The sky was velvet dark, pierced by city lights shimmering like secrets too loud to stay hidden. Carolina stepped into the lounge where Samuel was nursing a drink—again.
She didn't hesitate. No soft steps, no pretending. She walked straight to him, hips swaying like a slow-burning fuse.
Samuel didn't look up immediately, but he felt her presence. Everyone did.
"I was wondering when you'd come find me," he murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
Carolina smiled—sharp, not sweet. "I figured it's time we stop dancing around each other."
He chuckled low. "Dancing? Is that what we're doing?"
She leaned against the opposite side of the bar, locking eyes with him. "Let's not pretend, Samuel. You said something the other night. Something I can't ignore."
Samuel raised a brow, finally giving her his full attention. "You mean when I told you not to look for answers you won't like?"
"Exactly." Her voice was laced with challenge. "So let's try something different tonight. Give me the truth."
A slow, dangerous smile curled his lips. "You think you're ready for the truth, Carolina?"
She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "Try me."
Silence stretched between them, electric and loaded. Then Samuel leaned in, close enough for her to smell his cologne and the danger hiding in his voice.
"You want to know what I found?" he whispered. "You're part of something far messier than just a contract marriage. Alexander… he's hiding things. Things that go deeper than money or power."
Carolina's pulse kicked up, but her face remained unreadable.
"Like what?" she asked.
Samuel looked at her, then past her, as if weighing whether to speak at all. Then finally—
"There's a file. A red one. Locked in his private vault. Your name is in it. And someone else's. A man who died six years ago in a fire. You were just a teenager then, weren't you?"
The words hit her like a slap. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
"I don't believe you."
Samuel's expression darkened. "Then find the vault. See for yourself."
Carolina's world tilted. Her past, her future—it was all being rewritten in a language she didn't understand.
But one thing was now clear.
This wasn't just about revenge. This was about survival.
She turned away, spine straight, fury simmering beneath her skin.
"I hope you're not lying to me, Samuel."
"Sweetheart," he said, voice smooth as silk. "If I were lying… I'd make it sound a lot prettier."
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