting."
Alexander exhaled slowly, the gears of strategy beginning to turn.
"Trace every connection," he ordered. "I want to know who's backing her. Where she's been. Who's protected her. If there's a link between her and Emily, we'll find it."
Andrew gave a sharp nod. "I'm on it."
Alexander's voice dropped to a lethal whisper.
"Because whether it's Leah… Emily… or someone else entirely—I'm done chasing shadows."
The sun was already beginning to set when Alexander and Andrew left the hotel. The drive back to Hiddenville was long, but not nearly as long as the silence that stretched between them.
Neither man spoke much.
There was nothing to say.
Alexander sat in the back seat, eyes fixed out the window, expression like carved stone. The folder with Leah's photo rested on the seat beside him—untouched since they'd left the room.
His mind, however, was anything but still.
If Leah was the thief, and Emily was innocent… then what the hell was Emily hiding? Because she was hiding something. No one went to the lengths she had unless there were bigger secrets buried beneath the surface.
They were missing a piece.
One that mattered more than either of them knew.
Meanwhile, on the other side of Alderidge—
A black car idled quietly at the curb near the hotel.
The driver, suited and nondescript, made one final glance at the departing vehicle before stepping out and walking a short distance into a nearby alley.
There, a figure stood waiting.
The woman's long coat shifted in the breeze, but her stance was still—confident.
He approached, lowered his head respectfully, and handed her a phone.
A familiar voice crackled through.
"They left."
Emily's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
"Good," she murmured.
"They bought the story about Leah?"
"Completely. Alexander's already headed back to Hiddenville."
A brief pause, then a nod from the man. "What do you want us to do?"
"Nothing," she replied. "The decoy worked. Let them chase ghosts."
She handed the phone back and stepped into the black vehicle. The door closed with a soft click.
Inside, silence ruled—until she spoke again.
"Where are Jude and Jason tonight?"
Her right-hand woman, seated beside her, checked the screen of her tablet. "Race track. Havallon outskirts. Some private night rally."
Emily's eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.
A perfect setting. Loud, fast, reckless. And far from their family's watchful eyes.
Exactly how she needed them.
A soft smirk tugged at the edge of her lips.
"Get the documents ready," she said. "We're going to pay the Velmonte boys a visit."
"And what do we take with us?"
"Nothing," Emily said smoothly. "Just charm, opportunity… and the fine print they won't bother to read."
She leaned back in her seat, eyes flickering with cold amusement.
"They'll give me everything. They just won't know it—until it's far too late."
Outside, the city lights blurred past, but Emily saw only one finish line.
And this time, she'd cross it first.
The Havallon race track buzzed with money, speed, and ego. Neon lights bathed the VIP lounge in a seductive glow, and laughter pulsed alongside the deep bass of the music. Jude and Jason Velmonte were exactly where Emily wanted them—comfortably drunk on power and champagne.
She sat with them, calm, elegant, a vision in obsidian silk and a silver mask. To them, she was no more than another flirtatious distraction in a long line of forgettable nights.
But this night wouldn't be forgotten.
The drug she'd used was a sophisticated blend—enough to cloud judgment without clouding articulation. The brothers weren't slurring or stumbling. In fact, they sounded—looked—completely sober.
That was the point.
She leaned in, voice smooth. "Boys, before we seal this little mock deal… I always do a camera snippet. For fun. Helps me remember who played the game best."
Jason smirked. "A video? Of course, sweetheart. Make us look good."
Emily lifted her phone, already recording.
They straightened up, posing like they were on a magazine cover.
"Alright," Emily cooed, "Tell me who you are and why you're signing these fake little forms."
Jude grinned. "I'm Jude Velmonte, shareholder of Velmonte Technologies—ten percent, no big deal."
Jason followed with a mock bow. "Jason Velmonte. Same deal. We're signing 'cause we believe in fun investments. No lawyers. Just vibes."
She laughed lightly, keeping the phone steady.
"And you're doing this willingly?" she asked.
They both nodded, raising their glasses.
"Hell yeah," Jude said. "We're not dumb. We know how to read. We're in."
"Signing this 'cause we want to," Jason added, flashing a lazy peace sign. "Just don't tell big brother."
They laughed.
Perfect.
Emily ended the recording and slid the signed documents back into her clutch. The video—clear, direct, and damning—was already backed up in three separate encrypted drives.
