The moment Ethan's plane touched down, business was the last thing on his mind. The glossy lights of Las Vegas, the comfort of luxury suites, all of it faded beneath the weight of the file in his briefcase. The manila folder seemed to pulse with heat, as though the truth inside it had been waiting years to burn through his skin.
He didn't go to the hotel. Instead, a black car took him straight to the prison on the edge of the city.
The facility smelled of bleach and despair, the kind of place where time had no meaning. A guard led him into a private room, and there sat Desmond. Once a sharp, silver-tongued businessman, Desmond now looked like a man hollowed out, pale, shoulders slumped, eyes darting as though danger lurked even in shadows.
"Why are you here?" Desmond's voice cracked, gravel over broken glass.
Ethan set the briefcase down on the table. His voice was measured, cold. "Because of this file. It has your name in it. It's about the accident."
At the mention, Desmond stiffened. His gaze flicked toward the guard outside the glass window, then back to Ethan. Fear flared in his eyes. "If I or the boss wanted you dead, Ethan, you'd already be buried."
"You left names out," Ethan pressed, leaning forward, his voice a low growl. "You gave them part of the story, not all of it."
Desmond hesitated, then let out a bitter laugh that sounded closer to a sob. "You want names? Maybe you should start with your own house. Who told them your route? Your plan? Who gave them the keys to your life? I've said my part. The rest… the rest would kill me."
Ethan froze. The words sliced deeper than any blade. A traitor, inside his home. Someone who had smiled at him, eaten at his table, moved freely in his space.
He tried to push, but Desmond clammed up, staring at the table as if the answers were carved into the wood. The silence pressed on Ethan's chest until he felt suffocated. Finally, the guard opened the door, ending the meeting.
Outside, the desert air should have felt cleansing, but to Ethan it was poisoned. Every inhale filled him with suspicion. Every thought circled back to the same chilling truth: someone close had betrayed him.
That night, as the city glittered and roared in the distance, Ethan sat alone in his hotel room with the file open before him.
I knew it wasn't just a car crash. But to think someone under my roof gave them the knife to gut me… who? Who is the serpent? Tom? Petrov? A staff member? The thought that they could still be walking free in my home with Isabela there makes my blood run cold. She's the only one untouched, the only neutral person I can trust. She doesn't know it yet, but she's in the middle of a storm that could swallow us both.