The Kane estate loomed ahead, a colonial masterpiece of white columns and manicured hedges that had graced the cover of architectural magazines and society pages for decades. I'd grown up in those halls, learned to walk on those marble floors, spent countless nights staring at the ceiling wondering how something so beautiful could feel so cold.
My palms were damp against the steering wheel as I pulled into the circular driveway, the tires crunching on freshly laid gravel. Four o'clock exactly. I was nothing if not punctual, even when walking into what might very well be a trap.
The flash drive from Vaughn felt like it was burning a hole through the heel of my boot. I'd dressed carefully—a navy silk blouse and tailored trousers, understated diamond studs, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Professional. Controlled. Armor.
I checked my phone one last time before stepping out. Two texts from Vaughn:
*Foundation records kept in Richard's old office. Safe behind the Monet.*
*Be careful. If things feel wrong, get out.*
How did he know where the records were kept? How did he know about the safe behind my father's favorite painting? Questions for later. Right now, I needed to focus on playing my part—the dutiful daughter, the helpful sister, the crisis manager just doing her job.
The massive front door swung open before I could ring the bell. Ivy stood there, radiant in a cream cashmere sweater and slim-fitting jeans that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Her smile was dazzling, practiced, perfect.
"Dee! Right on time." She pulled me into a hug that smelled of expensive perfume and secrets. "I'm so glad you came early."
I returned the embrace with calculated warmth. "Of course. You said you needed help with the guest list."
"Among other things." She linked her arm through mine, leading me into the house like we were schoolgirls sharing confidences rather than sisters playing a dangerous game of chess. "Mother's at her spa appointment, so we have the house to ourselves. I thought we could work in Daddy's old office—it has the best light this time of day."
My pulse quickened. Richard's office. The safe. Was it really going to be this easy?
"Sounds perfect," I said, keeping my voice neutral despite the adrenaline now coursing through my veins. "How are the preparations coming along?"
"Oh, you know Mother—everything must be perfect. Especially now." She shot me a meaningful look. "The foundation donors will be watching us closely after... everything."
We climbed the sweeping staircase, our footsteps echoing in the cavernous foyer. Family portraits lined the wall—carefully curated moments of Kane perfection. I noticed that the photographs from the years immediately preceding the scandal had been removed. Erased, like so much of our family's true history.
"Has there been much talk?" I asked, feigning casual interest. "About Vaughn, I mean."
Ivy's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on my arm. "Nothing we can't handle. The prosecutors have a solid case. It's just a matter of time before he accepts a plea deal."
"You sound very certain."
"I am." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "People like Vaughn Blackwood always choose self-preservation in the end."
We reached the door of my father's office, and my stomach knotted. I hadn't been in this room since the night I discovered the files that would lead to his disgrace—and my exile. Ivy turned the ornate handle, and the heavy oak door swung open.
The room was exactly as I remembered it—the imposing mahogany desk, the leather-bound books lining the walls, the Monet landscape hanging above the fireplace. My father's sanctum, preserved like a museum exhibit.
"I keep expecting him to walk in," Ivy said softly, watching my face. "Even after all this time."
For a moment, she sounded like the sister I'd once known—the one who'd crawl into my bed during thunderstorms, who'd laugh until she cried at our private jokes. But then her expression hardened, the vulnerability vanishing so quickly I wondered if I'd imagined it.
"The guest list is on the desk. I thought you could review it while I finish some calls downstairs." She moved to the door. "Feel free to use Daddy's computer if you need to look anything up. Password's still the same."
My heart hammered in my chest. "You're not staying?"
"I'll be back in twenty minutes. Just need to confirm some details with the caterer." She paused at the threshold. "Unless you need me to hold your hand?"
The barb was subtle but sharp—a reminder of all the times she'd accused me of being too controlling, too involved in her business.
"I think I can manage a guest list on my own." I moved toward the desk, settling into my father's chair with a confidence I didn't feel. "Take your time."
She nodded, flashing another brilliant smile before closing the door behind her.
Alone. In Richard Kane's office. With the safe mere feet away.
I counted to thirty, straining to hear Ivy's footsteps receding down the hallway, then the faint sound of her descending the stairs. Only then did I move to the Monet, lifting it carefully from the wall to reveal the wall safe behind it.
