Across the street, a black Aston Martin was parked with its windows half-lowered. Tom Malfoy reclined in the back seat, his eyes gleaming with predatory interest as he watched the scene unfold. His lips curved into a calculating smile. “So that’s Blackwood’s woman?”

“Indeed, sir,” Damian Walsh confirmed beside him.

Tom’s mouth quirked slightly. “Resilient little thing, isn’t she?”

“Those men flanking her are clearly Blackwood’s security detail.”

Tom studied her with deliberate intensity. “She is rather captivating. No wonder Blackwood is so thoroughly consumed by her.”

“This woman,” Damian remarked with quiet certainty, “is Blackwood’s sole vulnerability.”

“How convenient,” Tom replied, his gaze shifting away as something dark flickered across his features. “Blackwood demolished my operation. It’s only fair I reciprocate with an appropriate gesture of…appreciation.”

That Russian venture had cost him an extraordinary investment of resources and capital. Then, at the critical moment, Blackwood had systematically dismantled everything, inflicting catastrophic financial damage that had nearly crippled him. This debt wouldn’t go unpaid.

Kimberly Jordan. Let’s see if luck continues to favor you quite so generously.

At the police station, Kimberly made a brief call, and within minutes, the officer handling her case received instructions from above. After ending the call, the officer’s demeanor transformed completely. “Ms. Jordan,” he said with newfound deference, “we’ve officially classified your case as attempted murder. The investigation is now underway. You’re free to leave—we’ll contact you immediately with any developments.”

Kimberly acknowledged this with a slight nod. “I appreciate your assistance.”

As she exited the station, her phone rang with an unfamiliar number. “I understand you’ve taken on Bormen’s case,” the caller began without preamble, his tone laced with barely concealed hostility. “Filing for arbitration against my company?”

Kimberly’s expression cooled. “That’s correct.”

“Ms. Jordan, perhaps we might discuss this matter in person? At my office, if you’d be so inclined.”

The man’s tone carried an unmistakable undercurrent of entitlement and disdain.

“Who am I speaking with?”

A cold laugh came through the line. “Feynman Port. Mark Bormen’s former employer.”

The name registered immediately. In preparing the labor arbitration documents, she had reviewed the company’s registration files where Port was listed as the legal representative.

“What exactly did you wish to discuss?” Kimberly asked evenly.

“A private settlement, naturally. Far more efficient than dragging everyone through formal proceedings, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Very well. The address?”

Port provided the location—an exclusive business club approximately ten miles from her current position.

After disconnecting, Kimberly’s fingers drummed thoughtfully against the steering wheel. This wasn’t a casual invitation; it reeked of ulterior motives. Caution would be essential. His eagerness to meet on his own territory, under the pretext of discussing settlement terms, could easily mask more sinister intentions.

Kimberly signaled her security detail. They approached immediately. “Ma’am?”

“We’re attending a meeting. Stay vigilant. I suspect our host may have arrangements…beyond what he’s indicated.”

“Understood.”

Inside the private room of the business club, a lean man with a buzz cut, clad in a black leather jacket, lounged on the sofa, swirling whisky in his glass with evident satisfaction. Four heavyset men stood vigilantly positioned at strategic points around him.

Feynman Port’s eyes were cold as he addressed them. “When that lawyer walks in, I want her dealt with properly. If things get messy, our friends upstairs will smooth it over.”

“Got it, boss,” his men responded in unison.

Kimberly approached, impeccably dressed in a tailored light grey suit that radiated professional authority. Her black heels clicked decisively against the floor as she reached the door. One of her security detail moved forward to open it.

Before she could even step inside, four men charged toward the doorway, each brandishing some form of makeshift weapon. Kimberly instinctively stepped back, her quick assessment of the situation allowing her bodyguards to intercept. They moved with lethal efficiency, their techniques speaking of extensive military training. The room erupted with groans and shouts of pain. In what seemed like mere seconds, all four of Port’s men lay sprawled across the floor, thoroughly incapacitated.

Kimberly’s cool gaze found Port’s now-terrified eyes from across the room. Her lips curled into a smile that held no warmth whatsoever. “Is this your idea of a settlement discussion?”

