Chapter 13: A City of Shadows....

New York.

The city pulsed with life, towering skyscrapers cutting against the night sky like jagged knives. Lights flickered from high-rise buildings, car horns blared through the streets, and the scent of rain lingered in the crisp air.

But beneath the city's brilliance lay something darker.

Something unseen.

And Isabelle Monroe was walking straight into it.

The plane had landed hours ago, yet unease still gripped her. Seated in the back of a sleek black car, she stared at the passing streets, fingers curled tightly in her lap. The last time she had been here, someone had tried to kill her. Now, she was willingly returning, chasing answers that might cost her life.

Beside her, Damian sat in silence, one hand resting on his knee, the other near the gun holstered beneath his jacket. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, scanned every corner, every movement.

Always watching.

Always protecting.

Yet she knew one thing—even he couldn't predict what awaited them here.

A Familiar Name, A New Threat

"Where exactly are we going?" Isabelle finally asked, her voice steady despite the tension pressing against her ribs.

Damian didn't answer immediately. He simply slid a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

She unfolded it, her breath catching at the bold letters printed across the top.

Hamilton & Co. Private Banking.

Confusion flickered across her face. "A bank?"

Damian nodded. "Three years ago, someone using the name Christopher Monroe withdrew a large sum of money from this institution. If your father is alive—or if someone is using his name—this is the place to start."

A chill ran down her spine.

If this lead was real, she was about to step into the same world that had erased her family.

And they wouldn't let her leave unscathed.

The car slowed to a stop outside a towering glass building. The bank was sleek, modern, and utterly unwelcoming. A place built for people who thrived in secrecy.

Damian was out first, scanning the area before motioning for Isabelle to follow.

Inside, the air was thick with quiet tension. Wealthy clients sat in plush chairs, guarded by men in suits who looked more like enforcers than security.

A woman at the front desk glanced up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you have an appointment?"

Damian leaned in slightly, his voice calm but commanding. "We need to speak with Marcus Hamilton."

The woman hesitated, her gaze flicking between them.

Then she picked up the phone.

"Wait here," she said.

As she walked off, Isabelle whispered, "Who's Marcus Hamilton?"

"A man who knows where all the bodies are buried," Damian murmured.

Her stomach tightened.

Minutes later, a side door opened, and a tall, silver-haired man emerged. His expensive suit was perfectly pressed, but there was something cold in his gaze, something that sent a quiet warning through Isabelle's veins.

"Mr. Cross," the man greeted smoothly, eyes barely flicking to Isabelle. "This is unexpected."

Damian didn't smile. "We need information."

Hamilton sighed, as if already bored. "I assume this is about the Monroe account."

Isabelle's heart nearly stopped.

"So it's true," she whispered. "Someone using my father's name was here?"

Hamilton studied her for a long moment. Then, with a slow nod, he said, "Not just someone, Miss Monroe. Your father himself."

The words sent a sharp, electrifying shock through her.

Her father… alive?

She felt Damian shift beside her, his stance tightening as if already preparing for an attack.

"You expect us to believe that?" he asked coolly.

Hamilton shrugged. "Believe what you want. All I can tell you is that Christopher Monroe came here in person three years ago. He withdrew the money himself. No proxies. No stolen identities."

Isabelle's pulse pounded. "Where is he now?"

For the first time, Hamilton's carefully crafted expression faltered. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face.

Then, lowering his voice, he said, "Miss Monroe… if your father is still alive, you shouldn't be looking for him."

A cold dread washed over her.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

Hamilton exhaled, glancing toward the security cameras, as if debating how much to say.

Then he looked directly at Damian.

"You know what kind of world we deal with, Cross. People don't just disappear unless someone wants them gone. And if Christopher Monroe was alive three years ago, but you can't find a trace of him now…" He let the implication hang in the air.

Damian's jaw tightened. "He's either dead or being hidden."

Hamilton gave a slight nod. "And if it's the latter, whoever's keeping him hidden won't appreciate you digging around."

Isabelle felt her hands tremble.

She had spent years believing her father had died that night in the fire.

Now, not only was he alive just three years ago—but someone wanted to keep it that way.

Outside the bank, the air felt heavier.

Isabelle hugged her arms, staring at the passing traffic, her mind racing. "If my father was here, why didn't he come for me? Why didn't he try to find me?"

Damian didn't answer right away.

Instead, he pulled out his phone.

"I'll have Reed follow the money," he said. "If Christopher Monroe is alive, there's a chance the trail isn't cold yet."

She turned to him, eyes burning. "And if it is?"

Damian's expression darkened. "Then we start looking for the people who wanted him to disappear."

A chill ran through her.

This wasn't just about finding her father anymore.

This was about who had erased him from existence—and what they would do to make sure she never uncovered the truth.