Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The stench of sweat, protein powder, and overconfidence clung to the gym air like bad cologne. I hated gyms. Hated the fake grunts, the performative flexing, the narcissists pretending not to check themselves out in the mirror every ten seconds.
I wasn’t here for any of that.
I was here for Rafe.
"Come on, Edie," my brother said, tossing me a bottle of water as I followed him inside. "Could do you good to let off some steam. You've been acting like a grumpy little gremlin lately."
"Gee, thanks," I muttered, catching the bottle with a glare. "You sure know how to charm a lady."
He grinned and ruffled my hair like I was five. "I’m not trying to charm you. I’m trying to get your antisocial ass out of the house."
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. Rafe was one of the only people in my life who didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t need to know that my restlessness had more to do with the file tucked under my bed than boredom. That file held pictures, names, dates—my next move.
And then I saw her.
Luna.
I knew who she was. Always had. I’d studied her, memorized her, documented her. What I didn’t expect was to see her here—at my brother’s gym. The realization hit me instantly: this was my way in. My opening. I could get close. Under a false name. Emery Vale. Just another gym newbie. No one would question it.
She wasn’t dressed like the others. No matching gym set. No ten pounds of makeup. Just black leggings, an oversized white tee, and a sleek ponytail of glossy black hair swinging behind her. She moved like she had nothing to prove—but everything under control.
Rafe noticed her too, obviously. But not in the way guys usually noticed girls. His expression held respect, not thirst.
"That's Luna," he said under his breath. "She's cool. Married now, though. Husband’s some kind of tech billionaire or something."
I raised a brow. “You know her?”
He shrugged. “Not really. She trains with Liam sometimes. You’ve met Liam, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Yup. Anyway, Luna’s solid. Real grounded. Doesn’t walk around acting like she owns the place even though she probably could.”
Interesting.
I watched her from the corner of my eye as Rafe moved to the bench press. She reset the weights on a machine, wiped it down afterward, polite to the guy waiting behind her. Classy.
Then she looked up—and caught me staring.
Shit.
I smiled. Just a little. Enough to seem friendly.
She smiled back and walked over.
“Hey,” she said, voice calm and warm. “You new here?”
I nodded. “First day. My brother works here.”
Luna glanced at Rafe, who was now bench pressing like a show-off. “He's got good form,” she said with a small laugh. “I’m Luna.”
Before Rafe could say anything, I stepped forward. “Emery,” I said smoothly. “Emery Vale.”
Rafe froze for half a second, confusion flickering across his face. But he didn’t correct me. Just gave me a crooked smile.
“Rafe,” he said. “Her annoying older brother.”
Luna laughed. “Nice to meet you both. You training with a plan, or just following him around?”
I tilted my head. “I’m winging it.”
“Dangerous game in here,” she teased. “Tell you what—I’ve got about twenty minutes left. You wanna join me for the last circuit?”
It was too easy. Almost too perfect.
But I played it cool.
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
Luna showed me the ropes—form corrections, light banter, even warning me about the creepy trainer with the too-friendly smile near the back.
We slipped into a rhythm. She wasn’t pushy, wasn’t fake, and didn’t make me feel watched. Even though I always was.
When we finished the circuit, Luna handed me a towel and nodded toward the water dispenser.
“Not bad, Emery. You move like someone who's been through some shit.”
I blinked. “Is that a compliment?”
She grinned. “Best kind. I’ve seen enough plastic gym dolls to know real when I see it.”
---
TWO WEEKS LATER…
The gym had officially become my new playground.
Not because I’d suddenly developed a passion for squats or some inner fit-girl fantasy. No—this place was strategy. Controlled chaos. A rhythm I could fall into while I carved my way in.
And Luna? She was the crack in the glass.
For the past two weeks, we’d fallen into an easy routine. Casual enough not to raise questions, frequent enough to matter. We’d “accidentally” run into each other three, four times a week. Usually with Rafe nearby for background.
We weren’t close—yet. But we laughed now. Shared playlists. Bitched about cardio. She started calling me “her bestie,” like we were old college roommates or something.
I didn’t correct her.
Luna was… likeable. Too likeable. And that made my job harder. I’d expected cold and calculated. Plastic smiles and too much Botox. She was the opposite. Soft but sharp. Gorgeous without trying. Long black hair in messy braids, leggings hugging her tiny frame like she’d been born wearing them.
She wasn’t the woman I expected to be married to a tech billionaire. No flashing diamonds. No snobby attitude. Just warm, grounded energy that made her… real.
And that was the problem.
I wasn’t here to make friends. I wasn’t here to feel anything.
This was a long game.
Still, I kept showing up. Letting her pull me into her weird little world of post-gym smoothies and “accidental” Pilates classes. Even Rafe started teasing me about my new BFF.
He didn’t know the truth. Not yet.
---
Today was leg day. She was already stretching when I arrived. I tossed my bag down and flopped onto the mat like I hadn’t been tracking her routine for two straight weeks.
