Page 8 of Sinful Embers

“Your uncle Gunther was not a very nice man,” Sabrina says, her voice tinged with disdain. “You haven’t read any of thejournals yet, have you? If you did, you’d know exactly what I mean.”

The mention of the journals makes me swivel toward the bookshelf where I put them before the wedding. My stomach sinks when I see the empty space where they were.

“Fuck!” I hiss. “The journals—they’re gone.”

Nikolas taps a key on the laptop, pulling up a specific frame of security footage. “That’s what he’s doing in your office,” he says, turning the laptop slightly so I can see it, and pointing to the screen. I lean in and see a clear image of Carlos walking to the book shelf where the journals were. It must’ve been right before he took Leigh.

I turn to Sabrina, my expression darkening. “While we’re on the subject of the journals, you said I wouldn’t like their contents. What’s in them?”

“Which journals did they take?” Nikolas asks before Sabrina can respond.

“One to three,” I reply, my voice low. “But I believe there’s a fourth one I inadvertently gave to Leigh. When I went to get it back, it was gone.” More guilt hits me. “I may have been the one to trigger Leigh’s memory episodes she had yesterday.”

“I was the one that put the journal in Leigh’s packing boxes in the hopes that she’d find them before she went to Los Angeles,” Nikolas admits then tells us that the night before the wedding he put the journal beneath her pillow while he was keeping an eye on her because I was in Vegas.

Before we can delve further, Temur enters the office. His face is grim as he reports, “I’ve searched the penthouse and the bedroom thoroughly. No bugs. No clues. I can tell you that if Leigh had a phone I couldn’t find it so assume that it’s missing. But I found her songbook in her purse.” He hands it to me, and I place it on the desk beside me.

“I’ll get the board for you,” Temur says, addressing Sabrina. “And I’ll bring it up shortly.” With that he excuses himself and leaves the office.

“What board?” Nikolas and I ask in unison.

“A crime board,” Sabrina says matter-of-factly, “If we’re going to figure this out, we may as well do it right.”

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes. It’s Sergei, my head of security at the estate. I answer immediately.

“Boss,” Sergei says, his tone clipped. “We’ve had an incident. Your study and bedroom were broken into and ransacked last night. We think it might have been Michael. He came home drunk, couldn’t get through the gates saying he’d lost his pass key. Artem helped him. When one of the other guards hadn’t heard from Artem for a couple of hours he went looking for him and found him knocked out by the kitchen door.”

“Fuck,” Sabrina says, her eyes narrowing. “My apartment was also ransacked last night while I was here.”

“That’s why we were sent here,” Nikolas realizes, his voice sharp. “So I wasn’t at the estate—or you weren’t in your apartment.”

“Can you go to my office, Sergei?”

He nods and walks there showing me the room. “Fuck!” I sneer and notice that my safe’s been broken into, and I freeze. Alarm shoots through me—only a handful of people know about it. Which means someone close to me is helping that fucking bastard Carlos.

Sabrina suddenly gasps. “Wait!” she says, pointing at the screen. “Can you show the bookshelf again?” Sergie nods and turns his phone back to where Sabrina asked him to. “What’s that book on the shelf beside the safe?”

Sergei moves closer and shows up.

“It’s the fourth journal.” My voice is low and gruff as excitement courses through me mingled with suspicion as to why Carlos would’ve left it. If it wasn’t the journal he was looking for, then what was it?

Sergie reaches out, plucking the book off the shelf. As he picks it up, it falls apart, leaving him holding only the leather cover. “Fuck,” he mutters bending to scoop the book up. “I’m sorry, boss.”

“Wait,” Sabrina says again, her eyes widening. “Show us the book.”

Sergei holds it up, and my stomach drops. “Fuck—that’s not the fourth journal,” Sabrina says, glancing between Nikolas and me. “That’s Leigh’s songbook.”

All eyes dart to the desk. I pick up the songbook Temur handed me earlier and open it. My heart pounds as I flip through the pages, and I feel my hands start to tremble—it’s the fourth journal.

Chapter 3

LEIGH

The cold bites at my skin as I wake, a sharp chill dragging me out of the fog. My head throbs, a relentless drumbeat pounding against my skull. The sound of a heavy door scraping open jolts me fully awake. My heart leaps into my throat as I sit up abruptly on the stiff cot.

A masked figure steps into the dungeon, their presence commanding and unnerving. They’re wheeling a metal trolley toward me, its polished surface glinting faintly under the harsh light. The clatter of wheels echoes off the brick walls, each noise magnified in the oppressive silence. The smell hits me next—warm, rich, and mouthwatering. My stomach growls in response, reminding me just how long it’s been since I last ate.

“Who are you?” My voice is hoarse, scratching against my throat like sandpaper. I try to focus on their features, but the mask obscures everything.

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