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ETHAN

The air in the lot is cold enough to bite. Streetlamps throw long shadows across the pavement, and I stand near the edge of it all, tucked between two parked cars, waiting. The wind snakes down from the rooftops and around my collar, but I barely feel it. My hands are loose at my sides, my shoulders straight, my pulse measured like I’m preparing for surgery. But this isn’t a hospital, and the man I’m about to face isn’t a case I can treat.

He’s a threat I’m going to put away.

I don’t check my phone again. Ivy’s message came through minutes ago. Daniel agreed to meet her. Said he missed her. That he still wanted her back. That he never stopped watching. The location was chosen with care—a quiet stretch of a half-abandoned gallery district just off Elmhurst. Mason swept the area twice, checked camera angles and sight lines, and placed two officers out of sight across the street. Officer Elena Molina is in position and is on standby, her name now etched into the backbone of this operation.

We are not just hoping he screws up. We are counting on it.

The sedan pulls in like it owns the street, dark and sleek, headlights cutting across the pavement in two wide arcs. Daniel steps out in a coat too fine for the asphalt under his feet. His gait is slow, confident, one gloved hand smoothing down his lapel as he looks around with a smile already tugging at the corner of his mouth. The performance is rehearsed, the arrogance baked in.

He’s expecting Ivy and doesn’t see me until I step out of the shadows.

His whole body jerks like someone snapped a wire. The smile falters. His eyes narrow. “You.”

I keep walking. “Not who you were expecting?”

His lips curl back into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Where is she?”

“I asked her to make the call. She’s safe. And she won’t be part of this anymore.”

He exhales, low and annoyed, already calculating. “If she’s not here, then this meeting’s over.”

“No,” I say, stopping just feet from him. “This is where it begins.”

His eyes dart behind me, scanning the shadows for movement, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.Is he alone? Is someone watching? Is this a trap?

It is.

I take another step forward. “You’ve been watching her. Sending messages. Showing up where you don’t belong. Following her.”

“I haven’t touched her since our last conversation.”

“No,” I agree. “And yet, like a coward, you continue to circle her life. Found ways to keep coming back when she was just recovering. There’s a special place in hell for bastards like you. Thankfully, you’re never going to do it again.”

The corner of his mouth curls, like he’s tasting the last of his arrogance before it curdles. His upper lip lifts just slightly, exposing the edge of a tooth as his eyes narrow. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. I am.”

His brows lift in brittle amusement. “Please. This city eats men like you alive. You think your hospital badge means anything?”

“No,” I say. “But survivors do. You remember Melinda Garrow?” I ask. “Valleria General. Psychiatric unit. She resigned after one of her patients died from liver failure. A patient who should never have been prescribed that drug. The same drug your father pushed through early trials. The same trial you helped fund under a different name through Garnett Biomedical.”

He stills.

“She came forward,” I continue. “Signed deposition. Personal emails. Dosing schedules. Her own notes from meetings where your name appeared on the payment ledgers. She kept everything. She gave us a timeline. It led to a shell property outside the city where unregulated trials were being run. Trials tied directly to you.”

He scoffs. "You don't have enough," he taunts. "Even if your so-called evidence points in my direction, Ivy's proximity to me during that period makes her complicit. She was there, involved. Exposing me means dragging her down too. Are you prepared to do that?"

I meet his gaze steadily, suppressing the surge of anger his words ignite. "You're grasping, Daniel," I reply. "Ivy's involvement was as an unwitting participant. She had no knowledge of the illegal activities you orchestrated. The authorities will see her as a victim of your manipulation, not as an accomplice. Your attempt to implicate her only underscores your desperation."

“And now” I say, “Internal Affairs is hot on your tail. Captain Molina? Her first directive was to protect women failed by the system. You pissed off the wrong woman with a badge.”

His shoulders freeze mid-rise and don’t fall. One hand clenches, barely perceptible, thumb digging into the meat of his palm. The easy tilt of his posture, that cocky weight on one leg, disappears. Both feet plant, balanced now. Braced. “That’s a bluff.”

“Is it?” My brow raised, I take a step closer, watching him, letting the quiet between us thicken with what he doesn’t know yet.