Serena was still trying to wrap her head around everything when Nate took her out to dinner. He had insisted, and she hadn’t been able to refuse. She thought they were just going to a regular restaurant. Instead, he led her to a venue that felt more like a theater than a restaurant.The place was grand, with towering red velvet curtains and low lighting that hinted at something more formal than what she was used to. It was like something straight out of a movie…a place where opera singers acted, their voices soaring dramatically in a performance she didn’t understand.Nate, on the other hand, was perfectly at ease. He had a smirk on his face, like he was watching her, waiting for her reaction. Serena didn’t know what to make of him anymore. The man she thought she had married seemed so far removed from the person sitting next to her now. He was cold, distant, and more dangerous than she could have imagined.She tried to focus on the play, but her mind kept wandering back to Nate and t

The Stranglers’ Golden Brown played faintly from the corner speaker in Nate’s office.Soft sounds of the bass and electric guitar, the gentle beat of the drum. That haunting voice.Then…The ringing in Nate’s ear came out of nowhere.It was sharp. Loud. Piercing.He sat still in his chair, staring blankly at the papers spread out in front of him. His fingers loosened, and the pen slipped from his hand without a sound. His jaw clenched. His heartbeat slowed, then kicked up again.He looked up. The clock on the wall said 10:32 a.m.No. No way. Not today.His chair scraped hard against the floor as he pushed back and stood. The sound echoed off the glass walls of his office. His chest felt tight. The buzzing in his ear wouldn’t stop.Then he remembered.Today.Her.Marjorie Blake.The old woman. The blood. Her neck. The scream. He’d been there a year from now, standing in the hallway of the nursing home as a nurse covered her lifeless body. His throat had burned from how hard he’d cried.

Nate didn’t sleep. Not that night. Not the next.He sat in front of a wall of monitors, eyes fixed, arms folded tight, barely blinking. His team worked behind him, silent. No one dared speak unless they had something that mattered. No coffee runs. No useless updates. Just surveillance tapes, call records, and a mess no one wanted to say out loud.Then something pinged.“Sir,” one of his guys said from behind a desk. “We’ve got something on the footage. Rear exit. Two hours before the hit.”Nate turned his head slightly.“Show me.”The screen changed.There he was again. The masked man. But this time, outside. Moving fast through the alley, head down. But Nate didn’t care about his pace. It was what he did next.He stopped.Pulled out a small phone…burner type. Dialed.The feed had no audio. But you didn’t need sound. His body told the story.He waited.Ten seconds later, he nodded once. Like he got the greenlight.Then tossed the phone straight into a drain and walked off.Nate leaned