The combination hadn't changed in five years—my mother's birthday, followed by my father's. A peculiar sentimentality for a man who'd shown so little of it in life. The lock disengaged with a soft click, and I swung the door open.
Inside were stacks of documents, a velvet jewelry box that likely contained my mother's grandmother's diamonds, and a leather-bound ledger emblazoned with the Kane Foundation logo. Bingo.
I grabbed the ledger and a manila folder labeled "Financial Statements 2024-2025," then carefully closed the safe and replaced the painting. Back at the desk, I spread the documents out, my crisis manager's brain already scanning for inconsistencies, for the "irregularities" my mother had mentioned.
It didn't take long to find them.
Large donations coming in from shell companies with vague names and offshore addresses. Substantial outflows to "community initiatives" that appeared to exist only on paper. A pattern of transfers that circled back through a labyrinth of accounts before disappearing into the ether.
Money laundering. Just as Vaughn had suggested.
I pulled out my phone, discreetly photographing the most damning pages. The evidence was compelling, though not conclusive. I'd need Maya to cross-reference these transactions with the information Vaughn had provided.
The sound of heels on hardwood made me freeze. Ivy was returning sooner than expected. I quickly gathered the documents, preparing to return them to the safe, when a different voice called out.
"Delilah? Are you up here?"
My mother. Back early from her spa appointment.
"Shit," I muttered, frantically stuffing the ledger and folder back into the safe, spinning the dial, and hanging the Monet with trembling hands. I'd barely made it back to the desk when the office door opened.
Victoria Kane stood in the doorway, elegant as always in a tailored suit the color of aged burgundy, her silver-streaked dark hair swept into an immaculate chignon. Her eyes—so like mine—narrowed slightly at the sight of me in Richard's chair.
"I wasn't expecting you until this evening." Her tone was pleasant enough, but I didn't miss the accusation beneath it.
"Ivy asked me to come early to help with preparations." I gestured to the guest list I'd barely glanced at. "She wanted my input on the seating arrangements."
"How thoughtful of her." My mother moved into the room with the graceful precision that had made her the envy of Blackwater Bay society. "And where is my darling Ivy now?"
"Making calls to the caterer, I believe."
She nodded, drifting toward the fireplace—toward the Monet. My pulse stuttered as her gaze lingered on the painting.
"You know, your father bought this the year you were born." She reached out, adjusting the frame slightly. Had I hung it crooked in my haste? "He said the colors reminded him of your eyes."
I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my expression neutral. "I didn't know that."
"There's a great deal you don't know about your father, Delilah." She turned to face me, her expression unreadable. "Despite what you may think."
The air between us crackled with unspoken accusations. I'd been the one to discover Richard's initial fraud. I'd been the one who'd threatened to go to the authorities if he didn't come clean. I'd been the one branded as disloyal when he disappeared instead, leaving the family to weather the scandal without him.
"I'm just here to help with damage control, Mother. Nothing more." I stood, needing to put distance between myself and the desk, the safe, the evidence I'd just uncovered.
"Yes, well." She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve. "We do appreciate your... professional expertise. Though I must say, your choice of accommodation is rather telling. The hotel, Delilah? Really?"
"It's more convenient for work calls." The lie came easily after years of practice. "Time difference with New York and all that."
"Of course." Her smile was a masterpiece of polite disbelief. "Well, since you're here, you might as well stay for tea. Ivy and I have been discussing some... concerns about tonight's gathering."
"What concerns?"
"Nothing serious. Just a few guests who might require special handling." She moved toward the door. "Come downstairs when you're finished here. We'll be in the sunroom."
She left without waiting for a response, the subtle scent of her signature perfume lingering in her wake. I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing incrementally. She hadn't noticed anything amiss with the painting or sensed my intrusion into the foundation records. Small mercies.
I gathered my purse, checking that my phone with its incriminating photos was safely tucked away, and headed for the door. As I reached for the handle, my gaze fell on my father's computer. Password's still the same, Ivy had said.
It would be reckless to try accessing his files now, with both my mother and sister in the house. But when would I get another chance? I glanced at my watch. If I was quick...
I moved back to the desk, powering on the computer. The password prompt appeared, and I typed in the familiar sequence—my mother's maiden name followed by my birth year. A vestige of a time when I'd been the favored daughter, before Ivy had perfected the art of being exactly what our parents wanted.
