The marble lobby of Vassar Holdings still smelled faintly of smoke. The upper floors were scorched, charred reminders of how close the empire had come to falling. And now I was here, not as a daughter or a firefighter—but as someone chasing the truth with gasoline in her veins.

I stood outside the glass office of Graham Vassar, my uncle. My father's business partner. The man I'd grown up calling "Uncle G" while he taught me how to hold a fishing rod and charm a boardroom.

Now, he was the only common thread in every arson case tied to my family name.

I opened the door.

He looked up from his desk, silver hair too perfectly combed for someone supposedly "recovering" from a traumatic fire. "Celeste," he said with that rehearsed warmth, "I wasn't expecting—"

"Cut the crap," I snapped.

His smile flickered.

I dropped a folder on his desk—copies of every fire report, every insurance payout, and a scanned signature from Brielle's employment contract. All traced back to him.

"You hired her," I said. "You placed her at the mill. You paid for silence when things went bad. How many buildings did you burn to clean up your deals?"

His eyes narrowed. "You're treading on thin ice, sweetheart."

"I'm walking through fire, actually." My voice shook, but I didn't back down. "And I'm done pretending this was all some coincidence."

He rose slowly from his chair. "You're angry. I get that. But this?" He tapped the file. "These are guesses and guilt. Not proof."

"No," I said. "But it's enough to start an investigation."

He moved toward me, voice low and dangerous. "You think you're helping your father's legacy by turning on his partner? Your family?"

I held his stare. "I'm not protecting ashes, Graham. I'm protecting lives."

He scoffed. "You think that boy you're screwing—McAllister—is going to save you when this all falls apart?"

Rage surged in my chest. "Rafe saved my life. More than once. The only thing I need saving from... is you."

I turned to leave. His voice followed me. Cold. Controlled.

"You bring this public, you better be ready to lose everything."

I paused at the door, glanced back. "I already lost my father. I won't lose my name too."

Outside, I stepped into the bitter wind, every nerve buzzing. I had crossed the line—and burned the bridge.

But I wasn't walking back.

Because the only way forward was through the flames.