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My stomach turns, steady and ugly.

This is not coincidence. It’s pressure, focused and close.

Sabrina interrupted my date and got removed. Gavin shows up near Lila’s office. Victoria has a history with me that the city never gets tired of gossiping about. There was the fraud mess years ago, the internal investigation, Dan’s systems work, Victoria’s name, and mine. I was not the villain in that story, but you don’t need to be guilty to get painted.

I take a screenshot, then stop myself and lock the phone, because collecting evidence without her consent puts me in the same category as the men she keeps outrunning.

I call my PI, Adam, instead.

“Check on something for me,” I say.

He replies instantly, ready for whatever assignment I have for him. “Say it.”

“Can you find out if Victoria’s got a Gavin Hale working for her?”

A pause. Then Adam’s keyboard clicks in the background, fast. “Give me a minute.”

I wait, looking out at the lights, and I hate that Lane’s name is back near my life.

Adam comes back on. “He’s real. Hired six months ago. Client facing. Not a temp.”

“How close is Sabrina?” I ask.

“Mm hm,” he replies. “Partnerships. She’s very close to Victoria.”

I exhale through my nose and my hand slides to my collar, thumb pressing the knot that isn’t even there.

“Are you worried about her?” he asks. “Something you need done?”

I click my tongue against my teeth. “I’m not quite sure yet.”

“Tell me you’re not about to go hunting?” he says.

“I’m not,” I answer, and then I add, “unless Lila asks.”

Adam’s voice softens by half a notch. “Lila Bennett?”

I sigh. “Yeah, the very same.”

He whistles low in his throat. “Wow. I didn’t know?—”

“Are you going to make a thing of it?”

I can hear him shake his head. “Nah, my guy. But be careful.”

The next day, I try to respect her.

I don’t text, call, or walk past her desk, pretending it’s casual. I do my meetings, I sign what needs signing, and I keep my hands busy so my head doesn’t start inventing worst cases.

By ten, I know she isn’t coming in.

Her desk is empty. No message. No sick leave note. Nothing.

I go to HR.

Marta looks up and her fingers press into the arm of her chair, just a small adjustment that tells me she already knows this won’t be pleasant.

“Sir?” she says.