The desktop loaded, revealing the same background image I remembered—the harbor at sunset, taken from the estate's back terrace. I navigated to the documents folder, scanning for anything related to the foundation.
A subfolder labeled "Kane Fund - Private" caught my attention. I clicked, only to be met with another password prompt. I tried the usual combination. Access denied. I tried Ivy's birth year instead. Nothing. A third attempt with the date of my father's disappearance—what would have been his death date in the official story. The folder remained locked.
"Looking for something specific?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Ivy stood in the doorway, one eyebrow raised in perfect arches that matched her glacial smile.
"Just checking emails," I said, closing the folder and standing up. "Force of habit when I see a computer."
"On Daddy's private account?" Her voice was light, curious, but her eyes were sharp as cut glass. "I wouldn't have thought you'd remember his password after all this time."
"Some things you don't forget." I moved away from the desk, forcing casualness into my stance. "Like riding a bike or disappointing our parents."
The barb hit its mark. A flicker of something—anger? guilt?—crossed Ivy's perfect features before she composed herself.
"Mother's waiting for us in the sunroom. She wants to discuss the guest list." She held the door open, clearly expecting me to precede her. "Unless you found something more interesting in Daddy's files?"
"Just ghosts," I said, brushing past her into the hallway. "This house is full of them, isn't it?"
Her laugh was practiced, melodic. "Only if you believe in that sort of thing, Dee. I prefer to focus on the living."
We descended the stairs side by side, matching our strides in an unconscious habit from childhood. From the outside, we probably looked like the perfect Kane sisters—successful, beautiful, united in purpose. Only we knew the fault lines running beneath the surface, the hairline fractures that threatened to shatter everything with the slightest pressure.
In the sunroom, my mother had already arranged tea—Darjeeling in the Wedgwood china that had been a wedding gift from some European aristocrat or another. Victoria Kane performed domesticity like she did everything else—with impeccable precision and not a hint of genuine warmth.
"There you are, girls." She gestured to the delicate chairs flanking the tea table. "Sit. We have things to discuss."
I took the seat facing the windows, giving me a view of the harbor beyond. The water was choppy today, white-capped waves slapping against the shore with increasing urgency. A storm was coming. How fitting.
"I was just telling Delilah about some concerns for tonight," my mother said, passing me a cup of tea I didn't want.
"Yes, about that." Ivy leaned forward, all business now. "We've had a last-minute addition to the guest list. The Mercer-Blackwoods confirmed this morning."
I nearly choked on my tea. "Vaughn's family is coming?"
"His mother and sister," Ivy clarified, watching me carefully. "Apparently Eleanor Mercer-Blackwood is quite insistent on showing there are 'no hard feelings' between our families."
"How magnanimous of her," my mother said dryly. "Considering her son nearly destroyed your reputation."
"Indeed." Ivy's smile was serene, but I caught the calculating gleam in her eyes. "Which is why I thought having Delilah run interference might be wise. You're so good at handling... delicate situations."
A test. She was testing me, watching for my reaction to the prospect of facing Vaughn's family. Did she suspect I'd been in contact with him? Was this her way of seeing where my loyalties lay?
"Of course," I said smoothly. "I'm happy to keep them occupied. Though I doubt they'll cause a scene at a charity event."
"One never knows with the Mercer-Blackwoods." My mother sipped her tea with prim disapproval. "They've always had a flair for the dramatic. Like mother, like son."
"Speaking of dramatic," Ivy interjected, "there's something else you should know, Dee." She exchanged a look with our mother that sent a warning prickling down my spine. "Vaughn himself might make an appearance."
The teacup nearly slipped from my fingers. "What? Why would he come here? Isn't he still out on bail?"
"His conditions allow him to attend public events," my mother said, her distaste evident. "And technically, this is a charitable gathering, open to the community's leading families."
"Besides," Ivy added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I hear he's desperate to rehabilitate his image. What better way than to show his face at a Kane Foundation event? It makes him look magnanimous, willing to support his ex-fiancée's family charity despite everything."
Or, I thought, it gives him a chance to gather more evidence, to observe the Kane family in their natural habitat. To see me.
