Six Months Earlier

  The night Henry Sincler died, Ava was in court.

  She was cross-examining a key witness, dismantling his credibility piece by piece, when her phone buzzed. She ignored it. The second time, Marco sent a text: Call me. Urgent.

  She still ignored it.

  It wasn’t until the judge called for a recess that she checked her notifications. Missed calls. Voicemails. Marco. Josh. Even her mother, who hadn’t directly called her in years. Then the last message from Marco: He collapsed. It’s bad.

  By the time she reached the hospital, it was too late.

  She found Josh in the hallway, pacing, a half-empty whiskey flask in his hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his usually effortless charm stripped away.

  "Where were you?" he asked, voice hoarse.

  "Working," she said, the word tasting bitter. "What happened?"

  "He objected. Then dropped dead. Pretty poetic, right?"

  Ava stared at the door behind him. "Where is he?"

  Josh let out a humorless laugh. "They already took him. You missed your chance, Counselor."

  She clenched her jaw. "And Mom?"

  Josh took a long swig from the flask. "On a flight back from Milan. Should be here by morning. Not that it matters."

  Ava didn’t respond. Instead, she walked past him into the empty hospital room. The bed was already stripped, the monitors silent. Just the faintest scent of antiseptic and Henry Sincler's cologne lingered in the air.

  She stood there for a long time, waiting to feel something. Anything. But all she could hear was his voice in her head: Pain is inevitable. Weakness is a choice.

  So she chose not to be weak.

  Present Day

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  Ava sat in her car outside the mansion, her father’s notes still in her lap. The party inside pulsed like a living thing, music spilling into the night air.

  Josh’s words echoed in her head: He’s dead. And you’re still here, trying to impress a ghost.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe she was still that seven-year-old girl staring at her father’s headlines, desperate to prove she was strong enough to deserve his attention.

  She exhaled sharply and reached for her phone.

  Marco: Need you to look into something for me. Find out who sent my father’s trial notes.

  His reply came fast. Not Josh?

  Not Josh.

  A pause. Then: Got it. You okay?

  Ava stared at the message. Was she? She wasn’t sure she knew what okay looked like anymore.

  Finally, she typed back: Always.

  Then she tossed her phone onto the passenger seat, squared her shoulders, and stepped out of the car. The past wasn’t done with her yet. And if someone wanted her tangled in her father’s legacy—she was ready to find out why.

  The Office

  The next morning, Ava walked into her firm’s glass-walled headquarters, exuding confidence in a crisp black suit. The office hummed with controlled chaos, junior associates scrambling between case files and whispered conversations.

  Marco greeted her at the door with two things: her usual coffee and a file.

  "You’ve been assigned a new client," he said. "Big one."

  Ava raised an eyebrow. "Bigger than a billionaire tech fraud?"

  "Try the billion-dollar CEO." Marco handed her the file. "Ethan Cole."

  She flipped it open. Ethan Cole. Founder of Cole Industries. A man who made headlines for disrupting entire industries but had a reputation for playing fair in a world that rarely rewarded integrity.

  Ava frowned. "Why does a man who never loses need a defense attorney?"

  Marco smirked. "Maybe he finally lost."

  She shut the file. "Schedule a meeting."

  The Meeting

  Ethan Cole’s presence filled the room the second he walked in. He was tall, effortlessly composed, dressed in an expensive but understated suit. Unlike her usual clients, he didn’t radiate desperation or arrogance. Just quiet confidence.

  He extended a hand. "Ms. Sincler."

  She shook it, her grip firm. "Mr. Cole."

  He smiled slightly. "Ethan."

  She didn’t return the smile. "Let’s get to it. What’s the case?"

  Ethan studied her, as if he saw past the sharp lines of her suit and the steel in her voice. "A corporate sabotage attempt. False accusations. Someone wants to take Cole Industries down, and they’re using me as the scapegoat."

  Ava leaned back. "And why should I believe you didn’t do it?"

  Ethan didn’t flinch. "Because you’re too smart to take on guilty clients. And because I don’t fight dirty."

  Something about the way he said it made her pause. He wasn’t defending himself—he was just stating a fact. She wasn’t used to that.

  She closed the file. "I’ll take the case. But let’s get one thing straight—this isn’t personal. I win cases. That’s all."

  Ethan’s eyes held something unreadable. "Of course."

  But as she walked out, she could feel it—his gaze lingering, like he knew something she didn’t.

  And that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.