Ian Ross never lingered at parties, not even his own.
But that night, long after the guests had gone and the last champagne glass had been cleared, he stood in his office, staring at the city skyline like it held answers he couldn't find in Maria's eyes.
She had changed.
He wasn't a man who dwelled on feelings, but even he could see it—her gaze was sharper, her voice steadier, her smile laced with something colder than charm.
It wasn't just nerves.
It was strategy.
And he hated how much that intrigued him.
---
Meanwhile, across the city, Maria kicked off her heels and collapsed onto her bed.
The night had gone exactly as planned.
Dana had taken the bait, the whispers had spread, and Ian… Ian was officially off-balance. She could see it in his eyes. He didn't know what she was thinking anymore.
Perfect.
She opened her laptop and pulled up her private notes.
Suspected: Dana's working with someone higher up.
Unconfirmed: Ian's full role in my death.
Objective: Uncover motive. Divide their alliance. Gain control.
The old Maria had been caught between two wolves, thinking she was safe because she loved them.
This version of Maria had claws.
---
The next day, Maria met Ian at Ross Global HQ for a scheduled appearance. They were supposed to be photographed together for a charity gala campaign—just another image to maintain for the press.
She arrived fifteen minutes early, wearing a sleek navy dress and low heels. Her hair was in a neat bun, her makeup minimal but flawless.
The receptionist stared at her. "You're early, Miss Sinclair."
"Just excited to see my fiancé," Maria replied sweetly.
The woman flushed and gestured toward the private elevator.
Upstairs, the doors opened to Ian's office—an expanse of glass, steel, and silence.
He was at his desk, flipping through a folder.
"You're early," he said, glancing up.
"You sound surprised," Maria replied.
He looked at her, and she noticed it again—the hesitation. The study. Like he was trying to solve her before she exploded.
"You used to be late," he said.
"You used to smile more," she countered, walking past him toward the window. "But I guess we're both evolving."
He stood and walked over. "What are you doing, Maria?"
She turned, feigning innocence. "Getting married, apparently."
"That's not what I mean."
He stepped closer.
"You've changed."
Maria met his gaze. "You keep saying that like it's a problem."
He said nothing.
She crossed her arms. "Do you want to call off the wedding?"
"No," he said quickly. "I want to understand you."
That stopped her.
Understand?
That was new.
"Ian, if you didn't want to marry me in the first place, you could've just said so," she said quietly. "You've never had trouble walking away from things."
His jaw tightened. "You think I didn't want to marry you?"
Maria gave a humorless laugh. "You never looked at me like a man in love. Not even once."
"I gave you everything," he said sharply.
"You gave me silence. Distance. A ring with no warmth behind it."
They stared at each other in heavy silence.
Then Ian did something unexpected.
He reached out and gently took her hand.
It wasn't possessive. It wasn't controlling.
It was... cautious. Like he was touching something fragile for the first time.
"I don't know who you are anymore," he said softly.
Maria pulled her hand away. "Good. That's the point."
---
After the photoshoot, she found herself wandering the halls of Ross Global.
She remembered the space well—the boardroom, the elevators, the cold gleam of the walls. It was here, in this very building, that she once overheard Dana on a phone call she shouldn't have been on. A conversation she had dismissed as unimportant.
Now, she couldn't afford to miss anything.
She passed by Ian's assistant, a slender woman named Lena, who froze slightly when she noticed Maria.
"Lena," Maria said warmly, "I'm so glad to see you again."
"Miss Sinclair," Lena said, clearly surprised. "I didn't know you'd be here today."
"I'm full of surprises these days." Maria tilted her head. "Do you have a moment?"
Lena looked uncertain. "Of course."
They stepped into a small conference room.
Maria sat on the edge of the table. "I was wondering—do you still handle Ian's travel logistics?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember that Milan trip last year? I know Ian and Dana were both there, but I never got the full itinerary. It's been bothering me."
Lena hesitated.
"I'm not accusing anyone of anything," Maria added gently. "I just want to understand what was happening behind the scenes. I deserve to, don't you think?"
Lena lowered her voice. "I wasn't supposed to say anything, but... Dana handled her own arrangements. She wasn't even on the official guest list."
Maria's heart slowed. "So she went without being invited?"
"Yes. And Ian didn't look pleased when she showed up."
Maria stared at her for a moment. "Thank you. That's all I needed to know."
---
That evening, Maria sat by her window at home, fingers tapping against her tea cup.
Pieces were moving.
She had confirmed something important today—Dana's presence in Milan hadn't been planned. She had inserted herself into Ian's trip. Which meant the affair might not have started then. Maybe... it hadn't even started at all.
So why had Dana lied?
More importantly—why had Ian never told her?
She pulled out her journal again.
New theory: Dana was manipulating BOTH of us.
The idea sent a chill through her spine.
What if Ian hadn't betrayed her? What if he was just another pawn?
No.
She couldn't allow herself to soften. Not yet.
But it was a possibility she had to explore.
---
The next day, Ian sent a text.
> I want to talk. Alone. No cameras. No press. Just us.
Maria stared at the message for a long moment.
He was digging. Trying to understand the version of her who had crawled back from the grave.
Let him try.
She would let him close—but not too close.
Because he wasn't the only one being watched.
And soon, she'd find out who else had been in that room the night she died.