CHAPTER 49
DYLAN
It's almost midnight when I walk into The Den — Daniel's private bar beneath his penthouse.
The lights are low. The air smells like aged bourbon, leather, and consequences. The kind of place men like us retreat to when the wolves have already been let loose and the knives are out.
Ronan's sprawled in a velvet armchair, one boot on the table, drink in hand. Kainalu leans against the wall, flipping a knife between his fingers — smooth, practiced, and dangerous. Cassian's perched at the bar, scrolling through something on his phone, probably solving an international crisis or breaking a million-dollar merger "for fun."
And Daniel?
He doesn't say anything when I walk in. Just nods and pours me a drink.
"You look like a man ready to burn something down," Ronan says lazily.
"Someone," I correct, voice flat. "Not something."
That pulls their attention like a switchblade on tile.
Daniel slides the glass toward me. "Is this about the photo?"
I nod once. "It wasn't leaked. It was planted. Precise. Calculated. The kind of move that's meant to destroy — not expose."
Cassian lets out a low whistle. "That's cold. Even for our circles."
"It wasn't my enemy," I say. "It was someone close to her."
The silence sharpens.
Kainalu stops twirling the blade. "You think it's one of her friends?"
"Not think." I pull out my phone. "Adrian ran metadata from the file Elijah received. It was sent from a device synced to Hermione's calendar. Her location. Her movements. That device also had access to restaurant security logs that should've been locked behind two firewalls."
"Jesus," Cassian mutters, "She let that kind of access in?"
"She trusted them." My jaw clenches. "She doesn't let people in easily. When she does, it's all or nothing."
Ronan exhales through his nose, gaze sharp now. "And one of them took the all… and turned it into a weapon."
I nod.
Daniel leans back in his seat, eyes narrowing. "Who are we looking at?"
"Four women. Claire. Seraphine. Lia. Isabelle." Their names land heavy in the room. "Each one close enough to know her habits. Her soft spots. Her schedule."
"Any one of them capable?" Kainalu asks, brow raised.
"They're all capable," I say. "Which is what makes this hell."
"I need your help."
The words drop like lead. I don't say them lightly. Neither do they.
Cassian puts his phone down. "You have it."
Daniel nods. "Just tell us where to start."
"Adrian's tracking digital signatures — calls, text logs, secure cloud dumps. But I need more. Anonymous bank activity. Ghosted accounts. Any payment that could link back to Elijah or someone on his team. I don't want one trail missed."
Kainalu smirks. "Already cloned Elijah's device last week. Guy left his Bluetooth open at a hotel bar. Amateur."
Cassian raises a brow. "Discretion?"
"Until I know who it is. She's already spiraling. She can't afford to doubt the wrong one."
Another beat of silence.
Then Daniel says it — simple. Final.
"You love her."
It's not a question.
I don't flinch. "With every part of me that still knows how."
Ronan lifts his glass. "Then it's war."
"And when you find out who it is?" Cassian asks quietly.
I drain my drink and set the glass down with a soft click.
"I won't ruin them," I say, voice cool and even. "I'll make them wish I would."
Scene Shift – Hermione's Apartment (Hermione's POV)
The kettle whistles, but I don't move.
Claire sits cross-legged on the couch, her face pinched with worry. Seraphine stands by the window, arms crossed, watching the street like she expects danger to materialize from the shadows.
Lia's curled on the rug, phone in hand, silent.
I watch them all. My heart pounds like a war drum.
Someone in this room — someone I've laughed with, cried with, bled with — has a knife behind their back.
And I don't know which hand is hiding it.
"I still can't believe this is happening," Claire says, voice low.
Seraphine shakes her head. "Whoever did it is a coward. And stupid. You're a lawyer, Hermione. You'll crush them."
Lia doesn't speak.
I glance at her. "You okay?"
She looks up, eyes glassy. "Just… overwhelmed. I keep thinking—what if it was someone outside our circle? Someone trying to pit us against each other?"
Claire scoffs. "Come on. That photo didn't get out by accident."
"It's not helpful to point fingers," Seraphine says firmly. "Right now, we support her."
But there's tension in her voice. Like she knows something. Or suspects someone.
And suddenly, I don't feel supported.
I feel watched.