Vihaan's POV:
I moved through the rooms cautiously, noticing small details: a chair slightly out of place, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air, and a drawer left ajar. Whoever had been here hadn't left much behind, but the traces were unmistakable.
I crouched near the counter, studying every surface. No papers, no obvious clues. Whoever had been here had taken care not to leave anything readable—or had taken it all with them.
A cold thought struck me. If it were Seraphine, she truly was clever, leaving no trace, no hint, nothing to follow.
"How did she take all of them?" I muttered under my breath, astonished. Only one newspaper remained—and it was from today, not even from the previous day.
Still, the lingering sense of a presence that had vanished moments ago made my pulse quicken. Someone had been here, recently… and they weren't Seraphine. How come she knew my arrival?
Amara's POV:
I came straight to my home. When I reached home, Jia was sitting in the living room, scrolling on her phone. She glanced up, eyebrow raised."You look like you've seen a ghost—or maybe just overcooked your detective ambitions," she said.
I smirked, trying to act casual."Detective work is hard, okay? And yes, there may have been some ghostly encounters," I teased, tossing my bag on the couch.
Jia shook her head, amused."You're ridiculous," she said, but didn't press further. I was grateful—no questions, no nagging. Just the quiet space I needed to sort through what I'd found.
I made my way to my room. I was tired as hell.
"Maybe I should rest for now; tomorrow I will revive my detective work," I muttered to myself.
Jia's POV:
I have been watching her for a week now. She is acting strangely. Sudden trips, all day searching for something on the laptop. I know her heartbreak was huge for her, but this is not the way you keep yourself engaged.
"Is she gone insane?" I whispered to myself.
"What's going on with you?" I asked, arms crossed. "You've been… weird lately. Little trips, mysterious disappearances… And don't tell me it's just to annoy me!"
Ama jumped slightly, as if I had caught her sneaking something."Oh, hi, Jia," she said casually, pretending to be engrossed in her phone. "Nothing… just, you know… errands."
I narrowed my eyes, unconvinced."Errands at 7 a.m.? Solo? With that serious 'I'm on a secret mission' face? Ama, this isn't a spy movie. Are you finally blaming Vihaan for all your weirdness now?"
She blinked, feigning innocence."Me? Blame Vihaan? Never!" she said, though the corners of her lips twitched.
I sighed dramatically, sinking into the chair across from her."Classic. He's probably somewhere, completely oblivious, and here you are acting like you've been recruited for an international conspiracy. Honestly, he's lucky you don't have a cape yet."
Ama smirked, finally letting a bit of her humor show."Maybe I should get one. Makes the whole 'saving the day' thing more believable."
I shook my head, laughing despite myself."You're ridiculous. But fine. Keep your cape, secret missions, and mysterious disappearances. Just don't blame me when people start thinking you're turning into a punk."
Annoyed, I left for the office, blaming Vihaan the whole ride for the weird behaviour of my sister.
When I entered, he was standing in the corner of his office, talking seriously on the phone.
"You are the villain, Mr. Vihaan Mickelson," I muttered, scrunching my nose.
I was cursing him silently, my two fingers lifted in an imaginary "take his eyes off" gesture. And, of course, either by bad luck or timing, he looked up at the same moment.
Panic flared. "What do I do now?" I whispered to myself.
Nothing came to mind, so I threw up a peace sign and smiled like I was posing for a photo; he looked a little confused. I left the place quickly and drifted to my office chair.
"Why do I always act so weird? Why do I always forget he is also my boss?" I questioned myself.
"I don't love my job or money coming through it," I muttered in frustration.
Amara's POV:
I dumped the papers onto my bed, spreading them out like a detective in some cheesy crime movie. "Okay, Ama," I muttered, squinting at the notes, "time to see what secrets you're hiding… and maybe save the world in the process. Or at least my sanity."
Most of the papers were mundane—old receipts, business memos—but a few had names, dates, and locations that made my pulse quicken. One note mentioned a meeting between Seraphine Duvall, a mysterious investor, and a place called Celine Towers, dated just a week ago. "The company name was also Celine Ventures," I muttered under my breath.
I leaned closer, tracing the words with a finger. "Celine Towers… could be a hideout, an office… or a fancy coffee shop. Either way, it's a lead."
