Destiny Deville Better -

“That’s not how justice works, Ms. DeVille.”

Destiny wasn’t there.

“You want me,” she said. “Fine. But drop the charges against my staff. They don’t know anything.” destiny deville

The plan took eight months. She posed as a catering temp, then a financial auditor, then a grieving widow buying a condo in his building. She wore seven different faces, thirteen wigs, and never once broke character. On the night of the city’s annual Gilded Gala, while Silas posed for photos with the mayor, Destiny walked out of his private elevator with two duffel bags. She left behind a single playing card on his desk: the Queen of Diamonds. “That’s not how justice works, Ms

Destiny DeVille was born on a Tuesday, which her grandmother always said meant she’d be “full of trouble or full of grace.” As it turned out, Destiny was full of both. “Fine

She gave herself up at dawn, wearing a red dress. The courthouse steps were thick with reporters. She didn’t hide her face. She smiled once—not for them, but for Ezra, who stood at the back of the crowd with his hands in his pockets and his heart in his throat.

His name was Ezra Cross. He was an investigative journalist with kind eyes and a bad habit of digging into city hall’s closed files. He found her because he was looking into Silas Vane’s sudden bankruptcy and the mysterious Queen of Diamonds. He found her again because she let him. He had a way of saying her name—Destiny—like it wasn’t a warning label. Like it was just a word for someone he wanted to know.