Chapter 3 The line we crossed

The house slept under a blanket of shadows, the kind that never lifted, even when morning came. Somewhere in the east wing, Victor Ryker was likely sipping bourbon, poring over files, planning his next silent war.

And Celeste? She was slipping out of her room with the silence of someone who'd learned how to move without leaving footprints.

Barefoot, dressed in black, she followed a path she'd memorized days ago-through the servants' hallway, past the wine cellar, into the narrow corridor that led to Victor's private office.

Locked, of course. But the key hadn't been hard to lift.

She opened the door slowly, breathing evenly. Inside, everything was exactly as she'd expected: neat, cold, efficient. Shelves of leather-bound ledgers, folders organized by name, date, and ruin.

She went straight to the drawer marked with a brass plate: "CONFIDENTIAL: LEGACY."

There it was.

Documents. Photos. Transactions.

Proof.

Her family's business, swallowed up in pieces-auctioned to shell companies, coerced under false debts, their downfall orchestrated not by fate, but by Victor Ryker himself. Her father had refused a deal. Days later, their assets were frozen. Weeks later, her brother was arrested. Months later, her mother was dead.

It was never a coincidence. It was a message.

Celeste's fingers trembled, but not from fear. Rage burned slow and steady in her chest.

She pulled out her phone and began taking photos-page after page, every signature, every fake company name, every Ryker seal.

Behind her, the door creaked.

She froze.

Then turned.

Jace stood in the doorway. Barefoot. Shirt loose. Eyes sharp, unreadable.

He didn't speak for a moment. Then, finally, quietly-

"I knew there was something you weren't saying."

Celeste didn't move. "Are you going to stop me?"

"No," he said. "But I want to know why."

She looked at him then-truly looked. And for the first time, she didn't see the son of the man who destroyed her family.

She saw the man caught in the middle.

"My family was everything to me," she whispered. "He took them piece by piece. Buried them with his power and smiled doing it."

Jace stepped into the room. Closed the door behind him.

"And now?" he asked.

"Now," she said, lifting her chin, "I'm going to return the favor."

He didn't flinch. He didn't threaten. He just looked at her with something that almost resembled respect.

Then he said, "You won't survive this if you're alone."

Her breath caught.

And he added, "Let me help."

The silence between them was no longer cold.

It was dangerous.

Because a Ryker just offered to betray his blood.

And Celeste had no idea if that made him brave... or the deadliest threat yet.

She didn't answer him right away.

Her heart was beating too loud, like it was trying to remind her she was still alive-still full of grief and fire and warnings she had sworn never to ignore. Jace stood so close now, the soft golden light from the office lamp catching on the curve of his jaw, his hands still at his sides, open. Not threatening. Just... there.

"You don't know what you're asking," she said quietly, stuffing the last of the documents back into the drawer.

"I do," he replied, voice low. "More than you think."

Celeste stepped around him. She didn't trust this room anymore. Not with the air tightening between them, not with the weight of what she now carried on her phone. As she reached the hallway, she heard his footsteps following, just a beat behind hers.

At the base of the stairs, she paused. "If he finds out you helped me-"

"He won't."

"He always finds out."

Jace exhaled slowly. "Not this time."

They stood in the half-darkness, neither willing to look at the other too long. The kind of stillness that wasn't empty, but overflowing with everything they didn't dare say aloud. Celeste wanted to believe him. Wanted to think, just for a second, that someone in this house wasn't playing both sides.

She turned her head slightly. "Why would you do this? Betray him?"

Jace didn't blink. "Because I know what he's capable of. And I've spent years pretending I didn't."

That answer should've satisfied her. But it didn't. It made her chest ache in a way she wasn't prepared for. She started up the stairs without another word.

He didn't follow.

Back in her room, she locked the door and slid the bolt, then sank onto the bed. The documents were real. The evidence she needed was finally in her hands. She should've felt triumphant, powerful.

Instead, she felt something she hadn't expected.

Lonely.

The kind of lonely that came from being surrounded by people, yet unable to trust a single soul. Except... maybe now there was one. One person who didn't flinch when faced with the truth.

She lay back and stared at the ceiling, sleep avoiding her like a coward.

Somewhere down the hall, behind one of those heavy wooden doors, Jace Ryker had just chosen a side.

And the scariest part?

She wasn't sure anymore if it was her side... or something far more dangerous.

Morning came like it was in on the secret-soft and gray, seeping through the heavy curtains without permission. Celeste hadn't slept. Her eyes burned, but she couldn't close them, not when her mind kept replaying everything. The office. The files. Jace.

She moved on instinct. Shower. Clothes. Concealer under her eyes to hide the war behind them. She wore all black again. Not for fashion. For focus.

Downstairs, the Ryker household had already begun its performance. Staff gliding through corridors like ghosts, fresh flowers on polished tables, the smell of espresso curling through the air. On the outside, it looked like a place held together by elegance.

But Celeste knew better.

Victor Ryker was at the head of the long marble breakfast table, reading the paper like the world still belonged to him. His wife, all diamonds and disdain, stirred her tea without ever drinking it.

Jace wasn't there.

Celeste kept her eyes down, picked up a croissant she wouldn't eat, and sat.

"Did you sleep well?" Victor asked without looking at her.

"Yes, thank you." She lied without hesitation.

He finally glanced up, and it felt like being studied by a predator that didn't need to chase its prey-it already owned the cage.

"You're adjusting faster than I expected," he said.

She smiled, the same smile she'd practiced in mirrors since the funeral. "I adapt."

"Good," he said, folding his paper. "You'll need that skill here."

His words weren't casual. They were a warning. Or maybe a test.

Jace entered the room a moment later, dressed in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked the part of a perfect heir, but Celeste saw the tension in his jaw, the faint line between his brows.