My fingers flew over my laptop keys, cross-referencing the addresses, checking for ownership records, social media check-ins, and anything that could give me a hint of Seraphine's movements. Hours passed in a blur of tabs, maps, and digital breadcrumbs.
I left home for further investigation about Celine Towers. Bag slung over my shoulder, laptop and papers secure, I hailed a cab. Destination: Celine Towers.
"Downtown. Fast, please," I said, trying to sound casual. The driver gave me a questioning glance, but I ignored it. "It's for… research," I added vaguely. He shrugged. Close enough.
The city blurred past, but my mind was sharp, scanning the details from the papers. Names, dates, addresses—all leading here. Seraphine Duvall had left traces, and I intended to follow them, step by careful step.
When the cab pulled up, Celine Towers loomed above me like a fortress. Sleek glass walls reflected the streetlights, and the lobby inside glimmered with sterile perfection. Too perfect. Too neat. Whoever ran this place liked control.
I ducked into the building, blending with the evening crowd. Everyone here looked busy, important, and completely unaware that I had a secret mission. I muttered under my breath, "Okay, Ama, blend in. Don't look like a panicked investigator… though panicked investigator is kind of my vibe right now."
The elevators chimed, and I pressed the button for the top floor listed in the papers. My heart beat faster with each upward ping.
As the doors opened, I stepped into a quiet corridor. It smelled faintly of polished wood and office coffee. Offices lined both sides. Most lights were off, but a few flickered on—someone was here.
I paused near the first office door, peeking through the frosted glass. The nameplate read Celine Ventures. A faint rustle inside—papers shifting, perhaps. My pulse quickened. It was the same name I saw in the newspaper where my father, Jia's father, and Seraphine were standing for the success of the business.
I moved to one of the cabins, and tried to read whose name was there... Liam Salvatore.
"He runs this company," I whispered in surprise. He successfully acquired everything my father built, without making any effort.
I had barely slipped into the office when my eyes landed on a small stack of USB drives labeled with dates and project codes. My pulse jumped. Jackpot. These could have everything—financials, correspondence, maybe even Seraphine's personal files.
I grabbed them quickly, shoving them into my bag. Quiet… careful… like a shadow.
The footsteps froze me. Sharp. Deliberate. Echoing against the polished floor, reverberating in my chest. My stomach tightened, and I ducked behind a desk, pressing my back to the cold wood, every nerve alive.
Someone knew I was here.
A shadow moved. Six feet of him. Tall. Dangerous. Predatory. My first kick missed completely, cutting only through empty air. He shoved me back. The floor tilted, dust in my mouth, heart in my throat.
I scrambled to my feet, hurling a desperate kick to his jaw. Pain spiked across my hand as he retaliated with something heavy—a vase aimed for my head. Instinct took over: I raised my arm. The impact shattered my wrist. A white-hot crack shot up my arm. Pain flared, bright and blinding.
Breathing hard, I grabbed the fluorescent tube lying nearby. Weight in my hands, fear sharpening every sense. Swing. Bone, flesh, a wet, stunned grunt. He faltered. Blood darkened the air.
"This is it, Ama," I whispered to myself. "Run."
Bag clutched to my chest, USB drives safe, I bolted, limping, every step a hammering reminder of my fractured wrist. The alley swallowed me, darkness folding me into its arms. Behind me, he staggered, bloodied and confused, but unaware of who had just slipped through his grasp.
I wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse, but my hand throbbed with a relentless fire. There was no ignoring it—I had to get it checked. Every step toward Petrova Hospital sent jolts of pain up my arm.
The nurse took one look at my wrist and froze for a second before gently but firmly guiding me to a chair. "Twice-fractured," she said, her voice calm but precise.
Twice? My breath caught. No wonder it felt like molten steel.
As she wrapped the plaster, I muttered through gritted teeth, "That explains why the pain… is unbearable."
She looked up, meeting my eyes. "Don't move it. Even a small shift could make recovery difficult. No heavy lifting, no sudden movements."
I nodded, swallowing the sting—not just from the pain, but from knowing the cost of this investigation. My hand was injured, my wrist fragile, yet the truth was still out there, waiting.
I left the hospital with my arm in a sling, every step reminding me of the danger I had just escaped. The city lights blurred around me, but my mind was sharp, already plotting the next move.