"And you're... okay with this?" I asked Ivy, searching her face for signs of distress. If she was playing the wounded ex-fiancée, shouldn't she be upset at the prospect of seeing him?
"I'm a Kane," she replied, lifting her chin. "We don't hide from uncomfortable situations. We face them head-on and emerge victorious." She reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "Besides, I'll have my big sister to protect me, won't I?"
The gesture was so reminiscent of our childhood—Ivy seeking my protection from bullies, from our parents' disappointment, from the consequences of her own actions—that for a moment, I felt a pang of genuine connection. Then I remembered the evidence in the safe upstairs, the transactions that bore her fingerprints, the way she'd manipulated Vaughn and possibly me.
"Always," I lied, returning her squeeze with one of my own.
My mother watched this exchange with shrewd eyes that missed nothing. "Well, that's settled then. Delilah will run interference with the Mercer-Blackwoods, and Ivy will maintain a dignified distance." She set down her cup with a decisive clink. "Now, about your dress for tonight, Delilah. I took the liberty of having something sent to your hotel."
Of course she had. Heaven forbid I show up in something that didn't meet the Victoria Kane standard of perfection.
"That wasn't necessary," I said, though we both knew it was a formality. The dress would be waiting for me whether I wanted it or not.
"Nonsense. It's a stunning Valentino. Navy, as Ivy suggested." She smiled thinly. "We need to present a united front tonight. The three Kane women, standing strong despite adversity."
The three Kane women. As if we were some sort of trinity rather than a fractured, dysfunctional mess held together by secrets and mutual distrust.
"I should get back to the hotel to prepare, then." I stood, desperate to escape the suffocating politeness, the watchful eyes, the feeling that I was being maneuvered like a piece on a chess board.
"So soon?" Ivy pouted prettily. "I thought we'd have more time to catch up. It's been ages since we really talked, Dee."
"We'll have plenty of time to talk tonight," I assured her, gathering my purse. "But I have some work calls to make before the event."
"Always working." My mother shook her head, though whether in disapproval or admiration was unclear. "I suppose that's why you're so successful. Though one wonders what you're sacrificing for that success."
The implication hung in the air—that I'd chosen career over family, ambition over loyalty, independence over belonging. As if I'd been the one to make that choice, rather than having it thrust upon me when they'd sided with my father over the truth.
"Some sacrifices are worth making," I said, the words sharper than intended. "I'll see you both tonight."
I made my escape with practiced grace, declining Ivy's offer to walk me out. In the foyer, I paused to check my reflection in the ornate mirror—composed, controlled, no outward sign of the turmoil within. Perfect. Just as I'd been trained.
Outside, the storm clouds were gathering in earnest now, the air heavy with impending rain. I hurried to my car just as the first fat droplets began to fall, speckling the windshield like tears.
My phone buzzed as I started the engine. Vaughn.
*Did you find anything?*
I hesitated, glancing back at the house where my sister and mother were undoubtedly watching from some window. I shouldn't respond, not here in the driveway where my phone might be monitored, my texts intercepted.
But the evidence I'd uncovered burned in my mind, demanded to be shared. I typed quickly:
*Foundation ledgers show suspicious transactions. Documented what I could. Also—heads up. Your mother and sister will be at tonight's event. And possibly you?*
His response came immediately:
*Not my plan. Someone wants to force a confrontation. Be ready.*
I stared at the message, a chill running through me despite the car's heating. Someone was orchestrating tonight's gathering, ensuring all the players would be on stage together. But for what purpose? To expose Vaughn further? To test my loyalty? To create a public spectacle that would distract from whatever was happening behind the scenes?
As I pulled away from the Kane estate, rain now falling in earnest, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was driving not away from danger, but straight into its heart. Tonight's gathering wasn't just a social obligation or a chance to investigate the foundation's secrets.
It was a trap. And I was walking into it with my eyes wide open.
Back at the hotel, I found the dress my mother had promised—a midnight blue Valentino with a plunging neckline and an open back that would reveal more skin than I typically showed at family functions. The message was clear: I was to be on display tonight, a beautiful distraction while whatever game my family was playing unfolded in the background.
I hung it in the bathroom to let the shower steam release any wrinkles, then checked my phone again. Nothing more from Vaughn, but a text from Maya had arrived:
*Preliminary research on Kane Foundation shows irregular donation patterns from three shell companies. All trace back to Cayman entity established same month RF disappeared. Coincidence?*
RF. Richard Kane. My father.