They'd never even know what they'd done. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. By the time their heads cleared, it would be too late.
She stood, composed and radiant.
"Gentlemen," she said, "You've been wonderful."
"Leaving already?" Jude pouted.
Emily smiled. "Some of us have empires to run."
She disappeared into the night at least that is what she wanted them to believe , heels tapping against polished concrete, while the Velmonte twins remained at the lounge, still laughing—still oblivious.
And from one corner Emily adjusted the angle on her phone camera, fingers steady as stone. From her high vantage point above the race track, she had the perfect view of the unfolding chaos. This part—this moment—was not just strategy. It was personal.
She had waited for a month to use her she discovered her soon while she was in hidden ville she had been planning this.
The girl had been hidden, sheltered in one of Emily's quiet estates far from the Velmonte radar. Mia believed Emily was simply helping a struggling mother get back on her feet. And Emily had played the part flawlessly—gentle, generous, kind.
But tonight, Mia was the final piece on the board.
Emily had coached her carefully. "Just approach him. You don't need to say much. Just show him… and let the truth come out."
She didn't mention revenge. She didn't need to.
Mia stepped forward, clutching her three-year-old daughter tightly, every step weighted with years of pain and courage. The crowd was thickening around the VIP roped-off section, whispers turning into murmurs as the tension grew. The guards immediately barred her way.
"Who the hell is she?" one guard muttered.
That was when Jude's sharp voice cut through the noise.
"What's your problem?" Jude barked, swaggering up with a champagne flute in hand, eyes narrowed. His usual cocky grin was gone—replaced by a flicker of irritation.
Mia's voice trembled but held firm, the years of hurt spilling out raw and unfiltered. "Jude… I told you when I was pregnant. You abandoned me. You pushed me away after what you did."
Jude sneered, lips curling. "You're crazy. Get lost."
Mia didn't back down. From the small bag slung over her shoulder, she pulled out a worn folder and slammed it on the guardrail where everyone could see.
"These are the documents—birth certificate, hospital records. This," she pointed at a photo of a tiny newborn, "is your daughter. The year she was born."
A hush fell.
Jude's face twitched, a flicker of recognition sparking in his eyes—quickly masked by cold denial.
"You're lying," he spat, voice low but sharp. "That's not my kid."
Mia's voice cracked but didn't break. "If you want a DNA test, I'm ready. You can't deny the truth forever."
Jude's jaw clenched. The casual arrogance was gone now, replaced by something darker—fear, guilt, rage. "I don't know you. I never wanted any of this."
"I remember," Mia said quietly, "the night you—"
Jude's fist slammed down on the railing. "Enough!" he roared, stepping forward with a twisted grin. "You're nothing. Just a desperate woman trying to ruin me."
Without warning, he kicked Mia hard in the side. She crumpled, her daughter's small body trembling in her arms as she collapsed to the ground.
The crowd gasped, phones rising instantly.
Jude didn't stop.
He stomped down again and again, a brutal storm of fists and boots raining down on Mia as she struggled to shield her child. The child's soft cries cut through the chaos like a knife.
Jason appeared beside Jude, cold and calculating.
"Who is she?" Jason asked, voice almost amused.
Jude snarled, "Some delusional bitch. I don't know her."
Jason smirked, watching Mia's desperate attempt to protect her daughter. "She looks just like you," he said, eyes flicking to the child.
Jason grabbed Mia by the hair and yanked her up roughly. The crowd swelled now, dozens filming, whispering, gasping.
Jude laughed darkly, raising his boot to stomp again.
Before he could, Jason stepped between them, gripping Jude's arm. "Let me handle this."
He hauled Mia up with a harsh jerk, slapping her across the face so hard it echoed over the track.
"Say goodbye to your pretty little game," Jason sneered.
The crowd was silent but alive—phones recording every brutal moment, whispers swelling into outraged murmurs.
Emily's lips curved into a slow, cold smile.
Better than I expected.
She tapped her earpiece. "Get Mia and the girl out of there. Don't let anyone stop you."
Her guard moved swiftly through the stunned crowd, scooping up Mia and her daughter as people parted, shocked and stunned.
Emily turned to Michael, eyes sharp.
"Upload the video. Send it everywhere. Let's see how they scramble to explain this."
Michael nodded without hesitation. "Already sending."
Emily's smile deepened as the chaos below played out exactly as she planned. This was only the beginning.