I raised my hand and knocked once. Solid. Measured. Loud enough to be heard, not loud enough to beg.

Then I waited.

Nala stood half a step behind me, close enough that I could feel her presence at my back, her posture straight, composed, CEO calm layered over quiet fury. If this turned into a negotiation, she was the blade I trusted. If it turned into something uglier, I'd handle the rest.

"So this is Anotta's place…" She murmured to herself.

The villa itself felt like a statement before the door even opened. Marble floors under my boots, tall white pillars framing the hallway, art that looked expensive enough to be insured separately. Even the air smelled curated—faint perfume, clean wood, something floral and cold. Money lived here. Power lounged comfortably in every corner.

Two guards stood at attention on either side of the door ahead of us. Black suits, earpieces, hands folded loosely but ready. They didn't look at us. They didn't need to.

From inside, a woman's voice carried through the thick door, smooth and amused.

"Come in, Marlowe."

One of the guards reached out immediately, opening the door inward.

We stepped through. The room beyond wasn't an office like how I initially thought.

It was a bedroom—huge, opulent, unapologetically indulgent. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, sheer curtains drawn just enough to let the afternoon light spill in. A king-sized bed dominated the center, dressed in dark silk sheets that caught the light like liquid. A chandelier hung above, crystal catching fire from the sun. Plush chairs sat near a low table scattered with jewelry and a half-finished glass of something amber.

And near the far wall, framed by a vanity crowded with makeup, brushes, and small bottles of perfume, sat Anotta.

She faced the mirror, back to us, one leg crossed slowly over the other as she applied eyeliner with a steady hand. Her short silver hair was tied back neatly, exposing the line of her neck. She wore a long black dress that clung to her body like it had been tailored with intent—high slit revealing one toned thigh, low back dipping just enough to promise more without giving it away. Elegant. Dangerous. Sexy in a way that didn't ask permission.

Her reflection met mine in the mirror as we entered. The guard closed the door behind us with a soft click. Anotta didn't turn around.

She didn't rush.

She simply continued what she was doing, as if we were furniture that had always been there.

I stepped forward and stopped a few feet behind her, crossing my arms. Nala stayed at my side, her expression unreadable, eyes sharp.

"I need your help," I said.

Anotta didn't react. Her hand didn't falter. She leaned in closer to the mirror, fixing a small detail near the corner of her eye.

"I really need your help," I added, my voice firmer.

Silence stretched, thick and intentional.

Finally, she spoke, still not looking at us directly.

"About what, I wonder, Marlowe."

Nala shifted slightly, her heels clicking once against the floor. "Carrie Beldenwary," she said. "She took someone precious to us."

That earned a pause. Anotta's hand stopped mid-motion. Just for a second. Then she resumed, slow and unbothered.

"Who might that be?"

"Kim," I said. "You don't know her. But she's valuable to me. And I want her back."

Anotta's lips curved faintly. She met my eyes again through the mirror.

"I'm not Carrie," she said coolly. "As you can see. And, again, as you can see, Kim isn't here."

"I need help," I said. "To bring Carrie down."

Her eyebrow lifted, elegant and mocking. "You want my help?"

"Yes."

She chuckled under her breath, finally setting the makeup pencil down. "Carrie and I go a long way back. Three years. Maybe four. Why would I betray her?"

"You know something," I said. "You always do."

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs the other way, studying her reflection like she was judging the world itself. "Each time shit hits the fan, you come to me. I refuse to help you. And somehow, you win anyway."

"This time is different," I said. "There's no room for error. One mistake and Kim is gone. I can't afford that. That's why you're going to help me."

Her smile sharpened. "Going to?"

I met her gaze without blinking. "Or you'll be my next target. I won't stop until you have nothing left, Anotta."

The air shifted. Nala gave me a side glance, like wondering what the hell I was doing.

Anotta stared at me through the mirror, expression unreadable. A moment passed. Then another. Her fingers tapped once against the vanity.

Then she laughed.

Low. Soft. Dangerous.

She lifted a hand, covering her mouth briefly, as if catching herself before the sound got too loud. When she lowered it, her smile was gone.

"Tom isn't her real son," she said.

Nala stiffened beside me. "What?"

"Step-son," Anotta continued calmly. "Carrie never married again after her husband died. She couldn't have children. Doctors told her it was impossible."

I frowned. "Then Tom…?"

"He was taken from an orphanage," Anotta said, finally turning in her chair to face us fully. "She picked him herself. He was young, malleable. She raised him like an investment."

