Nathan's POV
The black SUV rolled to a slow stop two streets away from the Grand Hallow Estate, the soft hum of the engine fading as Director Keene's voice crackled once in his earpiece. "Positions, everyone. Remember—eyes everywhere, hands nowhere unless necessary."
Inside the surveillance van parked in the shadow of an alley, Dana Voss was already in her element. Nathan could hear the faint tap of her fingers on the comms console, each keystroke punctuated by her low, even voice relaying updates. Beside her, Javier Ross hunched over the flickering feeds from the covert cams they'd planted earlier—tight jaw, eyes scanning every pixel like they might betray a secret.
Nathan adjusted the cufflink on his tailored charcoal suit and caught his reflection in the tinted window—unfamiliar, polished, dangerous. Callum Hayes' voice cut in from inside the estate, calm and clipped, "Main floor secure. Guest flow steady. No flags yet." Somewhere deeper in the crowd, Mira Lang was already mingling, her lilting laugh a weapon as sharp as any blade.
Nathan's turn would come soon enough. He'd move between them all—never still, never predictable—listening, watching, reporting. No interference unless the moment demanded it.
The estate loomed ahead, lit in soft gold, its open doors spilling warm light into the night. Nathan stepped out into the cool evening air, the hum of wealth and anticipation already drifting toward him.
Showtime.
Nathan straightened his tie, feeling the weight of the hidden comm pressed lightly against his ear. The estate's gravel drive crunched under his polished shoes as he approached the main entrance. A pair of uniformed doormen swung the heavy oak doors open without a word, the soft strains of live strings spilling out into the night.
Warmth enveloped him instantly—golden light spilling over gilded walls, crystal chandeliers catching every glimmer of movement, and the subtle hum of expensive perfume mingling with aged wine. The air had a density to it, the kind that came with power.
"Cross, you're clear," Dana's voice murmured through the comm, steady and low. "Target's not in sight yet. Mira's tracking the west wing crowd. Callum's near the buffet. Javier's monitoring the east hallway cam feed."
Nathan gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, eyes scanning without lingering.
This wasn't about blending in—it was about being forgettable. A shadow in a suit. He worked the perimeter at an unhurried pace, fingertips brushing the edge of a champagne flute he had no intention of drinking from. The rhythm of the room was easy to read: the high laughter in the center, the quieter, more dangerous deals whispered near the corners.
He had his route planned—guest clusters, staff flow, exits—but somewhere in the back of his mind, an unwelcome thought nudged at him. She might be here. Ava. He shut it down before it could root.
"Stay sharp," Director Keene's voice came through the comm. "We're here to observe, not disrupt."
Nathan's jaw tightened slightly. He was here for the mission, not for distractions. Yet, as the crowd shifted, he caught himself looking—just once—toward the grand staircase.
And then he moved on.
---
Ava's POV
The corridor leading from the family entrance was quieter than she expected. No music, no chatter — just the faint hum of distant voices and the soft click of her heels against polished marble. The air was cooler here, carrying the lingering trace of her mother's expensive perfume.
She spotted them before they saw her — her father, sharp in a tailored charcoal suit, the cut so precise it looked like it could slice through the air. Her mother stood at his side in a gown designed to outshine the chandeliers, hair in a perfect twist, her smile more weapon than warmth.
When her father's gaze finally landed on her, it skimmed down her dress in a swift, clinical assessment.
"You've grown into the name," he said, his tone unreadable — hovering between approval and warning.
Her mother's eyes traveled over her in much the same way, though her comment landed softer, yet somehow sharper.
"Forest green suits you. It almost makes you look… confident."
Before Ava could respond, Monica shifted just slightly, positioning herself between her and their scrutiny. Her lips barely moved as she murmured, "Breathe."
Ava did.
Two staff members appeared, speaking quietly to her father. Everything was ready. The family assembled — her father at the front, her mother beside him, Monica just behind. Ava was placed at the end, close enough to be seen but still half-shadowed.
When the double doors opened, light spilled in, dazzling after the dim corridor. The gala hall stretched out before them — glittering glasses, golden light spilling across silk-draped tables, faces turning toward the arrival. Her father stepped forward, commanding the room without raising his voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his deep tone carrying easily, "thank you for joining us tonight — for celebrating not only the success of our endeavors, but the promise of what's to come."
He spoke with practiced ease, blending charm with authority, drawing polite laughter one moment and silence the next. Ava kept her gaze low, trying to disappear into the polished marble beneath her feet.
Then his tone shifted — warmer, almost casual. Ava felt the tension before she understood why.
"There's one more thing I'd like to share with you all tonight," he said, turning just enough for the crowd to follow his gaze toward her. "Some of you have known me for years, but not all of you have had the privilege of meeting my daughter. My other daughter."
A ripple of whispers moved through the guests.
"Avery Queen," he continued, his hand gesturing toward her in a way that drew every eye, "the future of our family's legacy."
Polite applause rose, laced with curiosity. The name she had buried for years rang in her ears, louder than the music, louder than the clinking glasses.
She forced a smile, wishing she could step back into the shadows — but the spotlight clung to her like a second skin, refusing to let her go.
---
Nathan's POV
Nathan moved along the edge of the crowd, the champagne flute in his hand catching stray shards of chandelier light. His earpiece buzzed softly with Dana's voice, a low stream of updates from the surveillance van. Callum was visible across the floor, casually intercepting a man who'd strayed too close to the restricted wing. Javier's check-ins came every few seconds, a steady rhythm Nathan had tuned into without thinking.
Then, the air in the room shifted. A subtle, collective inhale. Heads turned toward the raised platform at the front of the hall, and the polite hum of conversation dulled into silence.
The Queen family stood there — Monica at her father's side, poised and flawless in a way that made her feel untouchable. Nathan's focus was automatic, trained on her expressions, her posture, the angles of her attention.
And then…
A flicker of movement just behind her shoulder.
She was standing half in shadow, forest-green fabric catching the faintest glow from the stage lights. Sleeveless dress, hair swept away from her face. The rest of her was quiet — too quiet — as if she'd folded herself into the darkness to avoid being seen.
And yet he saw her.
For half a second, his mind rejected it. That wasn't her — couldn't be her. The Ava he knew would never stand on that stage, never be part of this.
Her father's voice rang out.
"…and now, I introduce you to my other daughter. Avery Queen."
The name landed like a gunshot.
His chest tightened, breath halting halfway. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, flooding his pulse with a rush so strong it drowned out the chatter in his earpiece. Every sound dulled, the edges of the room blurring until there was only her — and the name he thought belonged to a ghost.
Avery Queen.
The file photo flashed in his memory: a younger face, softer, framed in the awkward lines of adolescence. But her eyes — God, the eyes were the same.
Weeks. He'd passed her in hallways. Talked to her. Looked into those eyes. She'd been right there.
His stomach turned, a sour burn climbing his throat.
Dana's voice cut in, sharp with disbelief. "Nathan. Did he just say Avery Queen?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
Because all at once, the mission had shifted. And the girl he'd thought was a bystander was standing in the center of a world he'd been sent to dismantle — with her family's arm around her shoulders.