Ria’s POV

The rain had stopped by the time I returned to the house, but it didn’t matter. I was soaked to the soul.

I pushed through the front door without waiting for the maid. My heels rang across the marble floor like gunshots in a church. My coat dripped on the Persian floor, but I didn’t care. 

Edmond was in the living room, sleeves rolled up, stirring a glass of scotch like it held answers. He didn’t look up when I entered. 

“Do you know what your wife’s sister is doing right now?” I snapped, chest heaving.

A slow blink. A lift of his glass. “Hopefully staying out of my way.” 

I stepped forward. “She’s in bed with my ex. The one I was supposed to marry.”

“Touching story.” He sipped the drink, unbothered. “You want me to kill them or clap?” 

“I want to know if you’re blind or if this whole thing was part of some sick joke.”

His eyes slid to mine, sharp and golden. “I don’t care about your family, Ria.”

My breath hitched. 

He stood, setting the glass down gently. I didn’t marry you because I wanted a wife, I married a Whittaker because I needed power, and I don’t care which one of you showed up.

“So I was a pawn?” My voice cracked. 

“Aren’t we all?” He fixed his cufflink. "Don’t pretend you’re shocked. "You already knew you weren’t chosen.” Then he started walking away. 

I follow him. “And you? You think hiding behind that cold face makes you better?”

I know it does.

Then why do you bleed every night? I hurled. Why do your knuckles look like they’re fighting ghosts?

That stopped him. Though he didn’t turn. You don’t want to know who I am, Ria. He said

“I think I already do,” I said. 

Then he looked over his shoulder. No. "You only know what it cost to be you, not what it cost to be me.” He walked out, leaving quiet... and something else. 

There was a file with a folder. Thick, brown, untouched, sitting where his drink had been. Like he’d left it for me on purpose. 

I stared at it for a long time before touching it. My fingers shook.

Inside, there are pictures, surveillance shots, crowded halls, dimly lit talks, and men in suits swapping packages. 

One face stood out, over and over again. My father.

I gasped and flipped to the next page. A financial report, big gifts to a company I’d never heard of.  More shots. A girl in a red dress, going into a black car. 

A written email: “Shipment received. Whittaker covered it.” My stomach twisted. Then, another paper. A history report. Names circled in red: Anthony Whittaker. Raquel Whittaker. Tom Griffin, and at the bottom, underlined: “Suspected involvement in international trafficking.” 

My view blurred as I stood, the folder clutched against my chest.

My father... was a monster.  My sister... was helping him, and Edmond… had known. There is a Watcher in the Car 

Meanwhile, across town, Edmond slipped into the backseat of a black SUV. Detective Brown sat in the driver’s seat, chewing gum like it was his final defense against craziness. 

"She saw the file," Edmond said, with his voice low.

“And?” She didn’t scream.

Brown laughed dryly. “That’s almost worse.” She’s the key, Edmond mumbled, looking out the window. “But she doesn’t know what she married into.”

Brown looked at him. “You think the dad’s onto you?” 

Not yet. But Raquel? She’s smarter than she looks. And if she connects the dots... we’ve got problems.

You married into a viper’s nest, man. You sure this girl’s not in on it?” 

But, Edmond didn’t answer. 

Brown reached into the glove box and pulled out a small flash drive. The one from the hotel. Got the full film. A girl walked in on her sister and that crypto clown in bed.” 

Edmond flinched.

She ran out, didn’t even yell. I just started recording a voice memo. Something about ‘it ends now.’

He nodded slowly. “She’s waking up.” Yeah, well, wake her up faster. HQ’s breathing down our necks. We need solid evidence.

Give her a little time, Edmond whispered. The fire’s coming. She just needs to light the match. Brown scoffed, and what if she burns herself with it?

Edmond’s appearance was still fixed on the city. “Then I burnt with her.” The SUV sped through the French Quarter, shadows thick under the streetlamps. Edmond’s phone buzzed.  He checked the caller ID. Blocked. He paused, then answered. “Yeah.” 

A subdued voice came through the line. The voice was a male voice. Emotionless. Mechanical.

“You should have stopped her.”

Edmond’s spine straightened. “Who is this?”

She’s snooping. She knows about the photos. She found the ring. She knows Raquel didn’t leave... she was swapped.

His jaw folded. I never told her. You didn’t need to. She’s smarter than you think though. That’s the problem.  Brown’s fingers went white on the driving wheel. 

Edmond’s voice dropped. “You so much as touch her—” 

“We won’t.” A pause. “You will.”

Edmond blinked. “What?” 

”Terminate the wife, Mr. Cozen. Or we will. And next time, we won’t call ahead.” The line went dead. 

Edmond stared at the phone like he had just been given a death sentence, because it had.

Brown cursed. “What did they say?” 

Edmond’s voice was barely a whisper. “They want her gone.”

Back at the house, I stood in Edmond’s study, still holding the folder. Behind me, I heard the front door open and footsteps echo down the marble hallway. “Ria?” he called. 

I didn’t answer. I just slipped the file under my coat, because now I knew something no one else did.

They weren’t just hiding secrets, they were hunting for the truth, and the truth was wearing my name.

The next morning, I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at my designer heels—sleek black stilettos with red feet, a gift from my mother after the wedding. 

A leaving gift for selling my soul. They looked beautiful. Untouched, but after everything I’d seen, heard and felt, I didn’t trust anything that came from my family.