The studio was buzzing with momentum.

Paris had said yes.

Press was circling. Investors were paying attention. The Vale Collective waitlist had tripled in a week.

And Aria?

She was finally in the clear.

Or so she thought.

It was Mira who answered the studio door.

And the man standing on the other side wasn’t press.
Wasn’t a designer.
Wasn’t even supposed to know where Aria was now.

He was from Chicago.

Late 40s. Crooked smile. The kind of man who made you double-check your wallet after a handshake.

“I’m looking for Aria Vale,” he said.
“Tell her Sam Carrow came to cash in.”

Aria stood frozen when she saw him.

Sam Carrow.

The guy her brother Nathan used to call “the fixer.”

He wasn’t mob. He wasn’t law. He was worse—he was gray.

One of those middlemen who made problems disappear… for a price.

Last she saw him, he was dragging a duffel bag full of untraceable cash out of their apartment two days after Nathan died.

She didn’t know what was in it.

She didn’t ask.

And she’d spent the last decade praying it never came back.

“Still building castles?” Sam asked, stepping into her office like he owned it.

“I’m not that girl anymore,” she said.

“No,” he grinned. “You’re more dangerous now. But here’s the thing—Chicago doesn’t forget.”

“What do you want?”

He held up a manila folder.

“You remember that insurance settlement Nathan left you? That tidy payout that somehow never raised flags even though the wreck was tied to a debt he owed?”

Her throat dried.

“That wasn’t just hush money,” Sam said. “That was laundered. And guess what—some of those names? They’re running for office now. And they’d really like to keep their hands clean.”

Aria stepped forward. “Are you threatening me?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But if you don’t help me make it all… disappear quietly, someone else might make it disappear loudly.”

Then he handed her a card.

No name. No logo.

Just a burner number.

And three words:

72 hours. Decide.

That night, Aria sat alone in her apartment.

The old ghosts were knocking again. Not through court filings or headlines—but through back alleys and secrets she’d tried to outrun.

And for the first time in a long time…

She didn’t know if even Dominic could help with this one.

Because this time, it wasn’t just about her name.

It was about Nathan’s.