Page 94 of Shattered By Grace

Her pulse hammered. "My father was the accountant for the Locke Empire for five years, or at least, that’s what he let me believe. In reality, he was working undercover, trying to dismantle your father’s empire from within. But your father found out. And my father paid for it with his life."

Tristan didn’t react. No anger. No shock. Just a measured blink, as if processing a particularly difficult puzzle.

“My father kept a notebook,” she said, voice raw. “A ledger filled with everything. His crimes, drug and trafficking contracts, payouts to judges, dirty deals that would bury him if they ever got out.”

Tristan’s stare remained impassive.

“And?”

Victoria’s nails dug into her palms. "I was fifteen, Tristan. The night they killed my father, they tried to take me because of a contract my father signed. It stated that if anything happened to him, Cassian Locke would have full legal custody of me. Your father’s men beat me and locked me in a car. I barely got away. I jumped out of a moving vehicle. The next thing I knew, I was in witness protection. I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since, as Grace Scarlett."

She took a deep breath. “I still have nightmares,” she shivered. “I can still hear Razer…‘You’re lucky, little bird.’”

Silence. Heavy. Deadly.

Tristan exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping once against the table before stilling.

“The notebook.”

Victoria inhaled sharply. “The notebook was hidden until two days ago. I found it at my old house.” Her voice wavered. “I knew nothing about it until weeks ago when Justin?—”

Tristan cut her off immediately. “Justin who?” His brows pulled together.

Fuck. Here we go.

“Justin Virelli. He’s your father’s… something. He was kinda vague on the details.”

Tristan rubbed the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. “Yeah, I know him. He follows my dad around like a lost dog begging for a bone.”

“Justin was my old neighbor when we were kids, we were best friends. He knew my dad was murdered but never knew what happened to me until I showed up at the club.”

Her thoughts flickered to that night. The club. The heat between them. That dance.God, take me back.

She glanced at Tristan, catching the way his eyes glazed over for just a second. He was thinking about it, too.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking the thought away, “he told me he’s working with the police. They’ve been looking for the evidence my father had, the notebook.”

Tristan leaned forward slightly, his presence unnervingly calm. “Where is it now?”

She hesitated. Just for a second.

“I gave it to a detective.”

The air in the room turned razor-sharp.

Tristan studied her, his eyes dark pools of quiet calculation.

“So what was your plan, Gra—” He stopped himself, the name catching in his throat. When he spoke again, it was slow. Intentional. “I mean, Victoria. Was I just a convenient means to an end?”

The flash of hurt in his eyes nearly shattered her.

She forced the words out. “No. Not exactly.”

Tristan let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “So that’s it? You used me? Played me like a pawn?” His jaw tightened, his voice eerily steady. “I should take you straight to my father.”

Victoria flinched, but she didn’t look away.

Tristan dragged a hand through his hair, his controlled exterior cracking for just a second. Just long enough for her to see the war raging beneath.

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