No, not a coincidence at all.
I typed back: *Sending you photos of foundation ledger. Cross-reference with what we have on VB case. Need concrete connections by tomorrow.*
My phone rang almost immediately. Maya.
"Boss, are you sure about this?" Her voice was low, concerned. "You're investigating your own family now?"
"I'm following the evidence, Maya. That's what we do." I sank onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. "If my sister framed an innocent man, I need to know."
"And if she did? What then?" The question hung between us, weighted with implications. "These are serious crimes, Delilah. Money laundering, fraud... if the Kane Foundation is involved, it's not just your sister who'll face consequences."
My mother. The family name. The last remaining shreds of respectability the Kanes had clung to after my father's disgrace.
"I know." I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temples where a headache was forming. "Just... get me the information. I'll decide what to do with it once I have all the facts."
"Okay." She paused, then added, "Be careful tonight. Rich people with secrets are dangerous people."
"I know that better than anyone." I ended the call, tossing my phone onto the bed.
I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water sluice over me as if it could wash away the tension of the day, the weight of what I'd discovered, the apprehension about what was to come. Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror and obscuring the Valentino dress hanging like a specter of the evening ahead.
As I stood under the spray, eyes closed against the cascading water, a memory surfaced—Vaughn at the boathouse, his voice low and urgent as he warned me about the threat in those emails. *If Delilah becomes a problem, we'll handle her the same way we handled her father.*
My father had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, presumed dead by most. But if Vaughn was right, if Richard Kane was still alive and working with Ivy, then what exactly did "handled" mean? And how far would they go to protect their secrets?
The water ran cold before I realized how long I'd been standing there, lost in thought. I shut it off and wrapped myself in a plush hotel towel, wiping condensation from the mirror to examine my reflection. The woman who stared back looked composed, determined, but there was something else in her eyes—a wariness that hadn't been there before, a recognition of the dangerous game she was playing.
I dressed carefully, sliding into the Valentino that fit as if it had been made for me—which it probably had, knowing my mother. I arranged my hair in loose waves that fell past my shoulders, applied makeup that was subtle but flawless, selected jewelry that was elegant without being ostentatious. Every choice calculated to project exactly the image expected of Delilah Kane, prodigal daughter returned to the fold.
But beneath the polished exterior, my mind was racing, strategizing. I needed to speak with Vaughn before the event, to coordinate our approach, to warn him about whatever my sister and mother might be planning. But calling him directly seemed too risky now. If Ivy suspected we were in contact, she might be monitoring my communications.
Instead, I sent a text to a number that wouldn't raise flags—my assistant's.
*Maya, please inform Mr. Blackwood that the documents he requested for the Henderson merger will be ready for review at 7 PM sharp. He should be prepared for a thorough examination of all assets.*
It was vague enough to pass as legitimate business if intercepted, but clear enough that Vaughn would understand—I would have information for him at the event, and he should be prepared for whatever my family had planned.
A knock at my door startled me. I glanced at the time—barely 6:30. Too early for the car my mother would inevitably send.
"Who is it?" I called, moving cautiously toward the door.
"Room service."
I frowned. I hadn't ordered anything. "I think you have the wrong room."
"Champagne for Ms. Kane. Compliments of management."
My hand hovered over the doorknob. It could be innocent—a courtesy for a valued guest. Or it could be something else entirely. In Blackwater Bay, nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.
I checked the peephole. A young man in hotel livery stood in the hallway, holding a silver bucket with a bottle of what appeared to be champagne. Harmless enough. Still, I kept the security chain engaged as I cracked the door open.
"I didn't order champagne."
"Compliments of Mr. Scott at the front desk, ma'am." He offered a small card. "He said to give you this."
I took the card cautiously, opening it to reveal a handwritten note:
*Thought you might need this before facing the lions. Meet me at the bar in 10 minutes. Important update. - V*
Vaughn. Here, in my hotel. Either incredibly reckless or incredibly urgent.
"Thank you," I said, closing the door to remove the chain, then accepting the champagne bucket. I tipped the young man generously and locked the door behind him.
