The envelope sat untouched on my desk, buried beneath client briefs and HR compliance reports. I had considered reading it a dozen times, but something inside me recoiled every time my fingers grazed its surface. I wasn't ready—not to revisit that world—not yet. I still held a grudge with the pact; the pain and betrayal were very much embedded in me. But my children are a blessing, whoever their father is. I don't give shit.
Instead, I packed.
My flight to Melbourne would leave in three hours, and, as always, I traveled in style. Not ostentatious. Polished. Efficient. A fitted trench coat, designer carry-on, and matte sunglasses that hid more than tired eyes. I passed through the private terminal where Arkline executives were fast-tracked through security. I belonged here. Unbothered. Unnoticed.
Until I wasn't.
As I adjusted my scarf near Gate 12, my skin prickled. That familiar sixth sense flared like it used to during late-night stakeouts with Leo. Someone was watching.
I turned.
And froze.
Dante Vale.
He was standing near a newsstand, scanning his phone, unreadable as ever. Now, he was older and colder, dressed in all-black mafia style and flanked by two suited men I instinctively clocked as guards. But his eyes lifted—sharply. They darted across the crowd.
Right through me.
Then past.
I tilted my head, lowered my chin slightly, and altered my gait.
He frowned.
One of his men whispered something. Dante stiffened, then moved swiftly in my direction.
I ducked into a cosmetic boutique near the terminal bathrooms and waited, heart thudding. Thirty seconds. Sixty. I slipped out the back exit, looped around, and saw him again.
He was speaking into his phone. "Check the footage. Someone passed. Looked like her. Might be her."
Her.
My breath caught. I had cut my hair for the last three years I had maintained a stylish bob cut, wore make-up and high heals, something the pact would never have expected.
I boarded the flight early, settled into my first-class window seat, and inhaled and exhaled. When the wheels lifted, I powered on my secure line and sent a coded message.
To: X.D.
Msg: Saw D.V. at Kingsford. He almost spotted me. Still clean?
His response came two minutes later.
From: X.D.
Msg: I already erased your presence. If they searched, there wouldn't be any trace. But... are you okay?
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
To: X.D.
Msg: Just ghosts.
XD stand for Xader Deller, a friend I met at the airport when I ran away from the pact. I was torn and depressed then. Sitting next to him in the aeroplane, he was quick to notice and just stated, "Life has its ups and down but don't let them define your future." He is the person who linked me to my current job and is the owner of the building and construction corporation I work in as I later learned. I owe him a lot since he took me in and never questioned my background. When I was comfortable enough, I narrated my experience to him; since then, he has stood with me.
I met Nia, my assistant, seated comfortably on the flight as if nothing had happened. I had trained her never to question anything, and when she witnessed a disappearing act, she should act as if she were alone. That had been our agreement from the day I started working with her, and she has been faithful.
The rest of the flight passed in quiet. I landed in Melbourne, where a chauffeured sedan was already waiting. At the hotel, Nia had pre-arranged everything. I reviewed the audit summaries and flagged key areas. Brisbane's turnover rates were worse than reported.
The next morning, I walked into a conference room full of managers and company leads who treated me like an outsider in a pencil skirt. One tried to mansplain corporate culture. Another said I looked too young to make such hard decisions.
I eviscerated their quarterly stats in twenty minutes flat.
"Culture begins with consistency," I said coolly. "And inconsistency starts with poor leadership. Fix that, and maybe the numbers will follow."
Silence.
After the meeting, I retreated to my suite and called home. Julian answered first, babbling about apples and airplanes. Jasmine demanded to know if kangaroos were real.
I laughed. "They are. I'll show you when you're older."
When the call ended, I sat by the window and let my thoughts drift. Back to scraped knees and stolen moments. Back to a boy who fixed cars, one who fixed hearts, one who broke the rules, and one who ruled shadows.
Back to a promise carved into a tree.
And to the envelope waiting to be opened.