Nicole's penthouse sat thirty-seven floors above Manhattan.
Untouchable.
Private.
Secure.
Or at least it had been.
The entire drive there, silence filled the car again—but this silence carried something different beneath it now.
Urgency.
Nicole sat rigid in the passenger seat, eyes fixed ahead, mind already cycling through possibilities faster than anyone around her could track.
Forced entry.
No theft mentioned.
No immediate police report.
Which meant this wasn't robbery.
It was a message.
And Nicole hated messages.
"They could still be inside," Chase said as he turned onto her street.
"They won't be."
"You don't know that."
"Yes," Nicole replied coldly. "I do."
Blair looked between them nervously from the backseat. "That answer somehow made me feel worse."
Nicole didn't respond.
Because she already understood the psychology behind this.
Whoever broke into her penthouse hadn't come to hide.
They came to be noticed.
To prove access.
And that meant they wanted her reaction.
The question was why.
By the time they reached the building entrance, private security was already waiting.
Two guards stepped forward immediately.
"Ms. Ritter—"
"What happened?"
The older guard cleared his throat. "South entry lock was bypassed approximately forty minutes ago. Security sweep found signs of movement inside."
"Anything taken?"
"We're still checking."
Nicole stepped toward the elevators immediately. "Move."
Chase caught the elevator door before it shut completely and stepped inside beside her while Blair followed close behind.
The ride upward felt endless.
No one spoke.
Nicole's reflection stared back at her from the mirrored walls of the elevator—sharp black coat, composed face, controlled posture.
Only her eyes betrayed anything.
Too focused.
Too alert.
Beside her, Chase watched quietly.
He noticed the way her hands stayed perfectly still.
That was how he knew she was angry.
Nicole only became that controlled when rage sat directly beneath the surface.
The elevator doors opened.
The penthouse hallway was empty.
Silent.
Nicole stepped out first.
The front door to her penthouse stood slightly open.
That alone made something cold move through her chest.
Nicole never left anything open.
Ever.
Chase moved ahead slightly. "Wait."
Nicole ignored him and pushed the door wider.
The penthouse was dark except for city lights spilling through the massive windows overlooking Manhattan.
Everything looked untouched at first glance.
Too untouched.
Blair stayed close behind Chase. "I officially hate this."
Nicole moved slowly through the living room, eyes scanning every inch automatically.
No overturned furniture.
No broken glass.
No chaos.
That was deliberate.
Whoever did this wanted precision.
Not destruction.
Then Nicole stopped walking.
On the glass table near the center of the room—
a single photograph waited.
Face down.
Her expression changed instantly.
Chase noticed immediately. "Nicole."
She crossed the room slowly and picked it up.
Blair sucked in a breath behind her.
It was Blair.
Leaving work three days earlier.
Someone had been watching her long before the attack.
Underneath the photo, written in sharp black ink:
You still don't understand what this costs.
Silence crushed the room.
Nicole stared at the image without moving.
Not fear.
Something darker.
Because this wasn't Greg.
Greg was emotional.
Impulsive.
This?
This was calculated psychological pressure.
Someone patient was dismantling her life piece by piece.
Chase stepped closer carefully. "There's more."
Nicole looked up.
Near the windows.
Another photograph.
This one of Chase entering Ritter Global beside her earlier that morning.
And another.
Nicole leaving the boardroom.
Another.
The safehouse building entrance.
Blair's face drained of color. "Oh my God."
The walls of the penthouse suddenly felt too close.
Too exposed.
Someone had tracked all of them repeatedly.
For days.
Maybe longer.
Nicole's jaw tightened hard enough to hurt.
"They're escalating," Chase said quietly.
"No," Nicole replied.
Her voice had gone cold again.
"they're getting confident."
Blair stared at the photos. "How are you so calm right now?"
Nicole looked at her sister slowly.
"Because panic is what they want."
"That doesn't mean this isn't terrifying!"
Nicole turned away sharply, crossing toward the windows overlooking the city.
For the first time in years, her home no longer felt like hers.
Violation settled differently when it reached personal spaces.
And worse—
someone had entered without fear of consequences.
That meant they believed they were protected.
Or untouchable.
Neither option ended well for them.
Behind her, Chase continued checking the penthouse carefully.
Then he stopped near the hallway leading toward Nicole's bedroom.
His expression changed instantly.
"Nicole."
She turned immediately.
"What."
He held up a small black object between his fingers.
A security camera.
Tiny.
Professional grade.
Blair looked horrified. "They planted cameras?"
Nicole crossed the room quickly and took it from him.
Her stomach tightened immediately.
Not from fear.
From insult.
Someone had watched her here.
Inside her home.
Watched her think.
Move.
Exist.
And suddenly every moment she'd spent inside these walls over the last week felt contaminated.
"How many?" she asked quietly.
Chase's expression darkened. "Probably more than one."
Nicole closed her hand tightly around the device.
Then she smiled.
Cold.
Dangerously calm.
Blair recognized that expression instantly. "Oh no."
Chase looked at her carefully. "What."
Nicole's eyes lifted slowly.
"They made a mistake."
Blair blinked. "Planting cameras in your penthouse feels like a pretty big success actually."
"No," Nicole replied softly.
She looked down at the device in her hand.
"They got arrogant."
And arrogant people always left traces.
Nicole turned immediately toward the security console near the wall and powered it on.
Chase stepped beside her. "You think you can trace it?"
"I know I can."
Her fingers moved quickly across the system, pulling internal logs, signal paths, timing records.
Then—
there.
A routing signature.
Brief.
Hidden.
But not hidden enough.
Nicole's eyes sharpened immediately.
"What did you find?" Chase asked.
Nicole zoomed in slowly.
An address appeared.
Not Greg.
Not Toby's father.
Something else.
Private offices in Midtown.
Registered under a shell corporation.
Nicole recognized the name instantly.
Her expression darkened.
Blair frowned. "What is it?"
Nicole stared at the screen another second before answering.
"That," she said quietly,
"is who's really behind this."
The room went completely still.
Chase looked at her carefully. "Who?"
Nicole's jaw tightened.
Then finally:
"Vivian Mercer."
Blair blinked. "Who the hell is Vivian Mercer?"
Nicole's eyes stayed locked on the screen.
"A woman I should've destroyed years ago."
And suddenly—
everything made sense.
The patience.
The surveillance.
The precision.
Because Vivian Mercer had once known Nicole Ritter better than almost anyone alive.
Which meant she also knew exactly where to cut deepest.