Jasmine's POV
The morning light hit wrong. Too bright. Too sharp. It sliced through the glass of my penthouse office like a blade, catching on the glass awards that lined the shelf.
My reflection stared back at me from the window… elegant, crisp, unbothered. But the dark half-moons beneath my eyes told a different story.
I hadn't slept. The note from the envelope lay folded beside my coffee mug, its words burned into my skull:
"Your mother's death was no accident. Stop digging, Jasmine."
I traced a thumb over the paper's edge. The handwriting was careful. Elegant. Someone who took pride in their threats.
"Miss Duvall?"
Claire stepped in softly. "The board's asking if you'll still be attending the investor breakfast."
I blinked once. "Yes."
My voice came out smooth, professional. Too smooth.
I rose, adjusting the lapels of my cream blazer. The mirror caught the faint tremor in my fingers before I curled them into a fist.
Claire hesitated. "You look… tense."
