Dominic found out the way he always did—by digging.

Not because Aria told him.
But because he still had eyes in every corner that mattered.

When a name like Sam Carrow shows up in your partner’s building, you don’t wait.

You investigate.

And when he saw the folder Sam left behind—leaked photos, financial trails, a faint whiff of something darker than blackmail—Dominic didn’t call Aria.

He called a man he swore he’d never talk to again.

An old fixer. Someone he’d once used to protect Aria when she didn’t know she needed it.

This time, he gave no instructions.

Just two words:

“Watch him.”

Then he got in the car.

And found Sam himself.

The warehouse bar was exactly what Dominic expected: empty at noon, sticky floors, cash only.

Sam was at the far end of the counter, nursing a glass of something cheap and looking like a man who’d already picked the fight and was waiting to see who swung first.

“You really want to do this?” Dominic asked, sliding into the seat beside him.

“I’m just cashing in,” Sam said. “Old debts. Your girl’s got a golden image. Shame if Chicago mud ended up on it.”

Dominic stared at him. Cold. Level.

“I don’t care what deal you made with Nathan. I don’t care what file you’ve got. But if you push her, if you even leantoward her, I will bury you so deep they’ll rename the river after you.”

Sam smirked. “There it is. The real you. Still got it.”

Dominic stood.

“And one more thing,” he said.

“You’ve got 24 hours to disappear.”

Meanwhile, Aria stood in front of the mirror in her old studio.

Mira had gone home. The building was empty. Quiet.

She held Sam’s card in one hand, the old duffel bag photo in the other.

She didn’t want to ask.

But the question haunted her anyway:

What if Nathan’s legacy had been built on blood?

What if she hadn’t earned everything the way she thought she had?

What if the past was dirtier than even she could spin?

Dominic walked through the studio doors without knocking.

She turned, startled. “You talked to him.”

“I did.”

“You had no right—”

“I had every right,” he said. “Because I’ve watched you fight to protect a name you think might not be clean. And you know what?”

He stepped closer.

“You are the legacy. Not Nathan. Not Hale. Not the board. You. You made all of this matter.”

She didn’t cry.

But her hands shook as she set the card down.

“I don’t want to lie anymore.”

“Then don’t,” he said. “We’ll tell the truth. On your terms.”