Amara waited until late evening, when Zane had drifted into the kind of deep sleep that came only from contentment. He had smiled all day, more than he had in years. Their weekend away had done its work—rekindled warmth, built bridges they thought had burned. But Amara wasn't just here for the love anymore. She was here for justice.
She slipped out of bed and wrapped a soft robe around her. Her phone was already charged, the burner number installed with only one contact saved: R.C.
She stepped out onto the balcony and dialed. The phone rang twice.
"I don't like late-night calls unless it's life or death," came the rough-edged voice on the other end.
Amara exhaled. "Then it's a good thing this is both."
There was a pause. "Amara."
"You remember me."
"I remember everyone who paid me in gold instead of lies."
She smiled faintly. "Are you still as good as they say, Rowen?"
A short chuckle. "I'm better. Who's the target?"
Amara glanced back into the dim bedroom where Zane still slept peacefully. "Two names. Selene
and Darian Wolfe."
Rowen's silence lingered. "You married into hellfire, didn't you?"
"Not anymore."
He seemed to weigh her words. "I'll take the case. Send me their info."
"Already did," she said. "Encrypted. I need you in town by tomorrow."
"Already here. Was in New York handling a senator's blackmail clean-up. This'll be easier. Or messier. Depending on who screams first."
"Make them scream, Rowen. But do it quietly."
"I live in the quiet."
She ended the call.
---
Rowen Cade moved like he'd never forgotten how to disappear. Broad-shouldered and six-foot-two, he wore plain clothes that said nothing about the man beneath them—just the way he liked it. In another life, he'd been a Marine intelligence operative stationed in hostile territories. Surveillance. Psychological operations. Silent kills. He'd retired young—mid-thirties—and turned his skills toward the private sector.
But unlike the flashy frauds who called themselves "private investigators," Rowen didn't chase cheating spouses or corporate spies. He hunted shadows, exposed corruption, and dug secrets out of locked rooms.
And he never failed.
His apartment—bare, clean, weapon-stocked—became command central. He pinned a photo of Selene on his board first. "Queen Snake," he muttered.
She had the eyes of a woman who'd never loved anyone but herself.
Then came Darian —filed under predators. Too charming. Too polished. He moved like a man who believed in his own invincibility.
Rowen knew better.
He started with Selene's digital footprint—thin as expected. Scrubbed socials, private emails, layers of firewalls. But no one was clean. Not even the queen.
He followed her real estate history first. A property in Montauk—off-market, undisclosed. Registered under a shell corp tied to an off-the-books investment fund. He smiled. "Bingo."
From there, it was surveillance. He planted devices—tiny, nearly invisible mics hidden in vent slats and purse linings. He hired a girl to bump into Selene at the salon and drop a transmitter in her designer bag.
Within two days, he had more audio than he needed to know one thing for sure: Selene and Darian were plotting something monstrous.
---
Amara watched the footage Rowen delivered on a secure tablet—Darian and Selene laughing at a rooftop bar, Selene whispering about "tightening the screws" on Zane's board allies, Darian talking about "what to do with Amara when the time comes."
"They think I'm asleep," she said, gripping the edge of the table.
"You're not just awake," Rowen replied. "You're on fire."
She turned to him, studying the way he stood—arms crossed, gaze alert, like a soldier always waiting for war.
"Why'd you take this job?" she asked.
"Because you asked," he said simply.
"That's not a reason."
Rowen sat across from her. "Ten years ago, your father offered me a way out. He needed information on a corrupt judge who buried a trafficking case. I found it. He kept my name out of everything. Gave me enough to vanish. I owed him."
"My father never told me that," she whispered.
"He didn't want you to know. Said keeping you safe meant keeping you innocent."
She looked down, ashamed of how much she hadn't known.
"I'm not innocent anymore," she said.
Rowen leaned forward. "Then let's act like it."
---
That night, Rowen delivered the next batch of evidence—wire transfers between Selene and shell companies, transcripts of calls where they discussed the timing of the audit, and—most damning—a photo of Darian entering a law firm known for offshore laundering.
Amara studied the files in silence.
"Is it enough to bring them down?" she asked.
Rowen shook his head. "It's enough to shake them. But if you want to destroy them, we go deeper."
"How deep?"
"Family ties. Childhood. Debts. People they hurt. Secrets no one talks about."
Amara nodded slowly. "Then let's burn the roots, not just the leaves."
Rowen gave her a rare smile. "Now you're speaking my language."