“You look like you survived a war,” I said, tying my hair up.
Luna groaned. “Felt like one. Trainer made me do box jumps. In socks.”
“Cruel.”
“He’s cruel. I’m just dramatic.” She glanced over. “Where’s Rafe? I was hoping to shamelessly objectify him again.”
I snorted. “He’s running late. Probably still shirtless in the apartment, talking to himself in the mirror.”
She giggled. “Sounds about right.”
We started our reps—glute bridges, squats, the usual grind. She led the rhythm, and I matched her pace. She moved like someone who used to be busier than she was now. Someone who didn’t know what to do with stillness.
I understood that more than she knew.
Mid-set, she leaned in and whispered, “That guy from the front desk keeps staring at you like he wants to buy you dinner and a matching condo.”
I rolled my eyes. “He has a crush on anything with a pulse.”
She laughed. “He’d probably ask out a potted plant if it had lashes.”
I cracked a smile. Too easy. Too natural.
And that made it dangerous.
When Rafe finally strolled in—late, loud, shirt half-on—Luna barely looked at him. But I caught it. The flicker. The pause.
I didn’t like it.
She was married, yes. But she was also bored. And Rafe? Rafe was reckless with attention. If she reached, he’d let her. And that would blow up everything I was building.
As we stretched afterward, I tested the waters.
Luna held her stretch. “Most days I’m alone. It’s either this or stare at the ceiling wondering if my husband even remembers what city he’s in.”
I paused.
That wasn’t just a comment. It was a crack.
“He travels a lot?” I asked.
“Too much,” she said, exhaling. “Always business. Always something urgent. I studied law, you know? Thought we’d be a team. Thought I’d have something to show for all those years. But instead, I’m here. Married to a guy who’s never around, pretending I don’t hate how quiet my life’s gotten.”
I looked at her.
Not pity—just understanding.
She forced a laugh. “Sorry. That got dark. Ignore me. I’m just PMSing and over-caffeinated.”
I didn’t respond. Not with words. Too many truths I couldn’t reveal.
Instead, I said lightly, “Sounds like you need a weekend off.”
She smiled faintly. “Honestly? Yeah. I really do.”
---
A few days later, just us again, finishing a light session. Rafe had bailed early—something about caffeine and murder. The gym was almost empty.
And then she said it.
“Hey,” Luna started, glancing at me while tying her sneaker. “You doing anything this weekend?”
I blinked. “Why? You finally decided I’m girlfriend material?”
She smirked. “I thought we already were? But no… I was thinking: there’s a destination wedding I’m invited to. Weekend-long thing.”
“Oh?”
“It’s for a friend—Alessandra Moretti. We call her Lexi. Our families used to do business together. My brother Bain was like a big brother to her.”
I kept my expression neutral. Inside, I filed the details away. Right next to everything else I already knew from the files.
“It’ll be big,” she continued. “People dressing like magazine covers and pretending they’re not judging you. And I really don't want to third-wheel with Bain and his wife all weekend.”
She paused.
“So… I was thinking. Maybe you'd want to come with me?”
I tilted my head. “Me?”
“Yeah. You're fun. Chill. You’d keep me sane. And it beats me crying into a cheese board alone.”
I hesitated—just enough to look real.
“I mean… if I bring Rafe too, I’m in.”
She lit up. “Yes, please. A distraction with abs? Count me in.”
I smirked. “Alright. You’re on.”
She grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
I smiled too. But mine wasn’t real.
Because this?
This was the moment I’d been waiting for.
My foot in the door.
My seat at the table.
And once I was in…
No one was safe.
The resort looked like it had been ripped straight off a billionaire’s dream board. Palm trees framed the curved driveway, a wide fountain welcomed us like royalty, and the scent of hibiscus hit me the moment the jet doors opened.
Everything was white stone and endless glass. Ocean views from every angle. Staff in crisp uniforms greeted Luna by name and carried our luggage like it was blessed.
Rafe whistled as we crossed the marble lobby.
“Jesus. This place is—”
“Incredible,” I finished, my tone clipped. “Try to act like you’ve seen a five-star before.”
He gave me a playful look, but I could see he was as stunned as I was. Not that either of us would ever admit it. We were Rivera kids—built to survive, not indulge.
Our suite was basically a villa. Private plunge pool. Two king bedrooms. A fully stocked bar. A view so bright and blue it looked fake.
I unpacked immediately, trying to smother the coil of nerves twisting low in my stomach. This wasn’t just a wedding. This was a chessboard.
“Luna really paid for all this?” Rafe asked, sprawled across the bed like royalty. “I mean, she said she invited us, but damn.”
“She’s being generous,” I said, folding a sundress. “Lonely people usually are.”
He snorted. “Cold.”
“No,” I said, turning to him. “Practical.”