She stood up, smoothing the front of her dress, then walked a slow, unhurried circle as she spoke.

"Three years ago, Tom was involved in an accident. Late night. Heavy rain. He was drunk. Not tipsy—drunk. He shouldn't have been driving at all."

"Shit… how did it happen?"

"He was speeding through an intersection," Anotta went on. "Didn't see the pedestrian crossing. Hit her head-on."

Nala inhaled quietly beside me.

"She died instantly," Anotta said. "Just a woman on her way home. Her name was Elena Menlin."

"The husband?" I asked.

"Mark Menlin," Anotta replied. "Construction engineer. Ordinary man. No influence, no protection. He lost his wife and got a lawyer who didn't fight very hard."

She glanced back over her shoulder.

"Carrie handled it," Anotta said. "She paid for the funeral. Paid the hospital anyway, even though it was pointless. Then paid Mark directly. Enough money that he didn't push for charges. Enough that the case quietly disappeared."

"So Tom walked," I said.

"Yes," Anotta answered. "License revoked. Some paperwork. No trial. No prison. No consequences that mattered."

"Fucking Tom," I muttered.

"Carrie buried it," Anotta said evenly. "She does that well."

She turned back toward her vanity.

"This information isn't free," she added. "Project Phoenix. I want everything. Structure, development process, long-term plan."

"Deal," Nala said immediately.

I glanced at her. She didn't hesitate.

"Where is Mark Menlin now?" I asked.

"East of here, Vanguin Street." Anotta replied. "Small apartment. Drinks too much. Keeps his head down."

I nodded. "I'll talk to him."

"Convince him to reopen a dead case?" Anotta said with a small shrug. "Good luck. We have a saying. Деньги не пахнут."

"What does that mean?" Nala asked.

"Money doesn't smell," Anotta said, already returning to her makeup. "Now go. I need to get ready."

I exhaled quietly, tension sitting heavy but controlled.

"Hmm…"

We stepped out of Anotta's bedroom together.

I paused in the corridor for a second, watching as one of the guards closed the door behind us. The soft click echoed more than it should have. I stared at the door, then shook my head and turned away.

Nala fell into step beside me.

The corridor was long and quiet, dark wood panels on the walls and low lights near the floor casting soft shadows. Thick carpets swallowed the sound of our footsteps as we headed toward the stairs. The whole place felt too calm for what I was thinking about.

We reached the top of the staircase. As we started down, Nala pulled out her phone and immediately called someone.

We went down a few steps.

No answer.

She pulled the phone away, frowned at the screen, then tried again. The call rang longer this time.

"Damn it," she muttered. "Kim. Pick up…"

"She's not answering me either," I said quietly. "I've been trying all morning."

Nala ended the call with a sharp movement, jaw tight, and slipped the phone back into her pocket.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed the wide foyer toward the main doors. A maid hurried ahead of us and opened them before we reached the handle.

Cold air rushed in immediately.

We stepped outside, and the wind hit us full force. Snow whipped sideways, stinging my face as I lowered my head and walked faster.

The villa's garden looked unreal under the storm. Perfect hedges buried in white, stone paths barely visible, statues half-covered in snow. Tall trees bent under the wind, shedding powder with every gust.

Our car was parked near the edge of the circular driveway, close to a row of decorative lanterns that barely cut through the snowfall. We hurried toward it, boots crunching against packed snow.

I unlocked the car and we climbed in quickly, shutting the doors against the wind. The silence inside felt heavy.

I started the engine, turned the heater up, and eased the car forward. Snow slid off the roof as the iron gates slowly opened ahead of us.

We rolled through, and the gates closed behind us with a dull metallic sound.

As I drove, the surroundings shifted into wide, quiet streets lined with high walls, security cameras, and tall trees. This part of the city was all estates and privacy. No shops. No people. Just money and distance.

I kept the speed low, steady, manually holding it around twenty so the tires wouldn't lose grip. The road was slick, and the wind made the car rattle every now and then.

I rubbed my face with one hand, then put it back on the wheel.

"You were quick to accept that deal," I said.

"Deal?" Nala asked.

"Project Phoenix," I said. "You really just gave it to her."

"A project isn't more valuable than Kim," she replied immediately.

I glanced at her.

"Besides," she continued, looking out the windshield, "Project Phoenix is an idea. I can always build another one."

I bit my lip, my shoulders easing without me noticing. "Thank you," I said. "Really."

"I don't need a thank you," she said softly. "I need Kim back in the penthouse. I need us together. It sounds strange, but… we're a family. In a twisted way."

I smiled faintly and kept driving.

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