The ink on the paper was already dry, but my hand still shook.

I laid the heavy silver pen down on the polished mahogany table.

“It is done, Alessia,” Vanessa Hale said, sliding the folder toward her briefcase.

Marcus did not even look at me.

He adjusted his silk tie, his eyes fixed on his phone as if I had already ceased to exist.

Outside, the rain beat a steady, relentless rhythm against the tall arched windows of the courthouse.

“You got what you wanted, Marcus,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket with slow, deliberate movements.

“You were never meant for this life anyway,” he replied, his voice flat.

He walked out of the room without looking back, leaving me alone with the heavy silence of my freedom.

In the hallway, I saw Evelyn Shaw waiting for him.

She wore a scarlet coat that stood out against the grey marble of the courthouse corridor.

She slid her arm through his, whispering something in his ear that made him smile.

Evelyn glanced back at me through the open doorway, her lips curving into a cold smirk.

I took a deep breath, resting my hand flat against my stomach.

The secret stayed locked inside me, a tiny heartbeat only I knew about.

I walked toward the exit, my heels clicking against the cold stone floor.

At the main entrance, a man stood blocking the way to the rain-slicked steps.

He was exceptionally tall, dressed in a tailored charcoal overcoat that fit his broad shoulders.

His dark hair was slicked back, damp from the storm.

His eyes caught mine, intense and unblinking, the color of polished flint.

I stopped, my breath catching in my throat.

“Alessia,” he said.

His voice was a deep, quiet rumble that seemed to vibrate through the damp air.

“Do I know you?” I asked, stepping back an inch.

“No,” he said, his gaze dropping briefly to my hands before returning to my face. “But I know you.”

A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the damp cold of the rain.

“I am Dante Russo,” he said.