Chapter 4

The phone line went dead.

The celebration at the restaurant came to a halt. Zara's smile faltered. Emma's hand hovered over her wine glass. Isabella and Morgan exchanged sharp glances. Only Marcus moved, rising smoothly like a predator that has caught the scent of blood.

"FBI?" he asked quietly.

I nodded. "Long Island City. Storage facility. Nathan's destroying evidence right now."

Isabella leaned forward, already three steps ahead. "If he's burning files tonight, someone tipped him off."

"Someone inside the company," Emma added, her face pale.

Marcus placed a firm hand on my shoulder. His eyes had begun to shift to amber, the first sign that his wolf was rising. The Pink Battalion looked at me; their hard-won victory was suddenly hanging by a thread.

"We can't let him destroy everything," Zara said, her voice small but steady. "Not after what we built."

"The FBI is moving, but they're at least two hours behind," I said. I had spent weeks thinking through this exact scenario. "If Nathan destroys the files now, we lose our proof and the trail to everyone behind him. We have to move faster."

Marcus didn't hesitate. "Then we go."

"This could be a felony," Morgan pointed out, already pulling on her jacket.

I looked around the table at the women who had risked everything for She Rises, then at Marcus, whose amber eyes burned with predatory certainty. My own wolf stirred, hungry and alert.

I made the call.

"Emma, contact the FBI. Tell them you can't reach the facility until morning because of the timing and distance. Buy us two hours."

Emma was already dialing.

The Long Island City storage facility was bleak and anonymous—chain-link fence, sleepy security guard, and rows of identical industrial units. Marcus and I slipped through a gap in the fence and moved silently toward Unit 47.

My senses were on fire. I caught the sharp smell of burning paper, diesel, rust, and Nathan's panic sweat. A blowtorch hissed in the distance.

"He's here," I whispered. "Unit 47."

We approached with casual confidence, as if we belonged. The unit door stood half-open.

Inside, Nathan was in full panic mode. He clutched a blowtorch in one hand and a stack of files in the other. Bankers' boxes, neatly labeled with account numbers, offshore transfers, and shell companies, lined the shelves — the meticulous evidence of his corruption.

He didn't notice us until Marcus crossed the threshold.

"Nathan," I said softly.

He spun around, the blowtorch swinging wildly. Shock, fear, and rage flashed across his face in rapid succession.

"Victoria?" His voice cracked. "How the hell—"

"You're predictable," I replied, stepping forward. "Rich men always make the same mistakes when they're desperate."

He raised the blowtorch like a weapon. "Don't come closer."

"Or what? You'll burn me too?" I kept my voice calm. "You've already lost. The only question is how much damage you'll take with you."

Nathan's laugh was ugly and unhinged. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. This company, these people — they're bigger than you think. And that thing beside you..." He jabbed the torch toward Marcus. "I know what both of you are."

He lunged for the nearest box.

Marcus moved.

He didn't fully shift — there wasn't enough time or space — but it was enough. His arms lengthened, his claws extended, and his face sharpened into something halfway between a man's and a wolf's. The change was fluid and terrifying.

Nathan screamed. The blowtorch clattered to the floor, the flame sputtering out.

"Don't move," Marcus growled, his voice layered and bestial.

While he held Nathan frozen in terror, Emma quickly scanned the boxes and grabbed the critical files: ledgers linking Nathan's accounts to Sophie's payments, David's suspicious promotions, and the shell companies funneling client money. Everything Emma and the FBI would need.

Nathan's voice trembled. "How did you know?"

"I've seen this story before," I said, letting a flash of amber show in my eyes. "You're not as clever as you think."

I nodded to Marcus. He stepped aside.

"Run," I told Nathan.

He didn't need to be told twice. He bolted into the night, reeking of terror.

Marcus shifted back to human form with effortless control. "We need to leave. Now."

I tucked the documents inside my jacket. "One more second."

We were pulling onto the FDR Drive when my phone rang.

"We got him," the FBI agent said. "Nathan tried to flee and ran straight into our team. He's in custody. The storage unit is intact."

Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived.

"How did you know he'd be there tonight?" the agent asked.

"I had Emma spread word of the audit through trusted channels," I replied smoothly. "That pulled him out. Guilty men panic. He made a mistake."

The agent paused. "We'll be in touch."

The line went dead.

Marcus exhaled slowly. "You just danced on the edge of a federal crime."

"Creative problem-solving," I said.

He glanced at me, his eyes darkening again. "Your husband is in custody, and you don't look happy."

"I'm relieved," I admitted. "But Nathan was right about one thing. He's just the first. There are bigger players behind him—people with more power. I need to know who they are, and they won't go down easily."

Marcus's hands tightened on the wheel. "Then we'll face them together."

My phone buzzed again. It was another message from an unknown number:

You think this is over? The real game is just beginning. Watch your back." —*]

I showed the screen to Marcus. His jaw clenched.

"How many people know what you are?" he asked quietly.

"Too many," I whispered.

I stared out at the glittering Manhattan skyline. Somewhere in that sea of lights, someone was watching—someone who knew my secret.

And they were coming closer.

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