A moment later, the reply came.

: Your uncle gave me.

"Fucking meddler!" she hissed under her breath. Since when were they best friends? He’d probably threatened the number out of her uncle.

She huffed and flopped back onto her bed, glaring at the phone as if it were Winn himself. And of course, another message followed, relentless as ever.

: So, what are you wearing?

Her fingers twitched with the urge to throw the phone across the room. He had some damn nerve.

Me: None of your business.

She could almost hear his low chuckle in her mind—deep, smooth, and infuriatingly confident.

: You know, very soon you will be writhing beneath me.

Me: You are so sure of yourself.

She typed it coolly, forcing herself to breathe evenly even as heat crept up her neck.

Winn: When it comes to you, yes.

She closed her eyes, exhaling through clenched teeth. He was so damn sure, always. Even when she’d tried to hate him, he’d made it impossible.

Me: Just leave me alone. Goodnight.

Her hands trembled slightly as she sent it. She wanted this to end.

: See you at work tomorrow.

She groaned and tossed the phone aside, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. She thought about working from the Everest office instead of the site. Anything to avoid the storm that was Winn Kane.

But sleep was cruel that night.

It came in fragments—shadows twisting in her mind, faces flashing in and out.

Then came the old nightmare, the attack. The ripping sound of fabric, the smell of blood and sweat, the sharp sting of the knife, the weight pressing her into the motel room bed. Her voice lost in the darkness, her body screaming in silence.

And over it all, Sharona’s voice rang clear, cruel, and endless.

You should have stayed dead. You should have stayed dead.

It echoed like a curse, looping through her dream until her body started to shake. Ivy’s breaths came shallow and quick; tears spilled down her face. Then, all at once, she jerked awake, gasping. Her sheets were tangled around her legs, soaked in sweat.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammer wildly. She swallowed hard, wiping her damp cheeks.

And then understanding washed over her. How did Sharona know?

*****

Ivy called Mike the second she walked into her office at Everest Headquarters, not even bothering to sit. Her phone was wedged between her ear and shoulder as she dropped her bag on the desk, her nerves buzzing static.

"Mike," she said breathlessly, pacing to the window. "We’ve been looking at the wrong person! Tom has nothing to do with my attack!"

Mike’s voice came through the line. "What are you talking about? You’re sure?"

Ivy pressed her palm against the cool windowpane and stared down at the streets. "Sharona," she said through clenched teeth. "Winn’s wife—she came to see me last night outside the college. She said..." Ivy hesitated. "’You should have stayed dead.’"

"Wait, wait—what? She actually said that?"

"Word for word," Ivy said, running a shaky hand through her hair. Her pulse was still erratic from the memory. "And she said it like she knew. Like she really knew. Mike, how would she know unless she was involved?"

"Good point. I’ll look into her. Check out her associates, financials, social circle, everything. If she’s connected to the men who attacked you, we’ll find it."

"Thank you, Mike. Just be careful, okay? If she’s capable of that kind of cruelty, who knows what else she’s hiding."

"Always am," he replied. "I’ll call you once I’ve got something."

The call ended. Ivy stood for a moment, phone still in her hand, eyes distant. Her reflection in the window looked pale, haunted. She pressed her fingers to her temples, inhaled deeply.

The door to her office clicked open just as she was about to sit down.

"Miss Morales?" Her secretary’s polite voice carried into the room, along with the faint, floral scent of roses.

Ivy turned, and her face fell immediately.

Her secretary stood there holding a massive bouquet—blood-red roses tied with a black satin ribbon, nestled in expensive crystal.

"Oh no..." Ivy muttered, dragging a hand down her face. Of course. He would never make things easy.

"These came in for you," her secretary said.

"Let me guess," Ivy said dryly. "From Mr. Kane?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Just dump them in the bin right over there," Ivy said finally, gesturing to the trash can beside the cabinet.

"Ma’am? These are...very expensive."

"I’m sure they’ll make the trash smell lovely," Ivy deadpanned, already turning back to her computer.

The woman carefully carried the flowers over to the bin and dropped them in, petals bending under their own weight.

"Anything else?" Ivy asked.

"Yes," her secretary replied. "The architect called. Says he needs to go over some budget report with you so you can discuss it with Mr. Kane."

"Why can’t he discuss it with Mr. Kane himself?" Ivy asked, irritation sharpening her tone.

"I asked him the same thing," she said carefully. "He says Mr. Kane asked him to discuss it with you directly."

Ivy pressed her fingers to her forehead. "Son of a bitch!" she hissed. "Of course he did."

The secretary’s lips twitched, fighting a smile.

"Fine," Ivy said after a slow exhale. "Schedule the architect for a meeting today. Schedule one with House of Kane for tomorrow. I might as well deal with the circus head-on."

"Yes, ma’am."

"And," Ivy added, "please call my grandpa. Tell him to inform his friend about a dinner date for nine tonight at Seinfeld."

"Yes, ma’am. Right away."

As soon as the door shut, Ivy let her facade drop. The truth was, she couldn’t avoid Winn forever.

******

Winn arrived at Seinfeld that evening dressed in his usual brand of understated power—charcoal suit, no tie, top buttons undone, and that careless swagger that made heads turn without him trying.

He’d come to meet Maurice Heathcliffe. Winn needed him to finalize the divorce papers Sharona refused to sign. It wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, but if anyone could untangle the legal mess his marriage had become, it was Maurice.

(Additional Chapter for getting to 200 power stones.)