Port, his face now a canvas of fresh bruises and cuts, had lost all his previous swagger.

Kimberly stood before him, arms crossed, her posture relaxed yet somehow menacing. “Was it your people who pushed me into traffic this morning?”

The legal profession came with its risks—she knew this well. The recent near-fatal stabbing of Edward Thompson QC by a former client had been a sobering reminder for the entire legal community.

Port fell to his knees, any remaining pretense of dignity abandoned. “For God’s sake, I’m sony—I’ve made a terrible mistake. This won’t happen again, I swear.”

Kimberly’s expression hardened. “You haven’t answered my question. Did you arrange for someone to push me into oncoming traffic earlier today?”

“Traffic? What traffic?” Port looked genuinely bewildered. “I’ve never even seen you in person before now.”

Not him? Then who?

Kimberly’s brow furrowed slightly as she considered the possibilities. Could Grace Bennett be responsible? She dismissed the thought almost immediately. Grace was manipulative and spiteful, certainly, but attempted murder seemed beyond even her capacity for malice. Who else, then?

A name crystallized in her thoughts: Tom Malfoy. Asher had specifically warned her about him, mentioning that Tom might target her as a means of striking at Asher himself.

“Are you working for Tom Malfoy?” Kimberly asked, her voice cutting through Port’s whimpering.

“Malfoy? Never heard of him,” Port insisted, desperation evident in every word. “Please, I’ll sort out Bormen’s compensation today—every penny. Just let me walk away from this.”

“That’s rather difficult to believe,” Kimberly replied, her tone arctic. “A factory manager doesn’t typically arrange for thugs to assault a barrister without significant backing. Someone’s pulling your strings. Give me their name, and perhaps we can resolve this without further…unpleasantness.”

Port visibly trembled. His actual employer wielded considerable influence in both legitimate businesses and decidedly shadier enterprises. In certain circles, the man was spoken of in hushed tones. The factory was merely one of many holdings in his portfolio, with Port serving as nothing more than a convenient legal placeholder. The mere thought of betraying him, knowing his penchant for brutal retribution, made Port’s skin crawl with terror.

“There’s nobody,” he insisted, sweat beading on his forehead. “I just…I thought since you seemed young, I could scare you off the case easily.”

Kimberly studied him with the practiced scrutiny of someone who interrogated witnesses for a living, weighing every micro-expression for truth. Port cringed under her examination, terrified she might signal her security to resume their earlier demonstration.

“Please,” he begged pathetically, “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“How remarkably unconvincing,” Kimberly replied, her smile thin and dangerous. “I simply can’t fathom why a businessman of your…limited stature would risk attacking a barrister without substantial protection. Since you’re being uncooperative, I’ll have to let the police sort it out.”

Port’s shoulders actually relaxed at this threat. The police posed no real concern. His employer’s influence extended well into law enforcement.

At Blackwood Industries headquarters, Asher received the call from his security detail, his expression darkening with each word. In the span of a single day, Kimberly had faced two life-threatening situations, narrowly escaping serious harm both times. A wave of cold dread washed over him. Without another word, he ended the call, grabbed his coat, and strode purposefully toward the door.

Matt Ford hurried after him. “Sir, where are you going? The board meeting starts in ten minutes! Sir? Sir?”

At the Peninsula apartment, Mary had prepared an elaborate spread of all Kimberly’s favorite dishes. “Come on, love, you’ve had quite the day,” she said with motherly warmth. “Let’s get some food in you.”

Kimberly picked up her fork but found she had little appetite. Her mind kept returning to that moment at the roadside earlier today. It was the first time she had ever been so close to death. One more second, and she would never have seen another sunrise.

Lost in thought, she barely registered Asher’s arrival. “Kimmy, darling,” his voice was tight with concern as he strode quickly toward her, hands gently cupping her face, his eyes searching hers intently. “Are you all right?”

Kimberly returned to the present moment. “Asher, you already know what happened.”

Asher made a soft sound in his throat, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly against him. “My sweet girl,” he whispered into her hair. “I almost lost you today.”