Genevieve Hayes had spent fifteen years perfecting the art of being invisible

It was not like the glossy cards passed around by executives desperate to seem powerful. This one was thick, black, and almost bare.

No phone number.

No address.

No name.

Only a single embossed crest.

Genevieve recognized it instantly.

Her stomach turned cold.

Costa watched her reaction, and this time she knew she had failed to hide enough.

“I suspect you have many more secrets, Genevieve,” he said softly. “And I have a very long memory for voices that refuse to stay buried.”