Their eyes met. Brief. Loaded.

He sat across from her without a word, but his foot brushed hers under the table. Once. Deliberate.

She didn't move. Didn't react. But her heart skipped a beat like it hadn't gotten the memo about keeping secrets.

Breakfast passed in practiced silence.

Later, in the garden, she found him waiting.

"You didn't come back to my room last night," he said.

"I had things to process."

Jace nodded. "And now?"

"Now I know what has to be done."

He didn't ask what. He didn't need to. He just stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Then let's do it together."

Celeste hesitated, but only for a second.

The truth was, he wasn't the boy she'd imagined-Victor's shadow, obedient and blind.

He was something else entirely.

A wild card.

A weapon she hadn't counted on.

And maybe, just maybe, a crack in the armor of the man who had destroyed her world.

So she nodded. Once.

And just like that, the war changed shape.

The war changed shape-but not its weight. Celeste felt it settle deeper in her bones as she walked beside Jace, the path through the garden winding between tall hedges and ancient roses, thorns hidden beneath velvet petals. Fitting.

They didn't speak again until they reached the edge of the property where the security cameras didn't quite reach, just out of habit or arrogance. Maybe Victor thought no one would ever dare walk this far without permission.

Jace leaned against the iron fence, arms folded. "You said you know what has to be done. What's your next move?"

She hesitated. "He's laundering through real estate deals. I found a trail starting in Prague, leading to three dead companies under different names. One of them's tied to my father's last investment before the collapse."

His expression didn't change, but his voice dropped lower. "You need to trace it, expose it publicly. But that's not enough, is it?"

"No," she said softly. "He built his empire on ruins like mine. People need to see the blood underneath all that gold."

Jace stared at her for a long time. "You want to destroy him."

"Don't you?"

He didn't answer right away. The wind shifted, pulling his hair slightly across his forehead, and when he looked at her again, his eyes weren't cold-they were sharp. Clear.

"I want to be free of him."

"Then we want the same thing."

"No," he corrected gently. "You want justice. I want out."

They stood in silence again. Not uncomfortable, but full-like something fragile was stretching between them, too new to name. Celeste didn't reach for it. Not yet. She still didn't know if Jace was standing beside her because he believed in her cause or because he just wanted to run from the fire without getting burned.

She looked past him toward the horizon. "I need someone who knows the accounts. Passwords. Movements. Schedules. Everything."

"I have access to some of it," he said. "Not all. But enough to get you in."

"Are you sure?" she asked, finally looking at him again. "Because once this starts, there's no halfway."

Jace didn't blink. "I've been halfway my whole life. I'm done."

That admission hit her harder than it should have. She nodded, slowly.

Then turned to go.

But before she could take a second step, he reached for her wrist, stopping her. The touch was light, but his voice was solid.

"If I do this," he said, "if I help you bring him down... what does that make me in your eyes?"

She met his gaze, calm but unflinching.

"It makes you the only Ryker I don't want to see fall."

And with that, she walked away.

She didn't look back.

But the echo of her words stayed with him like a promise... or a threat.

Celeste spent the rest of the day behind locked doors, hunched over her laptop, the files from the office now copied and encrypted onto a private drive only she could access. She moved through the data like a surgeon-precise, calm, ruthless. The names, the dates, the transfers. It all pointed to one thing: her father's downfall hadn't been an accident.

Victor Ryker had engineered it.

Piece by piece, she built the evidence trail. The dead companies. The shell accounts. The manipulated market crash that had bled her father's company dry before swallowing it whole.

It wasn't just business. It was personal.

Her phone buzzed with a message. Unknown number.

Don't trust the cameras tonight. They're being monitored. I'll signal when it's safe. – J

She didn't respond. She simply memorized the number. Burned it into her mind in case this all went sideways.

The house was too quiet that evening. Dinner was skipped. Victor had flown to Zurich without notice, leaving the staff whispering about a "quick deal." His wife retired early, and Jace was nowhere in sight.

Celeste used the silence.

She slipped into the west wing with nothing but a slim flashlight and a code she'd coaxed out of one of the staff weeks ago. The door to Victor's private study was triple-locked, but the code worked-then the picks she kept hidden in her boot finished the job.

Inside, the air smelled like leather and smoke. Cold. Controlled.

She moved fast. Searched behind paintings, in desk drawers, under rugs. Found a safe in the floor beneath the heavy bookshelf. She didn't need what was in it-not yet-but she took photos. Marked it for later.

Just as she turned to leave, the faintest knock echoed from the window. Once. Pause. Twice.

Jace's signal.

She slipped out the back door into the garden and followed the hedge path without turning on her flashlight. He was waiting near the stone bench, his jacket slung over his shoulder, hair damp from the drizzle.

"You got in?" he asked.

"I did."

"What did you find?"

"A safe. Unmarked files. I need more time to crack them."

He gave a small nod. Then, without warning, he stepped closer. His body was warm from movement, his voice low and steady.

"There's something you should know. Victor's not just laundering money-he's funneling arms shipments through his shell companies. Eastern Europe. South America. He's not just bleeding rivals. He's fueling wars."

Celeste froze.

"You have proof?"

"I have access to the logs," he said. "They're kept offline. Guarded."

She could hardly breathe.

"Where?"

He hesitated, then looked her straight in the eye.

"The family vault. In Geneva. Under my name."

She blinked. "You're giving me your access?"

"I'm giving you everything."

Silence swelled between them.

"Why?" she asked.

His voice didn't waver. "Because if I don't help destroy him, I'll become him."

The rain began to fall harder, streaking down his cheek like it was part of the moment. But neither of them moved.

They stood in the storm together, two children of ruined bloodlines, bound by the weight of secrets and a war neither of them started.

And neither of them would run from again.