The bottle was genuine Dom Pérignon, still sealed. I set it aside—I needed a clear head tonight—and checked my appearance one last time in the mirror. The Valentino was a statement piece, simultaneously elegant and provocative. My mother had chosen well, though I'd never admit it to her face.
Grabbing my clutch and phone, I headed for the elevator. The hotel bar was discreet, tucked away from the main lobby where Blackwater Bay residents might be passing through. Still, meeting Vaughn there was a risk. If anyone recognized us together, word would get back to Ivy before the event even began.
But if he'd gone to the trouble of sending champagne to my room, whatever he had to share must be important enough to warrant the risk.
The bar was dimly lit, all dark wood and soft jazz—the kind of place where the wealthy came to have conversations they didn't want overheard. I scanned the room, looking for Vaughn's familiar profile among the scattered patrons.
He was seated in a corner booth, his back to the wall, a position that gave him a clear view of both entrances. He'd changed since our meeting at the boathouse—the casual clothes replaced by a tailored suit that reminded me of the man he'd been before all this began. Powerful. Confident. Dangerous in an entirely different way than he was now.
Our eyes met across the room, and something electric passed between us—recognition, anticipation, a shared secret. I made my way toward him, acutely aware of how my dress moved with each step, how his gaze tracked the motion.
"This is reckless," I said by way of greeting, sliding into the booth across from him.
"Necessary." His voice was low, his eyes never leaving mine as he pushed a folder across the table. "Your sister's been busy since our meeting this morning."
I glanced down at the folder but didn't open it. "What do you mean?"
"She's accelerated the timeline. Whatever they're planning with the foundation, it's happening soon. Tonight, possibly." He leaned forward, close enough that I could smell his cologne—expensive, subtle, achingly familiar from the days when he'd been a fixture at family gatherings. "The transfer patterns have changed. Large sums moving through accounts that were dormant until today."
My pulse quickened. "How do you know this?"
"I still have friends in banking. People who owe me favors or hold grudges against the Kanes." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Your family has a talent for making enemies in useful places."
I thought of the ledgers I'd photographed, the suspicious transactions Maya was tracing. "The foundation gala would be the perfect cover for a major transaction. All those wealthy donors, pledges being made, money changing hands..."
"Exactly." Vaughn's expression darkened. "And having me there serves a dual purpose. It makes Ivy look magnanimous while creating a spectacle that keeps attention focused where they want it."
"On you, not on whatever financial manipulation is happening behind the scenes." I shook my head, admiration reluctantly mixing with my growing concern. "She's always been good at misdirection."
"She learned from the best." His fingers brushed mine as he tapped the folder. "This is what I've been able to piece together about the foundation's structure. The names at the top are legitimate—respected community leaders, old money families. But look at the advisory board."
I opened the folder, scanning the list of names. Most were familiar—Blackwater Bay's elite, people I'd known my entire life. But three names stood out, people I'd never heard of despite growing up in this insular world.
"Who are they?"
"Ghosts." Vaughn's voice hardened. "Identities created to authorize certain transactions without raising flags. Note the initials."
I looked closer. R.F. J.M. E.S.
R.F. Richard Kane—his middle name was Francis.J.M. Unknown.E.S. Also unknown.
"Do you know who the others are?"
"Not yet. But I'm working on it." He glanced at his watch. "We don't have much time. The event starts in less than an hour, and we need a plan."
"What are you suggesting? That we expose them tonight? In front of everyone?"
He shook his head. "Too risky. We don't have enough concrete evidence yet. But we can observe, gather information. If they're moving money tonight, there will be signs—people making calls, stepping away for 'private conversations,' documents being exchanged."
"And my role in all this?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"You're on the inside. The prodigal daughter, above suspicion." His eyes held mine, intense and unwavering. "Watch Ivy. Watch your mother. Note who they speak with, especially anyone who might be these mysterious board members."
It made sense. A logical division of labor based on our positions. So why did it feel like he was asking me to betray my family all over again?
"And what will you be doing while I'm spying on my sister?"
"Creating a distraction." A predatory smile curved his lips. "If they want to use me as a spectacle, I'm happy to oblige. All eyes on the disgraced ex-fiancé while you do the real work."
The plan was sound, but something still bothered me. "Why are you really coming tonight, Vaughn? You could gather information from a distance. Having you there puts everything at risk."
