The morning began with a strange, heavy quiet.
Samantha stood at the long marble counter of her penthouse kitchen, waiting for her coffee to finish brewing. She hadn't slept—her thoughts looping endlessly around Marcus, Lynn's whisper, and the shadows of her past.
A soft beep echoed from the entrance.
Her security team slid a small envelope across the table.
"No return address, Ms. Bradley. Delivered by hand. The cameras didn't catch a face."
That alone made Samantha's pulse tighten.
She dismissed the guard, then turned the envelope over carefully.
It was plain. Cream. Thin.
Too light.
Too intimate.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a single photograph.
Her breath caught.
It was her.
But not Samantha Bradley.
Ally Miller.
Long brown waves. Soft smile. The woman who believed love could fix everything.
Behind the photo was a small white note.
Elegant handwriting.
Sharp strokes.
You don't know the whole truth.
Daniel Reed wasn't the one who ordered the hit.
He was paid by someone.
Samantha froze.
Her fingers went cold.
Her heart thudded painfully.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
Someone paid Daniel.
Someone orchestrated the hit—
Not random.
Not chaos.
A reason.
A target.
Her.
Her phone vibrated.
Jake:
Are you at the office? You disappeared last night.
She stared at the screen, mind racing, then typed:
I need an hour. Don't disturb me.
Jake:
Sam—
She didn't respond.
She couldn't.
Her entire reality had just tilted.
---
Later – The Charity Gala
The gala sparkled like a scene carved out of luxury: chandeliers dripping crystal, soft violin music floating through the air, dresses shimmering like liquid moonlight.
Samantha walked in with the poise of a woman who controlled empires.
Only Jake—standing behind her, observing—noticed the slight tremor beneath her stillness.
Marcus Reed was already there.
Tall. Composed. All charm and hidden knives.
He raised a glass when he saw her.
"Samantha," he said smoothly, stepping close, "you look… exquisite tonight."
"Save the compliments, Marcus."
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
She took one step closer so only he could hear.
"Tell me," she whispered, "who paid your brother?"
Marcus's expression flickered.
Just once.
Barely noticeable to anyone but her.
Then he regained his smooth smile.
"My dear Samantha," he murmured, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
She didn't blink.
"I'm not here to believe," she said softly. "I'm here to end this."
He chuckled low.
"Then you're chasing ghosts."
Her jaw tightened, but she forced a smile for passing guests.
To anyone watching, they looked like two titans discussing business.
But beneath the surface—
a war simmered.
Chapter 62 - The Letter And The Bridge
The Message from Nick
Samantha was returning to her penthouse later that night when her phone buzzed.
Nick:
Meet me. Please.
Brooklyn Bridge.
10 minutes.
She almost ignored it.
Almost.
But something—
maybe exhaustion, maybe curiosity, maybe the ghost of Ally—
made her step into the waiting car and tell her driver to reroute.
The Brooklyn Bridge loomed ahead, lit softly against the night sky, wind tugging at her hair as she walked toward the center.
Nick stood there.
Hands in his pockets.
Eyes on the water.
Lost.
Broken.
He turned when he heard her steps.
His breath caught.
"You came," he whispered.
Samantha stopped a few feet away. "You said it was important."
Nick laughed weakly. "Yeah. Important."
His voice cracked.
"I haven't been back here since… not once."
Samantha's chest tightened.
Because this bridge was the place Ally—she—once held his hands and told him he could conquer the world.
Nick swallowed hard.
"You know," he said softly, "someone once stood here with me… years ago. She believed in me more than I ever believed in myself."
Samantha's throat burned.
But she said nothing.
Nick stepped closer—slow, hesitant, as if afraid the wind might blow her away.
"I don't know why," he continued, voice trembling, "but being near you… feels like being forgiven."
Her breath hitched.
He wasn't looking at Samantha.
He was looking at a ghost.
A memory.
Her.
Nick's voice lowered to a whisper.
"You feel like home."
His eyes glistened.
"And I can't explain it."
Samantha felt her composure crack—hairline fractures spreading through her chest.
The bridge creaked softly beneath them.
"I don't need forgiveness," she whispered.
"No," Nick said, shaking his head, "but I do."
His voice broke completely.
"I lost something precious, and… I keep thinking if I talk to you, if I stand here with you—"
He swallowed, tears spilling.
"—maybe somehow the universe will give me one more chance."
Samantha closed her eyes.
Her nails dug into her palms.
She almost said it.
The truth sat on her tongue, burning.
Nick…
I was your wife.
But she didn't.
She couldn't.
Not yet.
Nick stepped closer—a breath away now.
"Samantha," he murmured, "tell me why I feel like I've known you before."
She looked up at him—eyes shimmering, full of seven years of buried pain.
"Because you're looking for someone who isn't here anymore," she whispered.
Nick's face crumpled.
He didn't touch her.
He just stood there, shattered.
And Samantha walked away before she broke too.
*******
Back in her penthouse, she dropped her keys, leaned against the door, and slid down slowly until she was sitting on the floor.
Her hands shook uncontrollably.
Not from fear.
From truth.
Someone had ordered the hit.
Someone had wanted her dead.
Not Marcus.
Not Daniel.
Someone else—
Someone closer.
Someone she once trusted.
Her breath turned shallow.
The note burned into her memory:
You don't know the whole truth.
Daniel Reed wasn't the one who ordered the hit.
He was paid.
By who?
Her mind raced.
Kate?
Chloe?
Nick?
Someone in Carter Group?
Someone outside it?
The walls felt like they were closing in.
The universe had just ripped open a deeper hole than she expected.
And the bridge…
Nick's voice…
His tears…
His confession…
It all tangled painfully inside her.
She pressed her forehead to her knees, whispering—
"I'm losing control."
But the city outside kept moving.
Unaware.
Unapologetic.
And in the dark corners of New York, someone watched her through an untraceable camera feed.
Someone who knew her past.
Someone who knew the truth.
Someone who had ordered that hit seven years ago.
And now…
They wanted her attention.