The morning sun filtered weakly through the towering windows of Zack's penthouse, but the light felt dim, as if it too feared the shadows lingering in this place. I sat on the edge of the couch, still reeling from the previous night—the chilling truth I had uncovered in the study, Zack's veiled threats, and the simmering tension that now seemed to define our marriage.

My tea sat untouched on the coffee table, the warmth seeping out of it, much like the control I thought I had over my life. A knock at the door startled me, and I stiffened.

"Come in," I called out, my voice steady, though my nerves were anything but.

Charles, the ever-stoic butler, entered, bowing slightly. "Mrs. Knight, Mr. Knight requests your presence in the study."

I swallowed hard, bracing myself. The study. That room already held too many secrets. Yet I nodded, smoothing the fabric of my blouse as if that simple act would prepare me for whatever awaited me.

When I arrived, Zack was leaning against his desk, his arms crossed, his icy blue eyes locking onto mine as soon as I entered. He looked every bit the powerful billionaire he was—imposing, controlled, and utterly unreadable.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, keeping my tone even.

"Yes," he said, his voice as sharp as the morning air. "Sit." He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

I hesitated but complied, my heart pounding in my chest. "What is this about?"

"Last night," he began, his gaze unwavering. "You found something you weren't meant to see."

I felt my stomach drop but forced myself to meet his eyes. "I didn't mean to pry, Zack. It was just...there."

"And now you think you know everything," he said, his voice laced with disdain.

"No," I replied, surprising myself with the steadiness of my tone. "But I know enough to realize that this marriage isn't what it seems."

His lips curved into a humorless smile. "It took you long enough to figure that out."

I clenched my hands in my lap, willing myself to stay calm. "If you think threats and half-truths will keep me quiet, you're wrong. I deserve to know what's happening, Zack. Who was Isabella to you? And why are you listed as a person of interest in her case?"

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—pain, regret, or maybe just anger. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. "Isabella was my fiancée," he said flatly. "And her death was...unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" I repeated, disbelief ringing in my voice. "She was murdered, Zack. And your name—"

"My name was dragged into it because of who I am," he interrupted, his voice cold. "People like me don't get the benefit of the doubt, Delilah. They assume the worst because it makes for a better story."

I wanted to believe him, but the memory of that report, the whispers in the tabloids, and his own evasiveness made it impossible. "If you're innocent, then why all the secrecy? Why not clear your name?"

"Because innocence doesn't matter," he said, his tone bitter. "Not in my world."

Before I could respond, the study door swung open, and Lucas Knight strode in. His presence was as commanding as ever, his piercing gaze immediately sweeping over both of us.

"Good morning, Delilah," he said, his tone cordial but edged. Then, to Zack, "We need to talk. Now."

"Whatever it is, it can wait," Zack replied, his jaw tightening.

"No, it can't," Lucas said firmly, his gaze narrowing. "It's about the Sinclair case."

The air in the room seemed to shift, growing heavier. Zack straightened, his expression darkening. "What about it?"

Lucas glanced at me, then back at Zack. "I'd prefer to discuss this privately."

Zack hesitated, then nodded toward the door. "Wait outside," he told me, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I rose, my pulse racing, and stepped into the hallway. But instead of walking away, I lingered by the door, straining to catch their voices.

"You told me this was under control," Zack said, his tone low but furious.

"It was," Lucas replied. "But there's been a development. Someone leaked information to the press. They're circling like vultures."

"Who?" Zack demanded.

"I'm working on that," Lucas said. "But there's more. Ethan's name has surfaced again."

Ethan. The name hit me like a thunderbolt. The man I'd tried so hard to escape, the one who had orchestrated my family's ruin. My knees felt weak, and I gripped the wall for support.

"What does he have to do with this?" Zack asked.

"Everything," Lucas replied. "And if we're not careful, this will destroy us all."

I barely had time to process his words before the door opened, and Zack stepped out. His expression was stormy, but when his eyes landed on me, they softened—just a fraction.

"Eavesdropping, Delilah?" he asked, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

"I couldn't help but overhear," I admitted. "Who's Ethan?"

For the first time since I'd met him, Zack looked genuinely hesitant. "He's a ghost from your past and mine," he said cryptically. "And if he's back...then we're in more trouble than I thought."

"What does that mean?" I pressed. "Zack, if I'm going to survive this, I need to know the truth."

He studied me for a long moment, as if weighing whether or not to trust me. Finally, he sighed. "It means that the game has changed, Delilah. And if you're not ready to play, you'd better start learning."

With that, he walked away, leaving me alone in the hallway, my heart pounding and my mind racing. The walls of my new life were closing in, and the shadows were growing darker. But one thing was clear—I wouldn't let them consume me. Not without a fight.