He was silent for a moment, his expression shuttered. Then, "My mother and sister will be there. I need to make sure they're not drawn into whatever game your family is playing."
Protection. Family loyalty. It was so achingly human, so at odds with the calculating image he projected, that I felt something shift inside me—a softening I couldn't afford.
"And there's something else." He reached into his jacket, extracting a small device no larger than a cufflink. "Wear this. It's a panic button, essentially. If things go sideways, if you feel threatened, press it. I'll find you."
I stared at the tiny device, then at him. "You think I'll be in danger? At a public event?"
"I think your sister and whoever she's working with have billions of dollars and possibly murder on the line." His voice was grim. "So yes, I think a little insurance is warranted."
He took my hand, pressing the device into my palm and closing my fingers around it. The contact sent a jolt through me—his skin warm against mine, his touch lingering longer than necessary.
"I didn't ask for your help because I wanted to put you in danger, Delilah." His voice dropped lower, something raw bleeding into his tone. "I asked because I thought you were the only person in this godforsaken town with enough integrity to care about the truth."
The sincerity in his eyes was disarming, making it harder to maintain the professional distance I'd been clinging to. "And if the truth hurts my family? If it destroys what's left of the Kane name?"
"Then that's their doing, not yours." His fingers tightened around mine. "You didn't create this situation. You're just brave enough to face it."
Brave. Not a word I would have chosen for myself. Stubborn, perhaps. Foolhardy, definitely. But brave implied a nobility of purpose I wasn't sure I possessed.
"I should go," I said, gently extracting my hand from his. "We shouldn't arrive at the same time."
He nodded, understanding the unspoken concern. "I'll be fashionably late. More dramatic that way."
"Always thinking of the optics." I stood, smoothing the front of my dress. "Be careful tonight, Vaughn. My sister is more dangerous than you give her credit for."
"I know exactly how dangerous Ivy Kane is." A shadow crossed his face. "That's why I'm wearing Kevlar under this very expensive suit."
I couldn't tell if he was joking. Given everything I'd learned, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
As I turned to leave, he caught my wrist, the touch sending another current of awareness through me. "That dress... it's a statement."
"My mother's choice, not mine."
A knowing smile touched his lips. "Victoria Kane has always had excellent taste. And impeccable strategic instincts."
I raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning no one will be looking at the foundation's finances when you walk into that room." His gaze traveled slowly, appreciatively down my body and back up, lingering on the plunging neckline. "Least of all me."
Heat bloomed in my cheeks, an unwelcome reminder of the attraction that simmered beneath our uneasy alliance. "Focus on the mission, Blackwood. Not the messenger."
"The mission. Right." But his eyes still held that dangerous glint, the one that made my pulse quicken despite every logical reason to keep my distance. "See you on the battlefield, Kane."
I left without looking back, though I could feel his gaze following me all the way to the door. Outside, I took a deep breath of the cool evening air, trying to clear my head of Vaughn's intoxicating presence, of the conflicting emotions he stirred.
Tonight wasn't about him, or the unwanted attraction between us. It was about uncovering the truth, about following the evidence wherever it led—even if it led straight to my sister's door.
The car my mother had sent was already waiting at the hotel entrance—a sleek black Mercedes with tinted windows and a driver who'd worked for the Kane family since before I was born. As he held the door for me, his familiar weathered face creased in a smile.
"Welcome home, Miss Delilah. You look lovely this evening."
"Thank you, James." I slid into the backseat, arranging my dress carefully. "It's good to see a friendly face."
He chuckled, closing the door and moving around to the driver's side. "Not many of those left in Blackwater Bay these days, I imagine."
"Fewer than I'd like," I admitted.
As we pulled away from the hotel, I glanced back at the entrance, half-expecting to see Vaughn watching from the shadows. But there was only the doorman, the valet, ordinary people going about their ordinary lives, blissfully unaware of the web of deception and danger that had ensnared the Kane family once again.
I fingered the tiny panic button in my clutch, drawing an odd comfort from its presence. Tonight, I would enter the lion's den—my childhood home, now a battlefield where truth and lies would clash beneath the veneer of wealth and privilege that had always defined Blackwater Bay.
And this time, I wouldn't be facing the lions alone.