He shrugged, hands behind his head. “Think she’d still invite me if I wasn’t your brother?”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t tell him the truth. Not about Luna. Not about Bain. Not about what I was doing here.
He still thought this trip was about rubbing shoulders with wealthy people and maybe scoring a networking favor or two. He had no idea I’d been building this plan for months—every gym session with Luna, every smile, every lunch, all of it leading to this.
He didn’t know Jason had been murdered by one of these people. That it wasn’t random.
That the trail of clues led straight back to the same people flying into this resort.
---
Later, Luna knocked and stepped into our villa in a breezy blue silk set, handing me a sleek envelope.
“Weekend itinerary,” she said with a bright smile. “Thought you’d want a heads-up. You’re gonna want to plan your looks.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking it. “This place is unreal.”
She glanced past me—right as Rafe walked out of the bathroom shirtless, toweling his hair. Her smile shifted for a heartbeat. Something softer. Hungrier. Almost unguarded.
“Anyway,” she added quickly, looking back at me, “I’m heading to the spa with Jane. Come find us before dinner if you want a drink.”
“Sure,” I said casually.
She waved and disappeared down the hall, her perfume lingering like money and roses.
I closed the door, heart thudding.
Rafe hummed to himself, blissfully clueless.
“I’m going for a walk,” I said, slipping into sandals.
“Want me to come?”
“No. I’ll be quick.”
---
Golden hour wrapped around the resort like silk. I followed the stone paths slowly, fake-admiring the scenery while scanning faces for familiar ones. Dangerous ones.
This place dripped money. Old money. New money. Corrupted money.
I passed the pool, then the open-air bar full of expensive laughter. I needed to be seen—but also invisible, in the right ways.
A delicate balance. One I was very good at.
Following a quieter path near the cliffs, the breeze tugged at my dress. The air smelled like salt and hibiscus.
Then I rounded a corner and slammed into a wall.
Except—no wall.
A man.
Solid. Hard. Built like he’d survived hell and kept souvenirs.
I stumbled, muttering a curse.
He caught my elbow with one hand—steady, controlled strength.
“You alright?” he asked, voice low and smooth, like bourbon poured over secrets.
I blinked up.
Dark eyes. Coiled energy. Tattoos. Jaw carved from stone.
Dangerous.
Not unfamiliar.
I didn’t know him personally—but I’d seen him before. On a report I wasn’t supposed to have. A name. A face. A warning.
And here he was.
Right in front of me.
I didn’t move.
Neither did he.
“Yeah,” I murmured, pulse hammering. “Wasn’t looking.”
He released my arm, nodded once, and kept walking.
No introduction. No small talk.
But he glanced over his shoulder once before disappearing around the curve.
I stood there in the orange glow of sunset, wondering if I’d just collided with the first real clue I’d had in two years.
I needed a drink.
Not because I was rattled—though I absolutely was—but because if I didn’t give my hands something to do, I’d probably march right back after him like an idiot and demand his name.
Which would be stupid. Reckless. And very… me.
The bar sat between two palms, dim and half full. Wealthy people sipped wealthy cocktails, laughing like their lives weren’t lined with blood and lies.
I slid onto a stool near the edge—close enough to listen, far enough to watch.
The bartender gave me a lazy smile. “What’s your poison?”
“Something strong,” I said. “And pretty.”
He chuckled. “I can work with that.”
While he mixed, I scanned the room. No Luna. No Bain. Rafe was probably up in the suite staring at the ceiling fan.
Good. Let him stay there.
I had work to do.
The drink appeared in front of me—a pale pink hibiscus concoction. I took a sip, letting the burn calm the electric buzz beneath my skin.
I didn’t see him approach.
But I felt him.
That same quiet storm energy, that same awareness in my bones before my brain caught up.
He slid onto the stool beside mine without a word.
Like we’d planned it.
He didn’t look at me.
Didn’t need to.
His voice came low, edged with amusement.
“Twice in one hour. Starting to think you’re following me.”
I turned my head slowly.
There he was again—closer now. Dim light catching the shadow along his jaw, ink tracing his forearm, a smirk tugging at his mouth but never reaching his eyes.
Dangerous still.
But magnetic.
“I’m not,” I said coolly. “But if I were, I doubt I’d be the first.”
He glanced over, eyebrow lifting. “That so?”
Another sip. Another slow exhale.
“You look like someone used to being followed.”
A beat passed. His smirk grew.
Then finally—
“Marcus.”
He said it casually.
Like it wasn’t a name on my list.
My heart skipped.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
I kept my face still. Nodded. “Emery.”
He held my gaze a heartbeat too long, then turned to signal the bartender.
I sat there, a faint smile on my lips, hibiscus sweetness on my tongue, adrenaline buzzing through me like a live wire.
Marcus Cane.
The one Cane brother I’d hoped I wouldn’t meet first.
So of course, he’s the one I ran into.
My luck? Trash.
But maybe…
maybe my timing wasn’t.
